Authors: Bernadette Bohan
The Choice (8 page)
âI'm astonished,' said my oncologist one afternoon late into my pregnancy, just after another routine check with the obstetrician. I was due to give birth in a month's time. âYou have confounded my expectations â you are as healthy a patient as I have ever seen. Well done.' That was praise indeed from him.
âWhat are we going to call the baby?' asked Sarah one morning, and we all laughed to think we hadn't got any names decided on, even though my due date was coming up fast. The children drew up a list of names, and Ger and I scanned baby-name books for inspiration. None of us could agree on any names we liked, until one evening when we were sitting watching the credits roll up after a film. âJulie,' I read. âThat's nice.' Everyone nodded. So Julie it was.
Because of my age, the doctor decided to induce me six days early, so unlike the other children who had arrived at very unsociable hours, Julie's birth was very civilized. We left Sarah and Richard with Ger's mother and âchecked in' at the hospital at 8am. They broke my waters, and having been told things would take some hours to get moving, Ger nipped off to a meeting. When he returned a few hours later we walked around a little, hoping that would speed the process up. At midday we rang the kids to let them know nothing had happened yet. Finally, Julie was born at 5.20 that afternoon. The midwife handed me a mewling bundle.
âShe looks Chinese!' I gasped.
âShe'd better not be or there'll be a steward's enquiry,' said Ger.
I looked down at my tiny newborn baby girl who was already staring at me with dark eyes. âHello, Julie,' I murmured. âI'm your Mummy. I've been waiting to meet you for ages!' She looked strong â she would be a fighter, like me. I knew she was going to be fine.
That evening the kids turned up with their Granny, Anne. Sarah was chatting away about a gift someone had sent for Julie, but Richard just stared at her silently, totally overwhelmed. I could see this was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him, and little did he know then how much she would come to mean to him. Baby Julie was and is the joy of all our lives. To anyone else of course she is just a normal kid, but to us she is a little miracle. Richard and Sarah now look after her like parents, watching out for her and caring for her. On the day she was born I thought I would burst with happiness, but each day of her life she has made me even happier. Julie has filled a part of me that I thought I had lost.
So it wasn't poor Bernadette after all. It was blessed, lucky Bernadette. I had been given my longed-for third child: my family was complete, my world was whole and the future looked wonderful.
âWhat are we going to call the baby?' asked Sarah one morning, and we all laughed to think we hadn't got any names decided on, even though my due date was coming up fast. The children drew up a list of names, and Ger and I scanned baby-name books for inspiration. None of us could agree on any names we liked, until one evening when we were sitting watching the credits roll up after a film. âJulie,' I read. âThat's nice.' Everyone nodded. So Julie it was.
Because of my age, the doctor decided to induce me six days early, so unlike the other children who had arrived at very unsociable hours, Julie's birth was very civilized. We left Sarah and Richard with Ger's mother and âchecked in' at the hospital at 8am. They broke my waters, and having been told things would take some hours to get moving, Ger nipped off to a meeting. When he returned a few hours later we walked around a little, hoping that would speed the process up. At midday we rang the kids to let them know nothing had happened yet. Finally, Julie was born at 5.20 that afternoon. The midwife handed me a mewling bundle.
âShe looks Chinese!' I gasped.
âShe'd better not be or there'll be a steward's enquiry,' said Ger.
I looked down at my tiny newborn baby girl who was already staring at me with dark eyes. âHello, Julie,' I murmured. âI'm your Mummy. I've been waiting to meet you for ages!' She looked strong â she would be a fighter, like me. I knew she was going to be fine.
That evening the kids turned up with their Granny, Anne. Sarah was chatting away about a gift someone had sent for Julie, but Richard just stared at her silently, totally overwhelmed. I could see this was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him, and little did he know then how much she would come to mean to him. Baby Julie was and is the joy of all our lives. To anyone else of course she is just a normal kid, but to us she is a little miracle. Richard and Sarah now look after her like parents, watching out for her and caring for her. On the day she was born I thought I would burst with happiness, but each day of her life she has made me even happier. Julie has filled a part of me that I thought I had lost.
So it wasn't poor Bernadette after all. It was blessed, lucky Bernadette. I had been given my longed-for third child: my family was complete, my world was whole and the future looked wonderful.
