Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect (21 page)

Although I say ‘don’t worry if it doesn’t fit in’, I’m really hoping he’ll come.  I couldn’t bear the thought of going all that way and somehow not seeing him. 

I miss him like crazy.

I’m going to tell David he’s got to look after Gaz for me when I’m away.  There’s no way I’m putting him in a kennel for that long and I think it’s the least he can do.

*

Gaz and I walk slowly round to the vets.  As he doesn’t know this vet, he walks through the door quite happily, but the moment he’s inside, he knows.  It must be like us and hospitals – the smell gives it away.

I sit in the waiting room with him quivering at my feet; it’s a big practice and there’s more than one consulting room, so there are several waiting patients: a cat that continually meows in its carrier; a springer spaniel who leaps about like an excitable child; a dachshund, sitting quietly on its elderly owner’s lap and a rabbit in a cage, which even Gaz keeps glancing at.

After about fifteen minutes, we’re called forward by a girl that looks younger than Holly.  I can’t believe she’s old enough to be a qualified vet and wonder if she’s the veterinary nurse.  My rather sexist and ageist notion is immediately dispelled, when she welcomes us into her room and is obviously the one in charge.

She’s really sweet with Gaz, who’s cowering in the corner, shaking.  She gives him a treat out of her white coat pocket and he pushes his nose in for more.  I explain his symptoms and his past problems and she spends a good five minutes examining him thoroughly.  She’s won his trust, by
not
putting him up on the table and continuing with the bribery – he gives into the process with calm resolution.  She doesn’t say much while this is going on and I find my heart is beating in my ears, waiting for the verdict.

She stands up and faces me, speaking quietly and seriously.  “Could you bring him back tomorrow?  We want to get to the bottom of this, don’t we, Gaz?  I’d like to give him a scan.  I can’t find any obvious reason for him being so uncomfortable.”

Here we go again, I think.  My heart sinks at the thought and what it may reveal.  I thank her, she gives him one last little biscuit and we leave the room.  I make the appointment for 8.30 the next day.

*

Hi Mum – glad you had a good New Year’s Eve.  That’s amazing about your tickets – I’m going to talk to the guy in charge here and ask for a few days off around the beginning of April.  It’ll be really good to catch up with you.  I don’t think Jake’s going to come.

I’ve heard from Dad quite a bit – he sent me some money too!  It’s so weird to think of him at home, but not with you.  I can’t get my head round it, but I suppose it’ll sink in, eventually.  I feel so detached from real life here – I’ve almost forgotten what England looks like.  I know I’ve got my uni place waiting for me but … I’m not sure what I want to do any more.  I need to talk to you when you come out.  I love it here so much and I feel I can be myself.

Love, Adam

I’m pleased when I read that David and he are communicating properly again and that it wasn’t just a one off, but I wonder what he means about uni.  Is he thinking of
not
going now?  What would he do if he didn’t go … and what does he mean when he says ‘I can be myself’?  Why’s Jake not coming, too? 

I resolve not to question him on the internet and wait until I see him, in person. 

I drop Gaz off at the vets as planned and wander home.  For some reason, I feel depressed today and I go back to bed.  I have hours to fill before I can go back there and I’m overcome by tiredness.  I snuggle down under the duvet and try to forget …

I must have slept for three hours; I’m woken by a
ping pong
as a message arrives.  Groping bleary-eyed for the phone I read:
Message from Ben. 

Hi, sorry I haven’t been in touch.  Grace has dropped a bombshell and I didn’t feel like talking to anyone.  I know I said about a date, but do you fancy just meeting me at the pub for a drink this evening?  I need cheering up!  Ben.

I worry what this bombshell is – obviously something about Daisy – poor Ben.  The trouble is, I don’t know whether I’ll want to go out later, if it’s bad news.  I text back:

Hi Ben.  So sorry to hear about the bombshell, whatever it is.  Gaz is at the vet having a scan at the moment, so I’m not sure whether I’ll be up for the pub.  Can I text you later?  Anna

I get up and shower and decide I’ll go for a walk.  I need something to occupy myself and feel that fresh air might be the answer.

It feels odd walking without my constant companion, as if I’ve lost something, but I try to power walk and not dawdle, as usual.  I pass a leisure centre and go in to have a look at the pool and discover when I could go lane swimming.  There’s a session at two, so I go back home and collect my costume.

