That evening, with Petey in bed, Jasmine sits with Gillian as she weeps. Both of them know now they are fighting for every day of Petey’s life. Everything is invested in the chemotherapy. But, fresh from talking to her sister, Jasmine makes it clear to Gillian, just how sick it might make her son.
“It’s a delicate balance,” she says, repeating Anna’s words. “To poison him to within an inch of his life, to try and kill the cancer faster than it kills the patient.”
The day Petey is due to start the chemotherapy, Jasmine is again on duty. As she looks after Petey during most of the working week, the majority of his appointments have fallen to her. Petey has recovered from the depressing news of the radiotherapy and is joking gently as they drive into town with the morning commuter traffic. Jasmine is astounded by his courage. She knows how badly he suffered with the radiation and he is aware the chemotherapy regime may be hard. She hugs him when they exit the car and holds his hand as they make their way to the clinic.
But it is all in vain. When Petey’s blood tests come back, the doctors refuse to start chemotherapy. In layman’s terms, he is too poorly; his blood cell count is too low. Frustrated, Petey drops his head to his hands. When they walk out of the hospital, he explodes with an uncharacteristic torrent of swear words. Jasmine aches for him. If it would help, she would join him. The awful irony is not lost on her – the one thing he needs to keep him alive is the one thing he cannot have because it would kill him.
When Petey’s fit of temper subsides, Jasmine moves in to hold him. For the first time since he started treatment, she sees tears leaking from his closed eyelids and she tightens her embrace. They stand locked together in the carpark until Petey lets his breath out in one enormous sigh.
“Let’s go home,” he says. He stays slumped in the front seat and silent all the way back and goes to lie upstairs in his room. When Gillian gets home, Jasmine has to deal with her concern as well.
“They said not to worry. It’s not uncommon and it doesn’t matter too much,” Jasmine relays the doctor’s words. But despite this, all of them do worry. At night, when Jasmine closes her eyes, all she can imagine is the cancer, growing and spreading with nothing to hold it in check.
They are all relieved when at the next appointment, the all-clear is given for treatment to start. The chemotherapy will be given over the next few days and then there will be at least three weeks of rest before the cycle begins again. Petey leaves the hospital upbeat, and his mood continues positive over the next few weeks. He tolerates the chemo better than he feared and even makes some plans. Jasmine is more cautious. She remembers the radiation wasn’t so bad in the beginning either. But still, it is a joy to see Petey having fun. They take a trip to the local pub, the first time Petey has been out in public since his diagnosis. He sits in the corner, the weak spring sunshine filtering through the lead-paned window. There is a flood of offers of drinks from the regulars, showing their support for the young lad. Most of them, Petey turns down as he has to avoid alcohol. The barmaid flirts with him outrageously. It lifts his spirits and Jasmine resolves to try one or two other pub-related activities. Quiz night, maybe, or a pub lunch, perhaps with one or two of his friends.
One day, Flora and Jasmine take him to the coast. They sit on the seafront, wrapped in coats against the bracing wind, and eat ice cream and sorbet. They go to the arcade on the pier and try their luck on the one-armed bandits and shove-a-two-penny machines. Petey wins at air hockey and is triumphant. He sleeps in the car all the way back, but everyone has such a good time they are emboldened to try again. The next week, they head off to a theme park. Petey does not seem to mind being restricted to the more sedate rides, the carousel, and the toy train, along with the littlest kids. He has as much fun as the toddlers.
He is doing so well, Gillian begins to think a holiday might be possible. When Jasmine retires to her little room to talk to Sean or Anna or Flora, she leaves Gillian paging through holiday cottage listings and cross-checking Petey’s chemo schedule. One day, Gillian slides an image of a quaint little slate roofed cottage across to Jasmine, with the question, “What do you think?”
The oak door to the white-painted cottage is framed by a rambling rose, dripping with masses of deep pink flowers. The sea is visible in the background, a perfect blue on a sunny day. Jasmine doubts it will look the same in spring but she says, “Cute”, and that is all the encouragement Gillian needs.
“It’s a bargain, out of season. Three proper bedrooms, too,” Gillian says happily as she clicksBook, and Jasmine realises she will be going with them. She is not sure how she feels. She could do with a break from the emotional rollercoaster of caring for Petey but tendrils of guilt wrap around her each time such a thought creeps in. After all, Petey doesn’t get a break from being sick and Gillian doesn’t get a break from watching her son die.
Oblivious to Jasmine’s silence, Gillian reminisces about holidays long gone. “When Kate and Petey were little,” she says, “we used to go every year. Of course, we’d be camping, but I don’t think he’d manage staying in a tent now. He was always in charge of putting the tent up. He loved it! It was one of the few times he got to boss his sister around.”
