Skin Deep (2 page)

Waiting at the Wrexham Maelor
Hospital to see the dermatologist, I’m fast regretting that I didn’t tell
anyone about my appointment; it would be nice to have some company. It doesn’t
help that Mr. Davison is running late. I’m trying to stay upbeat, but the
longer I’m here the more nervous I’m becoming. Thoughts flit in and out of my
mind like floating dandelion seed-heads. What if the mole is cancerous? No, I
mustn’t go there. I can’t wait to have it removed. I feel like I’ve got this
potentially malicious entity on my body, eating away at me.

‘Gemma Davies.’

Taking a deep breath I enter the
room. The man himself has bright blue eyes and white hair, complete with a
beard. He could be Father Christmas. Surely someone who looks like Father
Christmas won’t give me bad news. He has a nice smile, and I feel comforted by
his kind manner. He asks me lots of questions about my mole (it’s even
photographed) whilst examining it thoroughly, then it’s time for the excision
biopsy, which is done under a local anaesthetic. I’m just pleased to get it
over with.

I get a taxi home afterwards.
Will won’t
be home for hours yet because he’s going to the
cinema with his mates after work. I’m glad, as the only thing I want to do is
to crawl into bed and sleep. Thank goodness it’s still quite cold (even though
it is supposed to be spring), and so me wearing pyjamas in bed won’t look strange
to Will. He’d see the dressing on my leg otherwise. I know I’m going to have to
tell him soon.

***

Waiting for the
results of the biopsy is excruciating. My leg is sore so I’m taking lots of
ibuprofen. Work keeps me occupied during the day, but the evenings tend to
drag. The weekend is even worse. I can’t settle to anything. I’m amazed that
Will doesn’t notice anything’s amiss, but then he’s with Daz, Gaz and Kev most
of the time.

I had a moment in the
shower. What if I’ve got skin cancer? What if the cancer has spread? What if
they can’t do anything for me? What if this is the end of the road for me? What
if, what if, what if? I sank to my knees and bawled my eyes out.

Finally, a week after
having the biopsy, I arrive home to find a message on the phone asking me to
make an appointment to see my GP. Is that good or bad? If the results are
negative, wouldn’t they have said so?

After a sleepless
night I ring the surgery at 8.30am the following morning, but oh no, the line’s
engaged. I try ringing every five minutes or so, but to no avail. At last, it’s
ringing. I drum my fingers on the workbench. I pace the room when I’m put on
hold. When the receptionist comes back on the line she tells me that Dr.
Harrison can see me after morning surgery. Oh Christ!
It’s
cancer, it has to be. What am I going to do?

There’s no time to
dwell on it though as I relieve Marie and cover the counter for a while,
helping a young man to choose flowers for his girlfriend’s birthday
(sunflowers, red germini, salal and steel grass). When Marie returns, I get to
work on an order for a christening. Keeping busy is the answer.

I take an early lunch
and set off for the surgery in Mold. I exchange a few pleasantries with my GP,
Jennifer Harrison (perversely now I’m all too happy to delay hearing whatever
news she has to impart), but then she gets to the point. As she starts to
explain, my breathing becomes erratic and shallow. I’m clutching my handbag so
hard my fingers ache.

‘Mr. Davison has
called me, Gemma. Your mole was found to be cancerous.’ She is calm and tries
to reassure me, but all I can think is I’ve got cancer.
Deep breaths
.
I ask whether the
cancer has spread. I’m terrified that the cancer has spread. Dr. Harrison says
that as the cancer was found early there’s every chance we’ve caught it in
time, but that Mr. Harrison will be able to tell me more. I don’t think I can
bear to wait to see him again, but it seems I have no choice.

Apparently I have
stage 1B melanoma, which means that the cancer hasn’t spread anywhere else in
my body. Thank f*** for that.
I can’t begin to tell you how relieved I am.
Mr. Davison
goes on to say that my case has been discussed at a
skin-cancer multi-disciplinary meeting, and
a wide local excision has
been recommended for me, which will involve taking more skin from around the
area where my mole was removed. It’s to make sure that no cancerous cells were
left behind, and to reduce the chances of the melanoma coming back. I’ll have
the procedure done within the next few weeks. I hadn’t thought of the cancer
coming back. Is this ever going to be over?