Chapter Eleven
Â
Stress
P
eople always ask me if stress causes cancer. There is so much written these days about stress, stress hormones, stressful life events, and all the different ways of dealing with stress. I'm not a medical person so I couldn't really say if stress actually causes cancer, but I do know this much. When you are stressed you stop looking after yourself properly. You miss meals, you forget to drink enough water, you don't sleep properly, you have no time to exercise, you may keep yourself going with sugary snacks, alcohol and cigarettes, perhaps even drugs. And when you stop looking after yourself you are looking for trouble.
We are jumping five years on in my story. Richard was seventeen, Sarah was fifteen and Julie was five, so life was busy as it is for any parent with two children in secondary school and one starting junior school â not to mention George, our boisterous Labrador. I was always on the go, with very little time for myself, but that was the life I had chosen, and it was very much what I wanted. I never forgot that I had been given the gift of more time with them, the chance to see them grow up, and I thanked God every day for this. Of course it was exhausting and difficult at times, but so rewarding to watch them develop and change and to be able to relate to them on different levels. They are all so different but all such gorgeous kids, and really give me very little trouble. Of course the rascals now get up to all the usual teenage carry-on â staying out late, playing loud music, random sulks. But one of the things I appreciate the most is that I feel they talk to me â they really open up about what is upsetting them and what they are excited about. When I was growing up I had secrets from my parents, and they had secrets from me. Ger and I have tried very hard to be open and honest with our children so that they not only are straight and honest with us, but trust us to be straight with them.
I felt fortunate to have such easy-going kids, and I could not imagine how women with more complicated lives coped. Yet despite this, and despite being fairly health-conscious even in those days, I tended to grab food on the run and simply did not spend much time taking care of myself. The kids came first, no question, and my needs were always the last on the list. Like many mothers I was cook, chauffeur, nurse, homework-supervisor, cleaner, confidante and sergeant-major all rolled into one. I also made their clothes and did the same for friends, which kept me awake into the small hours. When I look back at this period now, I think it was far more stressful than I realized. I had no idea what problems I might be storing up for myself.
Then two things happened that took me way off the stress scale.
Like many women in their forties I was also partly responsible for my ageing mother, who at this stage was suffering from mild dementia but was adamant she wanted to stay in her own home. To facilitate this, my sister Aquinas â who lived close to her â went to see her every day. My brother Frank sometimes stopped for the night with her, and I would drive thirty miles each week to visit her. Then one day the phone rang. It was Aquinas.
âIt's Mum. She's had a stroke.'
I suppose when your parent is old you expect to hear news like this all the time, but nevertheless it was a shock.
âJesus, Aquinas, how bad is it?'
âIt's only mild, they say, but she's in hospital. I can't cope with her any more on my own â I'm going to need help from the rest of you.'
Poor Aquinas was worn ragged with all the caring she did, and I knew she needed help, so I drove up to the hospital and back every second day. It wasn't easy to arrange all this, but by this time Richard and Sarah were old enough to babysit Julie if I wasn't around. âI'm sorry, you two,' I'd say. âYou're on duty again this afternoon. I need to go and visit Granny.'
Fortunately my mother recovered, but was unable to live alone after this. It was decided that she would move in with Aquinas. Again, in order to help my sister, I offered to have her to stay with me for the first few days, so I drove her back to our house on the Friday night. As I was installing her in the spare room, Sarah appeared.
âI've got a headache, Mum.'
âHave you? Have a little rest. I expect you'll feel better later. Did you have a tough day at school?'
âYeah, I suppose.'
The next day I left Mum in Richard's care while I went shopping for some things she needed. Sarah had a Saturday job in the local newsagent's and I popped in to say hello.
âOoh, my cheek feels numb,' she commented, rubbing her face. âAnd so does my arm.'
âNumb? What do you think caused that?' I asked, a little absentmindedly, as I checked over my shopping list.
âI don't know. It's like when you have been to the dentist.'
Not another of Sarah's aches and pains, I sighed to myself. If it wasn't one thing, it was another: I couldn't keep up with these small but rather regular teenage problems, and I usually found they disappeared in time if I ignored them.
âI expect you'll feel better later. See you this evening â make sure you're home in time for dinner.'
Ger was away on business and I had a hard time dealing with everything that weekend. Nothing I did for my mother was quite right, and I was trying my best to keep an even temper. Julie was making a racket on her recorder, Richard was having trouble with his Geography coursework, and Sarah was still complaining of a headache.
