That Elusive Cure Read online

  That Elusive Cure

  By

  Lisa C Hinsley

  First published in 2014 by Lisa C Hinsley

  Copyright © Lisa C Hinsley All rights reserved.

  Cover design by JD Smith. For more information visit www.jdsmith-design.co.uk

  Editing by John Hudspith. For more information visit http://www.johnhudspith.co.uk/

  The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Lisa C Hinsley

  Novels:

  Plague

  The Ultimate Choice

  My Demon

  Coombe’s Wood

  Short stories:

  A Peculiar Collection

  Acknowledgments

  Cancer is shit. Everyone knows this but only a select crowd know this. As a member of the Cancer Club my experiences have led to this novel, a hope for the future and a desire to find that miracle cure.

  That Elusive Cure is dedicated to everyone fighting the good fight or holding the hand of a loved one who is having the battle and everyone in need of a hug: be well.

  Special thanks as always go to my husband. He’s the rock, the support, the smiles… the everything I could ever need. My deepest wish is to beat the bastard tumors and join him in a long life.

  1

  Meeting Janie

  “Hi, are you waiting for treatment?”

  I looked up from my phone. Speaking to other patients was always better than scrolling through Facebook. “Yup. You?”

  She sat down in a nearby seat, a little younger than me, her brown hair short in what I called the ‘cancer cut’. “No, I’m finished now.”

  A green streak of jealously stabbed right in the middle of my chest. Cured. Remission. Words I dreamed of owning. “Just visiting?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She stared off out the window and over the rooftops that made up the view from the Delamere waiting room. Radioactive signs stuck on the roof of the pharmacy always made me stare as well. “I’m Janie.” She turned and smiled, her face warm and welcoming.

  “Kathy. Nice to meet you.” I shoved my phone in my handbag and smiled back. “Volunteering or just come back to say hello to the staff?”

  “Neither, actually, it’s you I want to see.”

  “Me?”

  Janie leaned in ever so slightly. “They weren’t the ones that fixed me. I was stage four with bowel cancer. Mets in my lungs and my liver. Docs said I was incurable, whatever the hell that means. Slow death, if you ask me. The last scan they did on me before I found the cure showed shadows in the bones of my leg.” She patted her right thigh.

  I’d heard about so-called cures. Read about them on the internet. Found them in books, newspaper articles and magazines, lured in by those sought after words: remission, cure. Well-meaning people emailed me links to possible treatments and sent me articles about things like fruits that healed, but no testimonials, just a viral video with a sales link, and further research reveals it gives you Parkinson’s or some other horrid disorder. Then there were the spices that required you to take a bulk dose, a hundred supplements that might help but who knew. Foods you should eat, foods to avoid, meditation, imagine that bright light and trigger your immune system, and it was all bollocks. I’d tried them all over the last two years, and yet my end date kept creeping closer. Cancer cure myths are big money-spinners. Cancer patients are desperate. The charlatans take advantage, and here was one, sitting next to me, about to tell me to invest in some new miracle.

  I leaned away from the woman and crossed my arms. Maybe she really was a cancer patient, still under the thrall of some dodgy scheme. I’d do her the courtesy of listening then fill my arms with my prescribed chemo poison. It was the only real option for me.

  “I was waiting here, in this very ward when a man came up to me and said he had been cured. I was skeptical, as I am sure you are.” Janie leaned in even further and whispered, “He told me what cured him.” She pulled back and looked around to see if anyone was listening in. The waiting room was virtually empty this morning. It was usually full to the point of standing room only. “His name was Dave and he told me how someone had come up to him and told him about the cure. He called himself a ‘finder’. Now I’m cured, I get to do the same and ‘find’ you.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “So what exactly does that mean?”

  “Well, he was chosen as he was sixty-five and just retired. His finder felt bad for newly retired people who get sick. Dave chose me because I looked like his daughter. I picked you because you remind me of my mother when she was young. She had the most beautiful golden hair and the same kind features that you have. I can tell you’re a good person, Kathy. And good people shouldn’t die young. I lost my mother to early dementia a year before I was diagnosed. She didn’t deserve that.” Janie looked at the floor. I didn’t know what to say.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your mother,” I eventually said.

  Janie looked up. “So, what cancer do you have?”

  “Same as you, bowel cancer.”

  “Oh, I figured you had breast cancer.”

  I shrugged. Wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. I looked young, much younger than my forty-one years and most people assumed I had breast cancer. People my age and fitness just didn’t get bowel cancer. Except when they do.

  “Kathy Wyatt,” Jo, one of the nurses walked into the room calling my name. Young, with a head of blonde spiral curls, she had a wonderful bedside manner. I was happy to be seen to by her. Not that any of the nurses were bad. Considering the circumstances they were all terrific.

  “Nice talking to you, maybe we’ll run into each other again.” I gathered my things and stood. As I did so, Janie pressed a slip of paper into my palm.

  “Think it over, but make sure you call me. Please. You won’t regret it.”

