(2013) Looks Could Kill (18 page)

“You go down on your own, darling,” said Daniel. “I’m tied up most of the weekend.”

So Emma set off to Hindhead on the Saturday with the aim of having lunch with her father and then going over to her grandparents for tea.

“Dad,” asked Emma, “is there anything I should know before I go round to Grandpa and Grandma?

“You mean whether they’ve got an axe to grind for starting a relationship with Daniel whom they’ve never met?” asked her father.

“I guess something like that,” said Emma. “It just seems unusual for them. The last time I saw them was at Mum’s funeral and they just seemed to look through everyone. In case I get stuck with them, would you mind dropping by about an hour after I’ve arrived so that I can make a swift exit if I have to?”

“No problem, Emma,” said her father. “Just try and be nice to them, please.”

Emma’s grandparents lived in the next village, so it only took a matter of minutes to get to their house. She knocked on the door expecting the worst and was surprised when she was greeted by two smiling, elderly faces, albeit dressed in their customary dark clothes.

“Come on in, Emma,” said her grandmother. “How nice of you to pay us a visit. You must be so busy in the hospital and with your new friend: Daniel, isn’t it?”

“Good to see both of you,” said Emma. “Yes, it’s very busy at the moment, but it’s wonderful being with Daniel. You’ll have to meet him.”

“Let’s have some tea,” said her grandfather, leading her into the front room where tea had been set out on the table. They sat down and Emma’s grandmother poured the tea.

Emma sipped at the tea, enjoying the rather unusual taste which she couldn’t exactly place.

“Grandma, is this some new herbal tea you’re trying?” asked Emma. “It’s quite unusual…”

Emma slumped in her chair. Her grandparents stopped smiling and went over to inspect her.

“It seems to have worked, Grandpa.”

“Alright, let’s get her on the floor so we can begin.”

The two of them struggled with Emma’s weight but managed to get on the floor so that her face was pointing towards the ceiling.

“Have you got everything we need?” asked her grandmother.

“Yes, crucifixes, scissors and bible.” said her grandfather, “And whatever you do, don’t let her look in your eyes.”

Emma gradually became aware of her surroundings and could see the ripples of the hideous artex ceiling above her. She then became aware of movement just behind her head and suddenly saw two wizened hands shaking crucifixes at her.

“And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out; it is better for you enter the kingdom of God with one eye, than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire,” they both recited together.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” shouted Emma, whilst directing the most withering glare at them she could muster given the unusual circumstances.

Their reaction of shock was instantaneous and they shrank back from her to cower in the corner of the room. At that moment, there was a knock on the door and Emma dashed to answer it.

“Thank god you’re here, Dad,” said Emma, “These two have just poisoned me with herbal tea and they were about to do something unpleasant with crucifixes and scissors.”

Her grandparents continued to cower in the corner and seemed to be muttering various passages from the bible.

“Thank you for the tea, but I never want to see you again. Do you understand that? And if you make any attempt to contact me, I’ll call the police. Oh, and one other thing: Matthew 7:5 – You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.”

Emma left their house with her father, slamming the door behind them.

Emma arrived back at Daniel’s house later that evening, somewhat shaken by the events in her grandparents’ house.

“They may be religious bigots, Daniel,” said Emma, “but I can’t believe what they did to me. If Dad hadn’t arrived when I asked him to, they’d have probably gouged out my eyes.”

“Have you reported them to the police?” asked Daniel.

“What would I say? That I was enticed to my grandparents who drugged me and then planned to do GBH on me? I just don’t think they’d believe it.”

“Probably not, but why would they want to do that to you anyway?”

“Well, it’s pretty obvious that it’s because of my eyes. You know that my mother blamed me for causing her breakdown when I was a baby and they’re probably also blaming me for her death, although I’m sure that wasn’t the case.”

“Do you think they were doing this on their own?”