On Monday after school she said it was worse. âPerhaps you're brewing up 'flu or something,' I suggested. âWhy don't you lie on the couch and have a rest?' That way, I thought, she'd be one fewer problem for me to deal with.
On Tuesday she took the day off school. I took my mother back to Aquinas, then drove straight to the airport to fetch Ger. When we got back, there was Sarah, looking pale and tired.
âI don't think I can bear this headache much longer.' This was one problem that clearly was not going to go away. Suddenly I was worried.
âRight. Sit down and tell me exactly how you feel.'
âBoth my cheeks are numb, and I have a splitting headache.' A small worm of fear crept into my mind. Numbness. A headache that doesn't go.
âOK, Sarah, get in the car. I'm taking you to hospital.' I grabbed her coat, bundled her into the car and rushed to Casualty. They immediately gave her a brain scan.
A brain scan? Sweet Jesus what have I done? The poor lassie has been trying to tell me something for days now and I have been ignoring her! I felt like the worst mother in the entire universe. âGod, I'm sorry Sarah. I should have brought you here days ago.'
âIt's OK, Mum. Don't worry.' Very gently, I took her into the waiting area and sat down with my arms around her. We sat like that for a very long time, and she eventually fell asleep with her head on my lap. All sorts of unimaginable horrors were running through my mind as I drifted in and out of sleep, trying to stay alert for Sarah but achingly tired, praying all the while to God that she was going to be all right. While she slept I rang Ger to let him know what was happening. He came in around four in the morning to relieve me.
âYou go home, Bernie. You need to get some sleep.'
âSleep? There's no way I'll be able to sleep until I know what's up with Sarah.'
We waited together for the results of the scan to come and for a doctor to tell us what was wrong. Finally a nurse appeared.
âI can't tell you anything yet, but we are definitely admitting her.' She took us up to a ward, and Sarah was laid in a curtained-off bed. We tried not to jump to any conclusions, but I knew from Ger's face that his thoughts were as dark as mine. We hung around waiting, waiting, waiting. When Sarah woke up I told her I would pop home, have a wash and collect her nightclothes. âOK, Mum. Don't be long.'
I drove like a madwoman, praying out loud, only just able to see the road through my hot tears.
Dear God, please don't do this to her. Don't let her suffer, she's only a kid
.
I got home just after breakfast. Julie, who was just learning to write, was painstakingly making a little Get Well card for Sarah. Richard was clearing away breakfast.
âHow is she, Mum?' he asked. I knew he was dreadfully worried. Only the previous day Richard and Sarah had been hurling insults at each other. Now, when the chips were down, I saw how deeply he cared for her.
âWe don't know yet, they've done some tests and will be keeping her in for a bit. Could you take Julie to school for me?' Julie ran over with her card, which was sticky with glue and sequins.
âCan't I come with you now so I can give it to Sarah?'
âWell, why don't we let it dry first? You have a lovely day at school, then perhaps we'll take it to her later if she's still in hospital.'
I grabbed a few things for Sarah, kissed them both goodbye, and rushed out of the house. When I got back to Sarah she told me the surgeon had already done his rounds. Shit, I'd missed him. Ger had gone to work to cancel his arrangements for the day.
âMum, he said I have a cyst on my brain.' She said it in a matter-of-fact voice but her eyes were scared.
âWhat?' I almost screamed. What did that mean, and what were they doing giving this news to a fifteen-year-old on her own?
âIt's not serious, really â it's OK. They are going to monitor me.'
âThat's grand. I'll just see if I can find the doctor.' I couldn't help it, my eyes filled with tears, and I turned so Sarah would not see.
The neurosurgeon, when I had tracked him down, was not quite as positive with me as he had been with Sarah. He told me it was definitely a lump, but he did not know exactly what it was. She would need to stay in for more tests.
