Page 105 of The Art of Loving You

‘I’m sorry, but yes, I’m absolutely sure.’

‘But Libby’s recently lost her boyfriend, Jack,’ Mum said in a strangled voice like that might make a difference. I’d already had bad luck. I couldn’t possibly have any more.

I sucked in air.

Breathe.

There were things I needed to know.

Breathe.

‘This … this mass …’ I paused to formulate my question. Associating the things I knew with the word.

Nothing came to me.

‘It …’ I licked my dry lips. ‘It isn’t cancer or anything?’

Fleetingly a pained expression crossed his face until he rearranged his features into calm once more.

‘Libby, we don’t know what it is right now.’

‘Cancer. You’re telling us Libby could have cancer?’ Mum broke down in tears. I sat mute with shock.

Cancer.

‘A mass is an abnormal growth of cells dividing in an uncontrolled way.It could be benign or malignant, we can’t tell that yet.’

‘How could I have something in my brain and not know about it?’ My fingertips drifted to my forehead as though I might feel it pulsing beneath the surface. Already I thought of it as a writhing black swarm of cells. My throat stung with rising bile, as my eyes stung with the tears I struggled to hold back. I had the bizarre notion in my head that if I cried it would mean I was accepting this, somehow cementing it in truth. I wasn’t. I wouldn’t.

‘There are a multitude of symptoms you might have been experiencing. Headaches, nausea, vomiting, tiredness.’

I processed this before I replied. ‘I’ve had all of those,’ I said quietly. ‘I thought I was pregnant a few months ago.’

‘Hormones can be affected. Your menstruation cycle disrupted.’

‘But …’ I cast my mind back. ‘I’ve felt unwell for ages. Months. I had the flu and my ears were blocked and my balance felt unsteady but … Could those things have been caused by the … it?’

‘Indeed.’

‘But other than that I’ve felt …’ What had I felt? ‘Not fine, obviously, because of Jack but not … ill. Sad. Angry. But nothing I shouldn’t have been feeling.’

‘You’ve been through a tough time, Libby, I appreciate that but mood swings can also be attributed to your condition.’

You’re not yourself, Libby.

‘No, wait.’ Mum stood up, circled the room like a frightened animal. ‘I’ve taken my daughter to see a GPtwice.Libby is stressed because of Jack. Because she’s grieving. Two different doctors agree. They can’t both be wrong. They’redoctors.’ She turned to face Mr Baxter, hands on her hips.

‘Unfortunately there are more than a hundred different types of tumour and no two people’s experiences are the same. There isn’t always a conclusive list of symptoms a GP could be presented with and automatically link them to a tumour. The brain affects everything from irrational thoughts to evoking a sense of déjà-vu.’

Irrational thoughts. I had accused Alice of sleeping with Jack. Owen.

‘But they’re doctors,’ Mum said again. ‘Theyshouldhave known. That’s misdiagnosis. That’s … wrong.’

‘Diagnosis isn’t always easy,’ Mr Baxter said. ‘The tumours are more common than we’d like but still relatively rare.’

‘How rare?’ I don’t know why it seemed important to know just how unlucky I was, but it did.

‘In the UK there are roughly 11,000 people diagnosed a year and more than 100,000 living with a tumour.’

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