I’ve got the rest of the
afternoon off, so I decide to go to Loggerheads Country Park and make the most
of the sunny blue skies. I walk for about an hour along the various paths,
through woodland and across the limestone cliffs. I pass quite a few people on
the way; some on their own walking their dogs, others with a partner or a
friend, plus a few groups. I eventually find a quiet spot near the river.
Sitting on a tree stump, I stare at the water rushing past me. A slight breeze
ruffles my hair. I close my eyes and try to clear my mind. It’s lovely here.
Will and I used to come here a lot together. Why did we stop? There’s something
restorative about being so close to nature and I begin to feel better and more
able to put things into perspective. It’s going to be okay – I’ll be okay.

I get up and go as far as Devil’s
Bridge. Leaning on the railings I look down at the rocks below. The drop is
considerable. I can see an entrance to a cave from here, black and mysterious.
I shiver. Nobody knows where I am right at this moment. Nobody knows that I
have skin cancer, and that was the way I wanted it, but now it’s time to tell
Will and my parents.

I decide to tell my parents
first. I find being with them in my childhood home soothing. Mum and Dad are
great, totally reassuring and I leave feeling positive. I go straight home to
tell Will my news.

I hesitate in the hallway. Will
isn’t alone; Daz, Gaz and Kev are here. Will promised he’d keep the evening free.
I let the door slam behind me and stomp straight upstairs.

Will eventually
comes
up to see me in the bedroom.
‘What’s
up, Gem?’

‘I’ve got skin cancer!’ I hadn’t
meant to say it like that, but I’ve got myself worked up about Will having his
mates round yet again.
 

There’s an intake of breath from
Will: ‘What did you say?’

‘I’ve got skin cancer, and all
you can think about is arranging another lad’s night in!’ Maybe a tad unfair,
but I don’t feel like being fair and rational at this point.

‘I didn’t know.’ Will is
indignant. His cheeks are growing pinker by the second.

I have to admit I feel a bit
guilty about not telling him straightaway, but I had my reasons. ‘I know; I’m
sorry.’

He’s not happy when he when he
discovers I’ve already had an excision biopsy. ‘I can’t believe you had that
done on your own. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘It wasn’t just you – I didn’t
tell anyone.’ I feel so tired all of a sudden and slump onto the bed.

Will comes and sits next to me.
‘I’ll get rid of the lads.’ He takes one of my hands in his. ‘So what happens
next?’

‘I need to have more skin
removed.’

‘When?’

‘Soon.’

He puts his arm around me.
‘You’re going to be alright, Gem.’

I hope so, I really do.

It’s Saturday, and a rare day off
for me. I’m meeting my friend Kate in Chester. I speed up as I catch sight of
her, sitting on a bench near the entrance to the cathedral. ‘Kate!’

‘Hiya.’

We hug.

‘You look pale. Are you okay?’
Kate’s forehead creases.

If only you knew, I think. ‘I’m fine.’
She’s such a worrier. How am I going to tell her about the skin cancer? Maybe I
shouldn’t. But she’s my best friend; she’d be hurt if she found out some other
way.

Linking arms, we walk along
Foregate Street, dodging the market researchers with their clipboards along the
way. I help Kate to choose a new pair of running trainers. Nothing takes my
fancy – I’m not really in the mood for clothes shopping. I do take the
opportunity to stock up on some new knickers from M&S. That’s about as
exciting as it gets.

At around 1pm we start to make
our way towards Bella Italia on Eastgate Street. We battle our way through the
large group of Japanese tourists who have gathered by the wrought iron Eastgate
Clock, clicking away on their cameras. I spy an artist on his knees working on
a chalk painting. It reminds me of that scene in
Mary Poppins
. How wonderful it would be to be able to jump into a
completely different world, one where nothing bad ever happens.

Inside the restaurant it’s noisy;
every table is occupied, mostly by families with children. We both choose a
burger Americano. Kate has a cappuccino, whilst I opt for a Diet Coke.

About half-way through eating I
tell Kate about the skin cancer. Her eyes look suspiciously moist. I really
hope she doesn’t cry on me.

‘Oh, Gemma.
You poor
thing.’
She puts her knife and fork down.

She looks so distressed that I
reach out and pat her hand. ‘It’s not that bad. Hopefully once I’ve had the
extra skin removed, that will be the end of it.’

‘But what if it isn’t?’

Try
looking on the bright side, why don’t you?
I nibble at a chip, and look around me. I’m glad
the restaurant is busy. The buzzing activity provides something of a
distraction. ‘I’ve got no choice but to keep positive.’

‘You don’t deserve this, Gemma.
Why you?’