Jasmine also has to factor in the looming deadline of her dissertation submission. She still has so much left to do. And if the three of them will be away on holiday, she will need to submit early. Her timetable of work will need to be ramped up with some additional late-night sessions. Her gut twists with stress. She closes her eyes. This is a good thing Gillian is trying to do for Petey, to bring a little fun and light into his life. She will just have to cope. It will be tight, but she will just have to do it.
While Gillian briefly debates keeping the holiday a surprise for Petey versus enjoying the anticipation, Jasmine re-plans her study schedule. Over the next few days, Gillian and Petey talk of nothing but the holiday until the spectre of the next round of chemo returns. Meanwhile, Jasmine spends every available spare hour in her room, checking data or drafting and re-drafting her essay.
One morning, feeling groggy after working on her dissertation until the early hours, she takes Petey his morning tea, Gillian having already left for work. She finds Petey still asleep, but he doesn’t look right. His forehead is damp with sweat and his breathing is not the deep, even breath of easy sleep. Worried, she drops her hand to his shoulder and shakes him. His lids flutter but drop closed again.
She chews her lip. This is new. Her senses scream something is wrong, but what if he’s just tired from a bad night? She feels stupid – her normally acute brain sluggish and hesitant. If she calls an ambulance and it turns out Petey’s just sleepy, she’ll never live it down. Indecisiveness has never been one of her traits, but in this moment, she doesn’t know what to do. She could call Gillian, but pulling Gillian out of work, scaring her unnecessarily, would be cruel.
Finally, she calls the surgery. Petey is due a visit from the community nurse later, and Jasmine asks if they can stop by sooner. She has only just finished navigating the robotic options and explaining the issue to the intractable receptionist when the doorbell rings. Jasmine hurries downstairs and drowns in relief to see a nurse on the doorstep.
“I hope you don’t mind I’m early today,” the nurse chirps, “but I’ve got another patient nearby and I thought I’d squeeze you in first?”
Jasmine can’t get the nurse up the stairs quickly enough. She forgoes the mandatory offer and declination of tea and instead ushers the nurse into Petey’s room. The nurse’s breezy chatter is replaced with silence as she slips into her ultra-professional persona, checking on her patient. Then she hauls out her phone.
“I need an ambulance,” she calmly says to the dispatcher and Jasmine goes cold. The nurse gives the address and then instructs Jasmine to go back downstairs, to open the front door and leave it ajar. Jasmine waits in the front garden to flag down the ambulance if necessary. After all, the nurse is with Petey and she can do nothing there. She uses the time to call Gillian, who picks up immediately. She is far calmer than Jasmine expects and clearer thinking. She will wait to hear what the paramedics decide. If he is to go to hospital, she will meet them there. It will be much quicker for her leaving from work.
The flashing blue lights alert Jasmine even before she can make out the shape of the ambulance. The vehicle pulls to a stop outside the house. The paramedics unhurriedly unload their kit and head upstairs. Petey’s room is not large and with a nurse and the two paramedics, there is no room for Jasmine. She waits on the landing outside, hovering in case she is needed, although she knows there is nothing she can offer. She has never felt so useless. It is a humbling feeling. Underneath it all is a desperate prayer for Petey not to die. She is not ready to lose him yet.
When the paramedics are ready to move Petey, she stands back. The feeling of her own inadequacy threatens to overwhelm her but she tries to hold steady. She texts Gillian the one word,Hospital. Then everyone is gone and Jasmine is alone in the house with nothing but a trail of detritus to mark the drama of the last few minutes.
Making Memories
Jasmine takes a moment just to breathe. She is shocked at how quickly life can transform from humdrum to crisis, even when you know crisis may not be far away.
Although the urge to throw clothes in a bag and rally-drive to the hospital is immense, sense prevails. She makes herself tea, unusually putting a spoonful of sugar in the cup and forces herself to sit and drink the sweetened concoction. She uses the time to make a list of what Petey might need. Pyjamas, slippers, dressing gown, phone, charger, and, of course, medications. Then she carefully packs everything in a bag before she locks up the house and climbs into the car. She drives slowly, aware an accident would help nobody at this point. She is exhausted and it is not yet noon.
Gillian meets her at the hospital and Jasmine is reassured by the older woman’s composure. For the past couple of hours, Jasmine has felt like a child playing at being a grown-up and is reassured there is another adult to take over.
“They think he has an infection,” Gillian explains. “They’ve started him on fluids and antibiotics and he'll be fine. You did well.”
But Jasmine can no more accept unearned praise than she can give it. “It was nothing to do with me,” she mumbles. “I didn’t know what to do. I dithered. It was sheer luck the district nurse came by early.” She hangs her head, avoiding Gillian’s eyes.
Gillian’s hand lands on the younger woman’s shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, love. He’s here. It was caught in time. Experience is a great teacher. Next time you will know.”