  I nodded, still undecided as to what level of crackpot she was. Then I gave her a smile before following Jo into the ward.

  Sitting in my comfortable hospital armchair, I pulled the piece of paper out of my handbag and stared at it for what seemed like the millionth time. After I’d met Janie, I’d had a doctor’s appointment before the start of the chemo session. Dr. Noble didn’t have good news for me. Six new tumors had appeared in my liver and another one in my left lung. The beasties were overrunning me. How much longer could I hold out?

  The medicine seemed to take hours to go in, my arm burning as the chemo coursed through my vein. I needed to get a PICC line, but it felt like giving in somehow, having a catheter permanently inserted in my arm. So I hadn’t asked for one yet. If it continued to hurt this much I’d have to. For two hours I fought tears at each pump of the IV. Whether it was purely because of the medicine or also because of the bad news, I didn’t know. But through the pain, mental and physical, the idea of a cure, the possibility of being free of hospitals, appointments, needles, medicines with cytotoxic warnings, pills, pills and more pills, tests, scans, surgeries, radiotherapies, and the best part of six-hundred days of feeling sick, tired, exhausted and fighting side effects that got worse with each session – well let’s just say Janie’s words became more and more a
ppealing.

  2

  Phoning Janie

  I took the piece of paper from the pin board where I’d put it last week. Janie’s number called out to me. What if she did know of a cure – or even something that simply helped? Gave me a few more months on this earth? Jimmy was taking things harder each week as my health deteriorated. Maybe we could take the plunge and get married, before the end came and took me.

  I traced my finger over the numbers and then, before I could change my mind, got my mobile and entered the number. I wasn’t brave enough to ring and opted for a text message. I wrote and erased five different versions. In the end I decided to keep it short and simple.

  We met at Clatterbridge last week. I’d like to know more about the cure you mentioned.

  For ten minutes I held the phone in my hand, expecting, waiting for a quick reply. But then the gut-rolling began, one of the side effects from the chemotherapy, and I had to sojourn to the bathroom. I spent the evening checking the screen of my mobile. I’m not even sure what was on the telly, I wasn’t watching. Jimmy asked me what was so important and I told him I’d met someone at Clatterbridge. A survivor. He said the friendship would be good for me. Give me hope. He had no idea.

  By the Wednesday lunchtime I’d all but given up on Janie. Then as I threw one of my mother’s handy meals in the oven my phone pinged. A message. I almost dropped the dish in my effort to see who it was.

  Janie. My heart pounded hard as I touched the screen. We should meet up for coffee. There’s a nice little café down in Thurstaton, near the Wirral Walk. When are you free?

  When was I free? When was I not free? I hadn’t worked in over a year. Became too difficult between the exhaustion and chemo sickness. The only marks on my calendar were for doctor appointments, and the rest of this week was blank. Sometimes I tried to meet up with friends for lunch on one of the few days where I didn’t feel like complete shit. That wouldn’t be until next week and I couldn’t wait that long. I’d take my anti-sickness pills with me and stay away from anything that was too sweet.

  Free for the rest of the week. Could do tomorrow, I think it’s going to be dry.

  That was also important. Rain drops were cold and burned my skin on contact. Oh, the joy of side effects. Couldn’t cope with anything cold: water, metal surfaces, a cool room… Made winter very hard on me. I wouldn’t want to walk far trying to hide from the weather.

  Tomorrow is good for me. See you at 2.

  The reply came quickly and a fluttering of nerves filled my tummy. Stop being stupid, I told myself. She’d have nothing real to offer me, just like every other ‘cure’ I’d found.

  I sat at the table with my chicken pie and dreamed about being me again.

  3

  Meeting Janie

  I arrived early and sat in my car for ten minutes trying to calm my nerves. I didn’t really know why I was in such a state. Jimmy had noticed last night and questioned me during the adverts. I’d been biting my nails, something I only did in the days before scan results or important doctor appointments. I told him how I was meeting Janie today. My stomach felt like it was full of fizzy bubbles, and I told him I was nervous. He told me to stop being silly and go and enjoy myself. Then CSI came back on and we didn’t talk about it again.

  Now I was here, waiting in the car park for the Wirral Way, watching the dog walkers and cyclists and joggers go by, smelling the fresh air and thinking I was stupid for even pretending to myself that this woman knew of a cure. I should be home, curled up on my bed, the cat at my side, a mug of tea on the bedside cabinet and Jeremy Kyle on the TV to dull my brain. I shouldn’t be out, mere meters from the seaside, the trees full of birds and the scent of foxes close, because my stomach was beginning to turn and I didn’t know whether I could keep it under control. I’d taken two anti-sickness pills before I left home. I closed my eyes for a moment and willed them to work.

