A SENSE OF DREAD
Last night, Emily awoke in the pitch-dark hours and couldnt drift back to sleep. I suppose it was some ghastly dream, or perhaps a gnawing anxiety she couldnt put her finger on. Her heart felt especially heavy, and tears spilled from her eyes without warning. She didnt know why. A breathless panic pressed down on her chest and an overwhelming sense of impending misfortune swept through her.
Emily stood by the crib where our little boy, Oliver, slept soundly. He smiled in his dreams, making soft little smacking sounds with his lips. She tucked his blanket around him, then wandered out into the kitchen. The world outside the windows was black as coal.
Em, cant sleep again? I asked softly, coming up behind her.
Again, she murmured, I just dont know whats wrong with me, Andrew.
Probably what they call postnatal depression, I attempted a smile.
Oh, I dont think so. Olivers nearly six months old, and I havent had any of that until now. Why all of a sudden?
You know how it ishormones, nerves. Try not to fret, Em. Itll all sort itself out, I reassured her, pulling her close.
I just feel so frightened, Andy, she whispered, clutching at me.
Itll be alright, I promised, holding her tight.
Three weeks later, Emily was summoned for an appointment with the health visitor. Oliver was due his six-month check-up, so wed already done his blood tests and seen the other specialists. The call from the nurse caught Emily off guard.
Is something wrong? she asked.
Dont worry, love, the doctor will explain, was the only reply.
The GP surgery was just as busy as ever, and by the time Emily got to see the doctor, her nerves were well and truly frayed.
Take a seat, the doctor said gently. Emily Collins, theres something I need to discuss. Now, dont be alarmedOliver needs to repeat his blood tests. Some more thorough ones, in fact.
Whats happened? Emily breathed out. That black sense of dread from her sleepless nights crashed in like a wave.
Olivers tests werent as wed hoped. His white cell count is well above normal, other results are concerning too. We need you to take him to a specialist facility to retest.
Where is that? Emily asked, her voice barely a whisper.
The regional oncology centre, the doctor replied.
Emily never did remember how she got home. I was already there, having dashed from work after reading her message.
Em, what on earths happened? I asked as soon as she came through the door.
Her cheeks were streaked with tears, though it was as if she didnt even notice them. Theyre sending us for tests at the cancer centre, she managed, sounding utterly defeated.
Its just more tests, love. Maybe itll be alright, I tried to soothe her.
No, it isnt just tests, she said wearily. I felt it, Andy. I just didnt know what it wasor where the trouble would come from.
Emily hugged Oliver tight and sobbed bitterly. The lad was still blissful in his slumber, unknowing of all that was unfolding about him.
Acute leukaemia, announced the elderly consultant, poring over the readings. We must start treatment right away.
Emily wept. She couldnt take it innone of us could. The first course of chemotherapy was done without her present. Oliver had to stay in the ICU, while Emily paced the corridor.
Go home, love, urged the nurse on duty. You wont be able to see him tonight anyway.
I cant. What am I supposed to do at home, away from my son?
Emily and I had been married for eight years. It took us ages to fall pregnantdespite endless tests, there were never any abnormalities. But only in our eighth year together did Emily finally conceive. Those months were the happiest and, at the same time, the most worrying. I hardly let her lift a finger, certainly not anything heavier than a mug of tea. The last month she spent under observation in hospital, the doctors wanted to be cautious in case she went into early labour. Then, half a year ago, our much-awaited little boy arrived at last. We named him after my dad, whod been killed in a car accident some years before.
You mustnt name a child after someone who died tragically, Emilys gran had protested.
Oh Gran, thats all nonsense, Emily had shrugged her off, too happy to let any superstition dull her joy.
Now she sat by Olivers hospital cot, watching his thin little body, his cheeks pale and hollow, dark circles beneath his eyes. Emily wept constantly. The isolation room where she was finally allowed, after an argument with the head consultant (he insisted Oliver was too vulnerable to infection), was as sterile as the moon. But Emily couldnt be parted from her son a moment longershe had pleaded, desperate and wild at the ICU doors, until at last they relented.
We dont do that operation here, the chief consultant, Dr Kenneth Giles, told her the next day.
Where can it be done? Emily asked, determined.
In London. Only specialists there can save your boy. But its extremely expensive.
Well find the money. Please, get everything ready, she said.
We sent Olivers medical notes to a renowned London leukaemia centre. The reply was swiftthey could operate, but the cost was more than £200,000.
Em, even if we sell our flat and car, that wont get us a quarter of it, I told her, Ive put a notice up and called everyone, but you know it takes time.
We dont have more than two months! she sobbed. We must come up with something.
Everyone pitched in. Friends and colleagues donated what they could; the local charity and even the town council made contributions. Shops put out collection tins. Volunteers helped, and the community tried valiantly, but as the days ticked by, wed only raised just over half.
Em, youd best take Oliver to London. Ill keep sending everything I can scrape togetherand maybe someone will buy the flat sooner rather than later!
The whole village pulled for us, though raising such a sum there was frankly impossible.
With paperwork sorted, Emily and Oliver headed to Londons hospital. What wed gathered was still not enough. Oliver began his new round of tests and preparations. Emily just hoped for a miracle. In a month, Oliver would turn one.
