LITMIR.BIZ

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because of it being radio-active.’ He finds a vein in my arm and injects the chemical into my body. Then he tells me to rest while they take the pictures. I feel very unwell, my head starts to spin and everything goes black. I wake up in my room. Dr Jimmy comes to see me.

      ‘You fainted during the test, Mary,’ he tells me. ‘We will have to do another one tomorrow.’

      He leaves the room and I hear him talking with the ward sister outside the door. I listen to snatches of words I don’t understand – ‘cerebral … metastases … convulsions … prognosis …’ I feel terrified again.

      What has happened to the miracle? Is something going wrong again? Why is everybody so concerned? Mr Peach comes to see me and I decide to ask him what ‘metastases’ means.

      ‘It’s another name for a secondary,’ he tells me honestly. ‘Where did you hear it?’

      ‘I think I read it somewhere, on a test form maybe,’ I lie, not wanting to get Jimmy into trouble. My heart lurches with despair when I realize Dr Jimmy was talking about secondaries in my brain. I didn’t even know it could happen.

      ‘So could I get secondaries anywhere, then?’ I ask. Mr Peach looks at me thoughtfully, wondering how much he should tell me.

      ‘Nearly always they are in the lungs,’ he explains. ‘But sometimes they can occur in other places.’

      ‘And if they did?’ I push him more, for I must find out what Jimmy was saying.

      ‘Well … it would be very bad news indeed,’ he says gravely.

      I try to push away thoughts of the Limpet attacking my brain but I can’t. Time and time again I return to the words. I think back over my life and worry about all the sins I have committed. I feel a sickening spasm of guilt and shame. My seventeen-year-old conscience decides I deserve to die. Please, God, don’t let me die and please forgive me. I will do anything, but don’t let me die.

      I don’t sleep at all, even with my tablets, and I am glad when the pale light of dawn fills the room. I am exhausted; there are dark shadows under my eyes and I am in pain. I hear a voice in my head.

      ‘You would be better off, you know …’

      I fight the voice of despair.

      ‘What sort of future do you have? What about a window – you could break it and jump.’ I am stunned at the clarity and the suddenness of the thought. I don’t know where it came from.

      ‘Just wheel along and break the glass while nobody is around and then …’

      I think to myself that I couldn’t break the glass and then, just as quickly, the voice interrupts my thoughts.

      ‘What about the arm on your wheelchair – that would do the job.’

      Ward Eight is at least three storeys up. It would be quick and easy. It would hurt but only, I guess, for a few seconds. I get out of bed and into the wheelchair. This is the only way to escape. I no longer know what is reality. I am so confused.

      I wheel to the door as if in a dream. Nobody is about. I can hear the nurses laughing and joking in their office. I recognize Dr Jimmy’s cheerful voice telling them about his busy night.

      ‘God, if You are there and You love me, do something,’ I pray angrily and despairingly, but also half-expecting nothing from Him. I turn right along the corridor and start to wheel myself slowly in the direction of a window.

      The voice in my head reassures me. ‘It will be okay. It will only hurt for a bit.’

      I wonder where it has come from and think I must be going mad.

      The voice is persuasive and smooth. ‘Just one little jump and that will be it.’

      As I approach the window, I see a figure in a wheelchair, silhouetted against the dawn light. I think it must be a ghost. ‘It must be a sign,’ I think to myself. Then the figure turns, lifts his hand and waves.

      ‘Hi, Mary! What are you doing up so early?’

      With a jolt I am catapulted out of my dreamlike state.

      ‘Oh, hi Steve. I couldn’t sleep. I decided to take a walk!’ We laugh together.

      ‘Me too,’ he points towards the window. ‘I often come here in the morning and watch the day beginning.’ He looks at me and smiles, his head on one side. ‘You know, Barry really likes you. He talks about you all the time. We all love you coming to see us in the ward.’

      ‘What, me?’ I ask incredulously.

      ‘Yes, you! You give us all courage. We think you are amazingly brave and, although none of us believe in God … well, you’ve made us think.’

      ‘Well, thanks.’ I don’t know what else to say but inside I feel proud and somehow worthy again. I tell Steve about the tests and he listens to my fears.

      ‘You’ll be okay, Mary,’ he says. ‘We all know you’re going to get through this – remember that. We’re counting on you!’ We wheel back down the corridor together and, as we part company, I realize God answered my desperate prayer.

      Entering the ward, I bump into Dr Jimmy.

      ‘Hello, Mary,’ he says brightly. ‘Where have you been? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!’

      ‘I have!’ I reply and, heaving myself on to my bed, I curl up. I am filled with a warm peace which makes me recall the Presence and I sleep deeply.

      ‘Fantastic news!’ rejoices Mr Peach later. ‘The bone scan is clear.’ It has been such a long day but now I have my answer. All the tests are clear. Mum and Dad are with me and I see them turn to each other and silently communicate. Everybody seems to breathe a huge collective sigh of relief.

      ‘So what is the plan now?’ I ask Mr Peach, eager to make more progress.

      ‘We need to get you over to Christie’s as soon as possible. I’ll ring them straight away.’

      Now I am left alone with Mum and Dad and we all give each other a big hug. After all the bad news, this is a little glimmer of light. I begin to think, ‘Maybe, just maybe …’

      Mr Peach returns quickly, smiling broadly.

      ‘I have some very good news, Mary. I have just spoken with Dr Pearson – she is the consultant who will be looking after you. She tells me they are trying out a new regime of treatment. It is very intensive but it would only go on for three months and not two years as we expected. She thinks you would be a perfect patient for it.’

      ‘Is it as good as the other type?’ my dad asks.

      ‘Yes. In fact, the results look even better. The only problem is that while Mary has the treatment she may be very ill.’

      ‘I’ll go for it,’ I say. I have worked out I can still take my A levels, and the thought of shortening my hospital stay is so attractive.

      ‘Will it still have the same side-effects?’ I ask as an afterthought.

      ‘Yes, it will,’ replies Mr Peach.

      ‘So, if I make it and if anyone wants to marry me, I will still be infertile?’ My mum looks away and when she turns her head back I see she is crying.

      ‘I’m afraid so. And it will still affect your lovely hair-do.’

      ‘But I have a chance, at least?’

      ‘Yes, it gives you a chance.’

      ‘So when do I go?’

      Mr Peach looks at me again. Strangely, I am not afraid today. Somehow, after my experience of despair this morning, I know that there is someone looking out for me.

      ‘They want you there on Monday.’

      ‘Oh, so soon!’ I think of Barry and how much he means to me.

      ‘It

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