“I don’t know. Dr Ziegler did warn me that I might be in danger, but she never said anything about being assaulted by elderly grandparents. And the other weird thing is that I suddenly spouted something from the bible about planks in eyes without knowing how I came to know it in the first place.”

“You mean ‘You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.’”

“Yes, that’s the one. How come you know it?”

“Oh, it’s just the sort of thing that got drummed into me at school.” He held his hands out to Emma. “Come here, Emma, and let’s continue our therapy upstairs.”

October 2004

Following the near miss at her grandparents’ house, Emma remained on a state of high alert ready for something else untoward to happen. So her clinical work came as something of a relief, and she looked forward to the routine of arriving in her office just before 9:00 a.m. to check her e-mails and her diary for the day. This morning, she saw that she had a new ward patient booked in for assessment.

John was a man in his late 30s who used to work as a chef and then developed acute pancreatitis after having an alcohol problem on the job. He’d subsequently lost his job and his alcohol problem spiralled out of control. He managed to stop drinking, but the damage to his pancreas remained and he was being regularly readmitted with excruciating chronic pancreatitis. His attempts to get adequate pain relief were usually thwarted by an insensitive GP and A&E departments who simply thought he was after morphine. Now back on a surgical ward, the team were trying to find a longer-term solution and were considering a nerve plexus block.

Emma was generally feeling more confident about applying her ability and no longer needed the protection of sunglasses. She thought that John might be a good candidate for her unorthodox approach at pain management.  After reading through the notes, she went to find her patient and found him attached to a morphine pump which seemed to be hardly touching the pain. His face was as white as a sheet.

“Hello, John,” said Emma. “I’m Dr Emma Jones, a pain physician, and I’ve been asked to see you to try and help with your pain.”

“Hi, Dr Jones,” said John, “but if you can do anything about it you’ll be a miracle worker. I think they’re getting really fed up with me, and to be honest, I’m getting fed up with myself.”

“I heard you’ve taken a few overdoses of paracetamol.”

“Yes, but that’s more to cope with the pain when I can’t get any help from anyone.”

“You’re quite stuck really, aren’t you?”

“That’s me in a nutshell, doctor.” He grimaced in a sudden spasm of pain.

“That was bad, was it?”

“Yes, it’s agony.”

“Okay, John. What I want to try is a sort of visualisation therapy, except it’s me that does the visualisation of your pain and I’m going to use that image to help dampen down the pain. All it involves is me looking directly into your eyes, but you need to keep your eyes wide open the whole time. Do you understand?”

“Okay, I’ll try anything.”

Emma moved her chair so that she was facing her patient and could look directly into his eyes. Starting from about four feet away, she concentrated her gaze, trying to let herself absorb his feelings and emotions. Even at that distance, she was struck by the intensity of the pain and despair she experienced and this increased more and more as she got closer. Once she was about two feet away, she started to imagine her prefrontal, insula and cingulate activating as she had seen on the functional MRI. Then as soon as she felt she’d reached the peak intensity, she imagined cutting off the activation and then projecting that down John’s optic nerve into his brain. And just at the moment when she hit that mental switch, she saw John momentarily shudder and something seemed to lift from his face.

“Wow,” he said, “the pain has totally gone. I can’t believe it. What did you do?”

“As I said, John, I took your pain and then essentially imagined it away and gave your brain the same instruction.”

“How long will the effect last?”

“That I can’t tell, John. What we need to do now if wean you off the morphine and I’ll be back tomorrow to do a repeat of the treatment and also to teach you how to do the pain visualisation for yourself. Is that okay?”

“That’s great, doctor. I’m really grateful.”

December 2004

Two weeks on the island of Koh Samui towards the end of 2005 proved to be a perfect way of enjoying their newly rediscovered relationship, with days of walking on the white sands, swimming in the turquoise sea, candlelit dinners and unburdened lovemaking. The only slight fly in the ointment was the food poisoning they both got, which almost scuppered their flight back.

Once home, both settled back into their routines: Daniel with his thriving therapy business and Emma with her pain medicine. And the ghosts of her past seemed to have decided to stay away for good.