The child in the next bed was three-year-old Jack. His mum, Louise, came from a town not far from ours. Theyd managed to fundraise for his operation, but Jacks situation was more complicateddiagnosed late, the leukaemia was advanced, and his surgery kept getting postponed as the doctors tried to stabilise him.
Dont cry, Emily! Louise would urge. Itll work out, youll take Oliver to the circus, the zoo I took Jack last year, he loved the polar bears, stood watching forever. Back then, I had no idea he was this ill. He had a nosebleed at the zoo that just wouldnt stop I panicked then it happened again and again, and finally, we ended up herestage three, they said. Why didnt I notice sooner?
Louise, please, dont cry. Itll work outwell all take our boys to the zoo again, Emily tried to comfort her.
But I knew something was off! Jack was losing weight, going quiet, his appetite went, endless tummy upsets. My mum warned me But I refused to believe it! Its my fault! Louise sobbed.
She needed no wordswhat could Emily possibly have said?
A few days later, Jack worsened and was rushed back to ICU. Louise was kept out and sat distraught in the hall.
Come on, Louise, try and lie down, Emily coaxed.
I cant leave him! Jack knows if Im nearby, it helps himhell sense me here, she insisted.
He knows youre always with him, love. He feels itcome now.
But Louise would not leave her spot. A nurse gave her a sedative. Tears dried, but her gaze went emptyshe waited, holding out hope.
That evening, I rang. Emily was cuddling Oliver to sleep, determined to savour every moment with our boywho knew how many were left.
I managed to send about £1,000 today, I told her, Some young couple came to see the flatI dropped the price, theyll think about it.
Alright, Emily replied quietly, but before she could finish, a shriek echoed down the corridor. The phone slipped from her fingers. Oliver woke and began to cry. She comforted him, stroked his hair until he drifted off, then dashed to the corridor, knowing the truth but unwilling to believe it.
There, by the childrens ICU, Louise knelt, sobbing while nurses fussed around her, tried to get her to drink something or take another injection. Her pain was wrenchingEmily had never seen anything like it.
Louise, you must hold on, Emily said, crying as she held her friend, Youve got to live for Jack, love!
What for? My little boy is gone! How do I live with this guilt? Louise sobbed uncontrollably.
Emily stayed by her side as they administered another sedative. Later, she guided Louise numbly back to her room.
Let her rest, the doctor sighed. Shell have plenty of time for tears.
That night, Emily didnt sleep at all. She sat by Olivers cot, drinking in his peaceful face, desperate to remember everything.
Next day, Louise visited her. She looked a decade older, eyes hollow and drained. The women hugged for a long while.
I hope everything goes well for you, Louise whispered, slipping a sealed letter into Emilys hand. You have a chanceplease, take it. I have to see to Jack now: the funeral, the nine days, the forty Ill put a headstone on his grave and then She wiped away a tear, unable to finish. Read the letter when Im gone, love.
After Louise left, Emily felt utterly flat. The nurses had taken Oliver for more procedures. Alone, she opened the envelope.
Dearest Emilywritten in a shaky handI want so much for Oliver to live. Let him live for my Jack: let him grow, learn, play football, go ice-skating, enjoy all the things Jack cant. Please, do go to the zoo for us and say hello to the big polar bear! Emily had to pause to wipe her own eyes before reading onYou have been given a chance. Enclosed is the money we raised for Jacks operation. He wont need it nowput it towards Olivers surgery.
Emily sobbed, both with joy (because now the operation could go ahead) and deepest sorrow (because of how this blessing had come).
Andy, dont sell the flat! she told me the next day over the phone. Oliver and I will need somewhere to come home to.
But what about the money? I asked in astonishment.
We have it now. Everythings going to be fine.
I ended the call and, for the first time in weeks, felt a glimmer of hope; there was something different in Emilys voice. I dared to believe things would turn out well, and Emily was sure of it.
Olivers operation was carried out the day after his first birthday. Like Louise, Emily spent days camped outside the ICU doors, but thankfully the outlook for us was good. Eventually, Emily was allowed to visit Oliver, then they were put in the same room. There was a month to be spent in isolation, and months more of rehab, but those hurdles were minor once the procedure had succeeded. The longed-for improvement had begun.
Our boy gradually came alive againhe started playing with toys, eating more, and even smiling. The first time he said something close to mummy, Emily cried with joy. We couldnt help but believe in miracles.
Teddy! Oliver pointed in a little voice at a huge black beast in the enclosure.
Not teddy, darling, its a bear! Emily laughed, correcting him.
We went to the city zoo, to the very same spot where Jack had fallen in love with the polar bears. Hello from Jack, Emily whispered to the animal.
Oliver ran and skipped, munched on ice cream, and rode on my shoulders to see the other animals, thrilled by every new sight. His life brimmed with happiness and exploration. The hospital faded into the distance, and only now and then, when Emily woke in the night, would she creep to Olivers bedside, listening for his easy breathing. The worry faded with each passing night. Before us now stretched a whole life awaitingnot just for Oliver, but for the boy who had given him this second chance.
Looking back, I see how life can change in a heartbeat, and how the generosity and grief of one can be the answer to anothers desperate prayer. Through sorrow, gratitude, and the kindness of strangers, I learnt the true strength that lies in hope, and in the sacrifices we make for those we love.
