Page 48 of The Flowers of Bay C
He strolls in with his entourage packed closely round him. They take an age looking over the patient charts, whispering to the nurse who is still dispensing our morning meds. I hear snatches of conversation, of my name and Jodie’s and Violet’s names. Another doctor stands at the end of Barbara’s bed, trying to get her attention. Barbara’s mouth is slack, open in a soft snore. A junior doctor who looks a whole lot like a very young Himesh Patel is talking to Kat, her curtains closing off the sight but not the sounds. ‘We’re pleased with your progress,’ he is saying.
Jodieleans over to me. ‘Wish he was my doctor. Hot or what?’
Kat says, ‘Can I go home then?’
‘Not yet,’ he says, in a voice barely broken. ‘The consultant wants you in a few more days, to make sure you’re all clear.’
Dr Chowdhury keeps giving me sidelong glances, talking in low tones to his students and juniors at the same time, hunched over an iPad. His face is lined with a strained frown. He catches me watching and nods at me, coming over and pulling the curtains around us. Just me and him, today. My heart beats faster, my palms spiky with sweat.
‘It’s not the best news.’
A shiver explodes in my stomach.
‘But not the worst, either. It’s as I thought, though. It’s spread – see here.’ He shows me the CT image on his tablet. Even I can see the blotches that look like a child has splashed a bubble print on the surface of my lungs. ‘Unfortunately, there’s further scarring.’ He scrolls back to another image, my CT scan from a couple of years back. ‘Look, here – and here. You had hardly any in this lobe, but now, well, you can see.’
I can see. It’s spreading, degenerating, progressing, whatever word you want to use. Maybe one day my lungs will simply collapse in on themselves, one great big bubble about to pop when the damage is too crushing.
‘I know it’s upsetting, Penny. But you’re strong. Look how quickly you’ve thrown this one off. You were in quite a state when you arrived less than two weeks ago. I have to admit I was worried. You were nearly sent to the high dependency unit, that first night, you know, but you rallied on the oxygen. You’ll be fine. Just keep on with the physio and the meds routine, and, well, it could slow down.’
None of what he is saying helps, but I smile up at him anyway.
‘It’s probable that eventually you’ll be looking at a transplant,’ he says softly. ‘Not for a long time, I hope.’
I swallow and look down.
‘There’s every reason to be optimistic. Try to keep positive, Penny. You have that son of yours to keep you going, don’t you?’
I do.
There is an ocean of tears swimming inside me, trying to spill out, but it stays there all confined, threatening to burst its bank and break me into pieces. I wish the tears would flow, and I wish a little bit that I could drown in them.
‘You okay?’ Kat says to me as Dr Chowdhury pulls back my curtains and moves on to Jodie.
I shrug.
‘Sorry, I don’t mean to pry,’ she says. ‘It’s just, I can see you’re upset.’
I fiddle with a loose thread on my dressing gown.
‘You know, if you ever need to talk…’
Go away. Go away and leave me alone.
‘Yeah. Thanks.’
I don’t trust anyone. Don’t want to trust anyone.
Kat gives me a soft smile and the dry tears push harder and I curse my frailty.
‘It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.’
‘Just leave me alone.’
Kat shrinks back. ‘I’m sorry—’
‘You always have to be Mrs Perfect, don’t you?’ I bite down on my lip, trying to suck the words back from the shocked silent air. Why did you say that, Penny?
Kat falters. ‘I…’