About a month later, Emma noticed a small lump on Daniel’s neck when they were in the shower together. He also seemed to have lost weight although she’d put this down to the lingering effects of the food poisoning or him exercising excessively.

“Daniel, you’ve lost quite a lot of weight. Have you been going to the gym too much?

“Not really. In fact, probably less than usual as I’ve been feeling too tired since the holiday.”

“And I thought holidays were meant to be invigorating!”

“I guess I’m the exception to the rule.”

“Have you noticed this lump before?” Emma pointed at his neck.

“Perhaps six months ago, but I didn’t think much of it. I think it’s got a bit bigger since then, though.”

“Darling, I think we ought to get you checked out just to make sure it’s nothing. Will you make an appointment with your GP?”

“Sure thing. I’ll do that today.”

Sitting in the GP’s waiting room, with its cheap, orange plastic chairs and well-thumbed copies of ‘Hello!’, ‘Now’ and other examples of gaudy titillation, Emma was struck by the thought that it was a waiting room for the one journey we all have to take: you check-in as a baby, join the security queue for your childhood, indulge in the excesses of the duty free shop as an adolescent, embark for your flight as an adult - stopping off to pick up illnesses and medication on the way - and then disembark at death.  

Her morbid reverie was interrupted by the sight of Daniel emerging from the GP’s consulting room. He was carrying some sort of form and a specimen pot.

“How did it go, darling?”

“Well, he asked me a few questions – particularly about the food poisoning – and examined me. He didn’t seem too concerned about the lump, which is good. He thinks it’s probably just something I picked up on holiday. He’s asked me to drop off a specimen of poo and he’s given me this form to get some blood test done.”

“Okay, that sounds good. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

Daniel attended the phlebotomy clinic the next day and Emma thought that she might as well check for the results herself on the hospital’s PAS system.  She entered Daniel’s first and second names and his date of birth and saw his details come up on the screen. She scrolled down to haematology and clicked return. She found it difficult to focus on the figures and was wondering whether she’d simply misread the results. Unfortunately, there was no mistaking that his haemoglobin, white cell count and platelets were all well below the normal range.

Christ, she thought, this can’t be happening; she just didn’t believe it. 

A week later, Emma found herself in a different waiting room, this time in the outpatients department of her own hospital, which was a strange experience. From time to time, she’d see people she knew and they’d wave to her in acknowledgement, almost apologetically, as if thinking “I wonder why she’s there?”

John Morgan, the consultant haematologist, was someone that Emma knew by name, if not by sight, and she’d checked his credentials on the hospital’s website, which gave her some reassurance that Daniel was in good hands.

A young girl a few seats away had been staring at Emma for some time and turned to her mother and said: “Why’s that lady sad, Mummy?”

“What makes you think she’s sad, dear?” asked the mother.

“Her eyes look so sad, Mummy,” said the child.

Emma smiled at both of them and said: “I’m fine really.” She wondered whether this little girl was another evil eye in the making and imagined an army of evil eyes ready to wage war on the suffering that Daniel was about to go through.

The door to the consulting room opened and Dr Morgan beckoned at her to join him and Daniel.

She almost failed to recognise Daniel when she went into the consulting room, as he seemed to have sunk into the chair, with his head bent over and almost touching his knees. She bent down and held his hand. He looked up with his soft brown eyes and she saw despair, sadness and fear.

Emma sat down on the chair that Dr Morgan offered her, holding Daniel’s hand all the while, feeling that she couldn’t break that contact.

“You’ve told Daniel, then?” asked Emma.

“Yes, Emma, I’m afraid it's bad news. We think that Daniel has lymphoma.”

Emma nodded and let that sink in, although she’d been virtually certain of the diagnosis even before they’d arrived in outpatients. But hearing the word ‘lymphoma’ spoken out loud in the clinical sterility of the consulting room felt like an icy knife plunging into her soul.