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With a grumble, her father sat down again.
Mr Miller glanced between them all with some apprehension, and then began again. “As I said, a mild form of chemotherapy or radiation might help increase life expectancy, but of course any type of treatment of that nature will have certain side effects that you may find…detrimental.” He looked directly at their father. “Only you can decide whether the benefits outweigh the risks.”
“Surely—” Rachel began, only to fall silent at a quelling look from Harriet.
“What is the cost-benefit analysis of the treatments?” she asked quietly.
Mr Miller sighed and shook his head. “I cannot say definitively, I’m afraid, but based on what I’ve seen from the MRI, I don’t think this particular type of tumour would respond well to treatment. Chemotherapy or radiation might extend your father’s life for a few weeks.”
Weeks?He was talking inweeks? Rachel stared at him in mute horror.
“How much time have I got, Doc?” her dad asked, even managing a small smile. “Not long by the sounds of it, hey?”
Mr Miller gave a grimace of apology. “I cannot predict with a high level of accuracy, of course, but I would say…at most…three to six months.”
For the first time during the appointment, her dad looked shaken. He swallowed and then nodded a couple of times. “Right,” he said, and pulled at his collar. “Right.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her dad nodded again, while Rachel simply stared blindly in front of her, reeling from the news.Three to six months.That was, at most, March, maybe Christmas.Christmas.She opened her mouth and then closed it again, because she had no idea what to say. She could barely think.
“If you have any questions…” Mr Miller began, only for her dad to shake his head and start to rise.
“No, I think that about covers it.”
“Those possible avenues of treatment,” he persevered, only to stop as her father shook his head with firm decision.
“No, I won’t be having those.”
“Dad,” Rachel protested, only to have him turn to her with a suddenly fierce look.
“Don’t lecture me on this, my girl,” he said sternly. “This is my life and tha’ have nowt to say about it. I don’t want to spend my last days feeling jiggered and gipping all over the place just to have another couple of weeks at most.” He raised a warning finger. “Don’t get the monk on or go ruering, because I won’t have owt to do with these so-called treatments.”
The Yorkshire really came out when her father was emotional, Rachel thought, as she tried to smile through a haze of tears. “All right,” she replied quietly, pronouncing itah reytin true Yorkshire fashion. Her father smiled faintly.
“That’s it, my girl,” he said. “That’s it.”
It wasn’t until they’d walked out of the consultant’s office that Rachel realised he’d barely looked at Harriet once during the whole appointment.
*
They didn’t speakmuch on the drive home, and then their dad stomped up to his bedroom as soon as they got back.
“Can I bring you a cuppa, Dad?” Rachel asked, and he shook his head.
“I’ll have a rest.”
Rachel exchanged a look with Harriet, who shrugged. “He must be tired,” she said quietly, once they heard the bedroom door upstairs closing.
Rachel let out a ragged sigh as she raked her hand through her hair. “Do you think the consultant’s right? Three to six months?”
“Right-ish, I suppose,” Harriet replied as she headed into the kitchen. “It’s only a guess, after all, but I imagine it’s an educated one.”
“I can’t believe it.” Rachel followed her into the kitchen, standing in the doorway while Harriet filled the kettle at the sink. “Three to six months. That’s no time at all.”
“No.” Harriet plonked the kettle on top of the Rayburn. “I suppose he’s been having the symptoms for a while, longer than I even suspected.” Her lips trembled and she pressed them together. “I should have rung sooner.” And then her face crumpled, and she put her hands up to cover it.
“Oh, Harriet,” Rachel said, crossing over to hug her. “Hats, you can’t blame yourself.” Harriet stiffened in her embrace for a few seconds and Rachel squeezed her.