Later, in the ward, Sarah lay on the metal bed surrounded by three senior surgeons. The big guns. They planned a series of tests for her â CT scans, MRI scans and others I had never heard of. One of the machines broke down, so the waiting was more drawn-out than it should have been. In all, she was in hospital for nine days, and I was by her side as much as I could. I swear to God there is nothing in this world worse than having a sick child. Every protective instinct in your body is focussed on making them better, on taking care of them as you have from the moment they were conceived, but when they are in hospital your power to do this is taken away from you. All your love, your hopes, your prayers â all contract into this one hospital room, this one small bed. I remembered children I had met in the other hospital where I had been treated for the lymphoma â children with white faces and dull eyes. I remembered how even if they were smiling, playing with toys or doing something apparently normal, they seemed marked out as different, tragic. I wondered if any of them were still living. Now I understood how their parents felt, why they seemed to wander around the corridors as if sleep-walking. Why they showered their children with gifts and sweets. And I wondered if there was a cancer âgene' I had passed on to my child. Was this a brain tumour?
The only thing I knew I definitely could do was pray, so I prayed then like never before. In the days of waiting, it made me feel as if I was able to do something small for her. And I made a desperate bargain:
Take me, God. Don't take Sarah. Make her well and do what you want to me. I can handle it. I know I can cope, I've done it before. She's too young for this. If someone has to suffer let it be me. Take me in exchange for her. Take me
.
Ger dropped in on his way to work each morning, and after I had taken Julie to school I went and sat by her bedside all day. Later in the day I would pick Julie up again, then the both of us would go and chat with her until it was time for Julie to go home to bed. It broke my heart to see her lying there so scared, waiting for yet another test, but we did our utmost to keep her spirits up. Somehow word spread around the village, neighbours and friends called in non-stop to see how she was doing, and it seemed to me as if every kid in Malahide came to visit her in the ward. She even celebrated her sixteenth birthday there, with helium balloons, two cakes and more presents than she had ever received. I realized all her friends thought she was dying.
I was worried that having a party in the hospital would disturb the older patients, but they were so accepting.
âNo, love, let her be. She's life in the ward. It does us good to see her.' They were more than accepting. These thin, wasted souls yearned for the invigorating energy of young people. They loved Sarah, I could see. And she had them wrapped around her little finger.
Happily, Sarah's headaches gradually disappeared, and she presented no new signs. Then finally we were given the results of all the tests.
âMrs Bohan, your daughter has an arachnoid cyst on the left anterior wall of her brain. It is possibly left over from the embryonic stage, but in any event because of the location we have decided not to remove it â unless in the future she becomes severely affected by it.'
Â
Stress
People always ask me if stress causes cancer. There is so much written these days about stress, stress hormones, stressful life events, and all the different ways of dealing with stress. I'm not a medical person so I couldn't really say if stress actually causes cancer, but I do know this much. When you are stressed you stop looking after yourself properly. You miss meals, you forget to drink enough water, you don't sleep properly, you have no time to exercise, you may keep yourself going with sugary snacks, alcohol and cigarettes, perhaps even drugs. And when you stop looking after yourself you are looking for trouble.
We are jumping five years on in my story. Richard was seventeen, Sarah was fifteen and Julie was five, so life was busy as it is for any parent with two children in secondary school and one starting junior school â not to mention George, our boisterous Labrador. I was always on the go, with very little time for myself, but that was the life I had chosen, and it was very much what I wanted. I never forgot that I had been given the gift of more time with them, the chance to see them grow up, and I thanked God every day for this. Of course it was exhausting and difficult at times, but so rewarding to watch them develop and change and to be able to relate to them on different levels. They are all so different but all such gorgeous kids, and really give me very little trouble. Of course the rascals now get up to all the usual teenage carry-on â staying out late, playing loud music, random sulks. But one of the things I appreciate the most is that I feel they talk to me â they really open up about what is upsetting them and what they are excited about. When I was growing up I had secrets from my parents, and they had secrets from me. Ger and I have tried very hard to be open and honest with our children so that they not only are straight and honest with us, but trust us to be straight with them.
I felt fortunate to have such easy-going kids, and I could not imagine how women with more complicated lives coped. Yet despite this, and despite being fairly health-conscious even in those days, I tended to grab food on the run and simply did not spend much time taking care of myself. The kids came first, no question, and my needs were always the last on the list. Like many mothers I was cook, chauffeur, nurse, homework-supervisor, cleaner, confidante and sergeant-major all rolled into one. I also made their clothes and did the same for friends, which kept me awake into the small hours. When I look back at this period now, I think it was far more stressful than I realized. I had no idea what problems I might be storing up for myself.
Then two things happened that took me way off the stress scale.