  The dashboard clock ticked over to two PM and I reluctantly got out. I was an idiot, a desperate idiot, hoping for a cure that wouldn’t exist. At least I could dream for the next hour. Hear of the madwoman’s miracle pill, maybe even buy a pack of whatever-it-is and give it a go, because I literally had nothing to lose. Jimmy said if every supplement I took gave me another one percent chance of getting better I should take it. Enough one percents, and maybe I could tip the balance in my favor and beat the beasts into submission.

  “Bollocks,” I muttered as I locked the car. Whether I was swearing at myself, the disease, the woman with the false hope or my upset stomach, I wasn’t sure. Maybe all of it together. I zipped my coat up, earning a curious look from a walker as the weather was warm today, not that I felt it in the slightest. With my scarf snuggled around my neck and my hands stuffed in my pockets I would have looked more at home in a snowstorm. Eyes to the ground so I couldn’t see people staring, I trudged up the road to the café.

  “Hi Kathy, I got us a table.”

  She was at the counter ordering. I joined her in the queue.

  “I was about to guess whether you are a tea or coffee person, or do you want something sweeter? They do a luxurious hot choc here. It’s a real treat.” She smiled at me, and touched my arm for a moment. “It’s good to see you. I’m so glad you decided to talk to me.”

  My stomach did a flip at the idea of sweet things. “I’ll have a tea please.” Despite everything, Janie was hard to dislike. She was a pretty lady with open and honest features. Nothing about her said she was going to try and con me. The bubbles in my tummy seemed to expand. Even if all I got was some relief from what was now an almost continuous ache in my liver, well that would be enough for me. I daren’t even dream of a cure these days, it just wasn’t healthy to get my hopes up like that.

  “I won’t mess about with any small talk. You want to know what cured me, don’t you?”

  We’d sat at the table, a big pot of tea between us. Nerves got the better of me, and I sipped at my tea, burning my lips. “Well, I suppose I do…” I laughed, too loud, too forced. A cure. Remission. Normal people just couldn’t understand the Holy Grail qualities of these words. “Jimmy, that’s my other half, he’ll let me buy pretty much any supplement that might work. He’s talked about paying for trials the NHS won’t fund here if it comes down to it as well, but thank God we haven’t had to yet.”

  “I know what you mean, my other half was the same way. Anything to give us more time together. Gill actually re-mortgaged the house to pay for a course of avastin, that was before the drugs fund was set up. It was nearly £30,000 for a course of that.”

  “That’s insane and so unfair. We shouldn’t be put in that kind of a position.” I dared to try another sip of tea. “That’s what I’m on now. Avastin plus capecitabine. I’ve had oxaliplatin but they’re giving me a break. The doc is afraid the tumors will become resistant.”

  “That’s the combo I was on. Had to deal with all kinds of nerve issues. But you don’t want to hear about that. You want to know about the cure.”

  Here we go, I thought. Give it to me, tell me how much I have to spend for an ounce of false hope.

  Janie held her teacup with both hands, and stared at me. “You want to know about the machine.”

  I couldn’t help it. I leaned in towards her, afraid to make a single sound in case I missed what she had to say. A machine? It never even crossed my mind to guess she was going to suggest anything other than a new pill. Raising my eyebrows in expectation I waited while she drank some tea.

  “I was told a man called Rich Newland found the machine and hid it in a disused church that he owns.” Janie poured more tea into her cup and took a moment to stir in some milk. She smiled at me and continued, “I don’t know how true that is, but the fact is, there is a church, there is a machine, and I have the key.”

  Janie reached into her handbag and took out a large old-fashioned key, a big clunky brass thing that would look more at home in a Harry Potter movie.

  “Dave, my finder, he thinks the machine is a gift from aliens.�
�� She shook her head and laughed. “But that’s a bit too farfetched for me. I can’t get past aliens not saying hello, just leaving a machine to be found? No, I don’t think so.”

  “What do you think it is then?” I didn’t know whether to believe her or think her insane. At least my curiosity was overriding my nausea, and I was feeling better than I had in weeks.

  “It’s from the future.”

  My turn to laugh. “And you think that more likely than aliens?”

  “Actually, yes.” She sounded vaguely insulted. “Who knows, maybe it’s not from the future. Maybe it’s one of a few machines owned by very rich and powerful people. It would explain why some of them keep going, no matter how hard they live.” Janie shrugged. “Doesn’t matter where it came from, it exists and it’s in a church in Birkenhead and it works.”

  “What does it look like?” The theory of the rich and famous having developed and kept secret a magic healing machine actually made sense to me. Maybe this Rich Newland was actually a philanthropist, and this was his way of making the technology available to us regular schleps. Which meant maybe there actually was a machine, and maybe it really was possible that I would see this decade out, and maybe many more. A seed of excitement began to grow in me. A cure. Remission. Maybe not so unreachable. I knocked my teacup reaching for it, a barely concealed tremble getting the better of me. “Sorry,” I muttered and mopped up the mess with a few paper napkins.

  Janie reached across the table and touched my hand. “I understand. I was the same way when Dave started to explain it all to me. It’s so much to take in.”