Christmas 1996
I made my way along the dimly lit corridors. I was a changed man; a man with no 'L' plates. I knew what a brain tumour was, what it could do to you and how it needed to be treated. I listened to the de-briefing for about a minute and then closed down. For Christ' sake, it was Christmas and I needed a break. I didn't want to talk about treatments, drugs and appointments. I wanted out, and for once, I was going to get my own way.
So off I went, on brittle legs, desperately trying to pick up speed but my body was having none of that. I was tethered and bound by chains that led all the way back to the operating theatre and my sick bed. But I was determined, stubborn and single-minded. I was not going to take any shit from anyone; particularly, my self.
I set off through the swell of evening visitors and it was frightening; like walking across a dodgem rink in bare feet. My toes were crushed and my shins shattered by numerous collisions. But in my own implacable way, I just soldiered on, until I could hear the tired sound of automatic doors. I arrived at my target, and stood beneath the word 'exit', I paid homage to it; and then I left.
We stood beyond the Hospital Walls, the ex-wife and I. I ate the cold air and all its strange gases. My face felt clean but my eyes began to water. Were they tears of joy or a mere reaction to the northerly wind? Who knows? I was just glad to be out of that miserable hole and away from all the people who have saved my life!
Then we marched back towards the car, which she had parked miles away in the furthest corner of the car park. I just looked the car in bewilderment. It looked like an ice cube, covered in fractals of frost and I started thinking that I am going to die of exposure and what a waste the last two weeks have been. After a long fifteen minutes we finally left for home.
Home equated to kids, warmth and freedom. God, I could not believe how great familiarity was. How brilliant it was to see all the normal crap such as broken kids toys, piles of magazines, sweet wrappers, festering dog chews; all those things that I will never ever complain about again.
I decided to take a bath. I opened the bathroom door and turned on the light. It was hideous, it was savage and no-one deserved to look like that. So here I go, just a little taste: my head had been cut and that was unavoidable I know but the wound looks like it has been sewn back together by a five year old with a darning needle. Mary Shelley's description of Frankenstein's monster is a disappointing creation in comparison to the image in the mirror and there was another quite extraordinary thing, and the bruise that covered the whole of my chest and looked like a relief map of South America. That was it. I made my bed on the living room sofa and watched endless episodes of 'Frasier.'
Christmas Day was a sham. I watched the turkey being carved and I thought of surgery. I pondered about becoming a vegetarian or disappearing and living in the Andes or Tibet. Until my thoughts were suddenly disturbed by her voice; The Queen. And then I had a terrible but very heartening thought-
'This could happen to anyone; even to the Queen.'