Like many women in their forties I was also partly responsible for my ageing mother, who at this stage was suffering from mild dementia but was adamant she wanted to stay in her own home. To facilitate this, my sister Aquinas â who lived close to her â went to see her every day. My brother Frank sometimes stopped for the night with her, and I would drive thirty miles each week to visit her. Then one day the phone rang. It was Aquinas.
âIt's Mum. She's had a stroke.'
I suppose when your parent is old you expect to hear news like this all the time, but nevertheless it was a shock.
âJesus, Aquinas, how bad is it?'
âIt's only mild, they say, but she's in hospital. I can't cope with her any more on my own â I'm going to need help from the rest of you.'
Poor Aquinas was worn ragged with all the caring she did, and I knew she needed help, so I drove up to the hospital and back every second day. It wasn't easy to arrange all this, but by this time Richard and Sarah were old enough to babysit Julie if I wasn't around. âI'm sorry, you two,' I'd say. âYou're on duty again this afternoon. I need to go and visit Granny.'
Fortunately my mother recovered, but was unable to live alone after this. It was decided that she would move in with Aquinas. Again, in order to help my sister, I offered to have her to stay with me for the first few days, so I drove her back to our house on the Friday night. As I was installing her in the spare room, Sarah appeared.
âI've got a headache, Mum.'
âHave you? Have a little rest. I expect you'll feel better later. Did you have a tough day at school?'
âYeah, I suppose.'
The next day I left Mum in Richard's care while I went shopping for some things she needed. Sarah had a Saturday job in the local newsagent's and I popped in to say hello.
âOoh, my cheek feels numb,' she commented, rubbing her face. âAnd so does my arm.'
âNumb? What do you think caused that?' I asked, a little absentmindedly, as I checked over my shopping list.
âI don't know. It's like when you have been to the dentist.'
Not another of Sarah's aches and pains, I sighed to myself. If it wasn't one thing, it was another: I couldn't keep up with these small but rather regular teenage problems, and I usually found they disappeared in time if I ignored them.
âI expect you'll feel better later. See you this evening â make sure you're home in time for dinner.'
Ger was away on business and I had a hard time dealing with everything that weekend. Nothing I did for my mother was quite right, and I was trying my best to keep an even temper. Julie was making a racket on her recorder, Richard was having trouble with his Geography coursework, and Sarah was still complaining of a headache.
On Monday after school she said it was worse. âPerhaps you're brewing up 'flu or something,' I suggested. âWhy don't you lie on the couch and have a rest?' That way, I thought, she'd be one fewer problem for me to deal with.
On Tuesday she took the day off school. I took my mother back to Aquinas, then drove straight to the airport to fetch Ger. When we got back, there was Sarah, looking pale and tired.
âI don't think I can bear this headache much longer.' This was one problem that clearly was not going to go away. Suddenly I was worried.
âRight. Sit down and tell me exactly how you feel.'
âBoth my cheeks are numb, and I have a splitting headache.' A small worm of fear crept into my mind. Numbness. A headache that doesn't go.
âOK, Sarah, get in the car. I'm taking you to hospital.' I grabbed her coat, bundled her into the car and rushed to Casualty. They immediately gave her a brain scan.
A brain scan? Sweet Jesus what have I done? The poor lassie has been trying to tell me something for days now and I have been ignoring her! I felt like the worst mother in the entire universe. âGod, I'm sorry Sarah. I should have brought you here days ago.'
âIt's OK, Mum. Don't worry.' Very gently, I took her into the waiting area and sat down with my arms around her. We sat like that for a very long time, and she eventually fell asleep with her head on my lap. All sorts of unimaginable horrors were running through my mind as I drifted in and out of sleep, trying to stay alert for Sarah but achingly tired, praying all the while to God that she was going to be all right. While she slept I rang Ger to let him know what was happening. He came in around four in the morning to relieve me.
âYou go home, Bernie. You need to get some sleep.'
âSleep? There's no way I'll be able to sleep until I know what's up with Sarah.'
We waited together for the results of the scan to come and for a doctor to tell us what was wrong. Finally a nurse appeared.
âI can't tell you anything yet, but we are definitely admitting her.' She took us up to a ward, and Sarah was laid in a curtained-off bed. We tried not to jump to any conclusions, but I knew from Ger's face that his thoughts were as dark as mine. We hung around waiting, waiting, waiting. When Sarah woke up I told her I would pop home, have a wash and collect her nightclothes. âOK, Mum. Don't be long.'