I’ve had similar thoughts. Why
me?
But why not me?
Why should I be exempt? I want to
say I’m too young to die, but that’s rubbish; people younger than me, kids and
babies, die every day. It’s all wrong of course – not the natural order of
things.
Cancer can strike any one at any time.
It doesn’t discriminate. And I’ve recently discovered that melanoma is
disproportionately high in young people
.
At least two
15-34 year olds are being diagnosed with malignant melanoma every day in the
UK.
‘It could be
hereditary,’ is all I say.

‘Really?’
Kate tilts her head to one side.
‘Do you know anyone else who’s had it in your family?’

‘Nope.’
It’s a mystery. Mum and Dad
can’t think of anyone.

Thankfully Kate resumes eating,
looking thoughtful.

I always thought you could only
get skin cancer through using sunbeds, or from being out in the sun too much
and not protecting your skin. I never sunbathe, not even at home. A beach
holiday doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest. I much prefer sight-seeing and
shopping! And I always apply factor fifty during the summer, even for short
trips. Well, I’m going to apply sun cream all year round now. I can remember
getting sunburn as a child
. We didn’t use sun cream
in those days.
Have I got skin cancer
because of that?

Kate brings me out of my reverie.
‘How’s Will?’

‘He’s fine.’ I sigh.
Still the same old Will.
When he’s not out with his mates,
his mates are round at our house. Since I told him my news I thought we’d spend
a bit more time together – just the two of us – but no.

‘Are you and
Will
okay?’

‘Of course we are.’ I smile. This
is hard work, trying to reassure both Kate and myself that all is well in my
world. Because it’s not, I know it’s not, and I’m not just talking about the
skin cancer.

After we’ve finished eating we go
our separate ways. I can’t spend any more time with Kate today. She’s so
gloomy, but what did I expect? I’ve known her since we were 11 and she’s always
been of the ‘glass is half empty’ variety.

***

A mass of fresh flowers have just
been delivered. The glorious abundance of colours spread out before me are
sparking zillions of ideas for designs, but first the flowers need to be
treated. I’m just starting to strip thorns and leaves from the roses when Marie
enters the workroom.

‘There’s someone here to see you,
Gemma. You go – I’ll carry on with this.’ Marie pushes me towards the door.

‘Who is it?’

Marie shrugs. ‘No idea. I’ve
never seen him before. Now go.’
  

It’s Leo! What’s he doing here?
He’s looking at some orchids, moving from the exotic cerise phalaenopsis with
deep green foliage leaves, to the delicate yellow oncidium, a spray orchid. The
tiny flowers, which are shaped like sticky-out skirts, look even smaller when
gently brushed by one of Leo’s fingers.
Breathe.
‘Hello,’ I say softly.

Leo turns. ‘Hi.’

He’s smiling and I can’t help but
respond. I position myself behind the counter - my safety net. ‘How’s your
nephew doing?’

‘Oh, he’s fine, flourishing in
fact.’ Leo grins and I’m mesmerised.

I’m supposed to be being
business-like, so I grab a pen and notepad. ‘So, flowers. Who are they for this
time?’ Are they for his girlfriend? My heart nosedives at the thought and I
realise I’m chewing the end of the pen. Yuck.

‘I’m not here to buy flowers.’

A thrill runs through me. I
daren’t look up.

‘Would you like to go out for a
drink sometime?’

I’m ecstatic and gutted at the
same time – if that’s possible. He likes me! Part of me – a large part of me if
I’m being honest – wishes I was free to accept his offer, but I’m not free and
I’m ashamed of myself for thinking like this.

I look up. ‘Leo, thank you for
asking but . . .’ I so don’t want to do this, but I have to.

‘But?
That doesn’t sound good.’ He’s
frowning.

I straighten my shoulders. ‘I’ve
got a boyfriend,’ I say, cringing.

‘Ah.’ The light in Leo’s eyes
dims. ‘Well, I’m not surprised.’ He attempts a smile, which ends up as a
half-smile. He backs away. ‘I’d better go. Bye, Gemma.’

‘Bye,’ I whisper, and then he’s
gone.

I feel like I’ve lost something
precious, which is silly. I’ve done the right thing, so why does it feel so
bad? I need to get real, don’t I? So what if it isn’t all hearts and flowers
with me and Will? I know Will inside and out, whilst I don’t know anything
about Leo. It’s just a crush - nothing serious. I’ll get over him – I have to.
Oh, what’s wrong with me? I should have bigger priorities than my love life!