I drove like a madwoman, praying out loud, only just able to see the road through my hot tears.
Dear God, please don't do this to her. Don't let her suffer, she's only a kid
.
I got home just after breakfast. Julie, who was just learning to write, was painstakingly making a little Get Well card for Sarah. Richard was clearing away breakfast.
âHow is she, Mum?' he asked. I knew he was dreadfully worried. Only the previous day Richard and Sarah had been hurling insults at each other. Now, when the chips were down, I saw how deeply he cared for her.
âWe don't know yet, they've done some tests and will be keeping her in for a bit. Could you take Julie to school for me?' Julie ran over with her card, which was sticky with glue and sequins.
âCan't I come with you now so I can give it to Sarah?'
âWell, why don't we let it dry first? You have a lovely day at school, then perhaps we'll take it to her later if she's still in hospital.'
I grabbed a few things for Sarah, kissed them both goodbye, and rushed out of the house. When I got back to Sarah she told me the surgeon had already done his rounds. Shit, I'd missed him. Ger had gone to work to cancel his arrangements for the day.
âMum, he said I have a cyst on my brain.' She said it in a matter-of-fact voice but her eyes were scared.
âWhat?' I almost screamed. What did that mean, and what were they doing giving this news to a fifteen-year-old on her own?
âIt's not serious, really â it's OK. They are going to monitor me.'
âThat's grand. I'll just see if I can find the doctor.' I couldn't help it, my eyes filled with tears, and I turned so Sarah would not see.
The neurosurgeon, when I had tracked him down, was not quite as positive with me as he had been with Sarah. He told me it was definitely a lump, but he did not know exactly what it was. She would need to stay in for more tests.
Later, in the ward, Sarah lay on the metal bed surrounded by three senior surgeons. The big guns. They planned a series of tests for her â CT scans, MRI scans and others I had never heard of. One of the machines broke down, so the waiting was more drawn-out than it should have been. In all, she was in hospital for nine days, and I was by her side as much as I could. I swear to God there is nothing in this world worse than having a sick child. Every protective instinct in your body is focussed on making them better, on taking care of them as you have from the moment they were conceived, but when they are in hospital your power to do this is taken away from you. All your love, your hopes, your prayers â all contract into this one hospital room, this one small bed. I remembered children I had met in the other hospital where I had been treated for the lymphoma â children with white faces and dull eyes. I remembered how even if they were smiling, playing with toys or doing something apparently normal, they seemed marked out as different, tragic. I wondered if any of them were still living. Now I understood how their parents felt, why they seemed to wander around the corridors as if sleep-walking. Why they showered their children with gifts and sweets. And I wondered if there was a cancer âgene' I had passed on to my child. Was this a brain tumour?
The only thing I knew I definitely could do was pray, so I prayed then like never before. In the days of waiting, it made me feel as if I was able to do something small for her. And I made a desperate bargain:
Take me, God. Don't take Sarah. Make her well and do what you want to me. I can handle it. I know I can cope, I've done it before. She's too young for this. If someone has to suffer let it be me. Take me in exchange for her. Take me
.
Ger dropped in on his way to work each morning, and after I had taken Julie to school I went and sat by her bedside all day. Later in the day I would pick Julie up again, then the both of us would go and chat with her until it was time for Julie to go home to bed. It broke my heart to see her lying there so scared, waiting for yet another test, but we did our utmost to keep her spirits up. Somehow word spread around the village, neighbours and friends called in non-stop to see how she was doing, and it seemed to me as if every kid in Malahide came to visit her in the ward. She even celebrated her sixteenth birthday there, with helium balloons, two cakes and more presents than she had ever received. I realized all her friends thought she was dying.
I was worried that having a party in the hospital would disturb the older patients, but they were so accepting.
âNo, love, let her be. She's life in the ward. It does us good to see her.' They were more than accepting. These thin, wasted souls yearned for the invigorating energy of young people. They loved Sarah, I could see. And she had them wrapped around her little finger.
Happily, Sarah's headaches gradually disappeared, and she presented no new signs. Then finally we were given the results of all the tests.
âMrs Bohan, your daughter has an arachnoid cyst on the left anterior wall of her brain. It is possibly left over from the embryonic stage, but in any event because of the location we have decided not to remove it â unless in the future she becomes severely affected by it.'
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