Swimming, as always, soothes my mind and as I swim up and down, I begin to convince myself that the news will be good and that Gaz will have many more years ahead of him.  He’s a strong old boy …

I like the pool and as it’s so near, I join the swimming scheme which means I can go as often as I like, for a monthly fee.  They have a good selection of costumes in the reception area and on a whim, I buy myself a new one. 

When I try it on, I stand if front of a long mirror in the ladies changing area and look at myself.  Without realising it, I’ve lost weight.  Even though I haven’t been exercising much at all, my body looks less podgy round the middle and my hips don’t look so wobbly.  I realise that ever since David told me his wonderful news, food has lost its joy.  I eat when I’m hungry now and don’t really think about it, like I used to.

At school, I was always cheering myself up with bars of chocolate or eagerly accepting doughnuts that some kind soul had brought into the staffroom.  David and I would plan menus and cook together; we’d look at recipe books together and shop for the right ingredients.  I would also reward myself for any attempts at exercise, with a large piece of cake, immediately putting on the all the calories I’d burnt off. 

Now it’s just fuel …

The costume is black with bright turquoise and white stripes; it has flattering, secret panels which ‘support’ you in all the right places. 

I look at myself and can’t quite believe the transformation.

*

It’s time to go back to the vets and despite my efforts to be positive, my stomach feels twitchy and nervous and I feel sick.  I try to read the receptionist’s face, but I can’t – she smiles and asks me to sit down in the waiting area. 

To fill the time, I don’t sit down, but go and stand in front of their notice boards.  I look at the adverts for dog walkers, dog groomers, catteries and pet artists.  I see one for ‘professional, dignified pet cremation’ and find my eyes brim over with unexpected tears.  I look away and go and sit down, staring at the wall.

Soon, my nice young lady vet comes out of her room and ushers me in.  Gaz is nowhere to be seen.

“Where is he?  What’s happened?” I say, unable to keep the panic out of my voice.

“He’s just through there,” she says, pointing to another door, “I’ll get him in a minute.  But first …” I notice her eyes look away from me, her whole demeanour is awkward.  “But first we need to discuss the result of the scan, Mrs McCarthy.  I’m really sorry but … but we found that Gaz … that Gaz has an aggressive form of cancer.”

Her words fall into the air like shrapnel, hitting me from all angles.  I can understand the words, but my mind shuts off and even though the pain is cutting through my mind like a sharp knife, I feel numb.

“Mrs McCarthy, are you all right?”

“Can I sit down, I feel …”

“Yes, of course, here … sit down.”  She waits for me while I sit, and I look at her.  Even though I’m not functioning properly, I can tell she’s hating what she has to say.

“The cancer has spread … he’s limping so badly because …”

“So … what are you saying?” I almost shout.  “Can you operate?”

She pauses for what feels like a lifetime and then says gently, “I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do.  It would be kinder to put him down now, before it gets worse.”  She looks embarrassed and turns away.

The words float around my head.  Put him down?  Put my Gaz
down
?

“He must be in considerable pain,” she says “and it’s only going to get worse, I’m afraid.  Obviously, it’s your decision, I can only advise you.”

I’m now openly crying and the vet hands me a box of tissues which she has conveniently on the side, for just such moments.  I wipe my eyes and blow my nose loudly.  Who can I speak to?  What shall I do?
Once again, I realise I’m totally alone and it’s my decision.  Mine only.

“What would
you
do, if he was
your
dog?” I say.  “What would you do?”

“I think I would see that to put him down would be the kindest thing to do … but … it’s got to be
your
decision.  Is there anyone you would like to ring?” she asks.

“No … yes … maybe.  Could you just wait a moment?”

“Of course.  I’ll give you some time to yourself.”  She leaves through the other door.  I get my mobile out and dial Ben’s number.  He’s the only person I can think of.  I can’t burden Holly with this and David is the last person I want to talk to.  Ben’s in Bath.  He loves Gaz.  He’ll know what to do. 

He picks up.  “Ben, this is Anna,” I say.  My voice must give me away.

“What’s the matter?  What’s happened?”

“Could you come round to the vets … now …” I’m trying not to cry, but my voice breaks.  “It’s Gaz.”

“What’s happened?   Of course, I’ll come round, in say, fifteen minutes.  Is that all right?”

“Yes, that’s good.  Thank you, you know where it is, don’t you?  You know … just at the end of my road?”

“I’ll be there.  Hang on.”  He clicks off and I’m left standing in the consultation room on my own.  I knock on the other door and say, “Hello, is anyone there?” and the young vet comes back in again.

“My friend’s coming round.  Can we have twenty minutes?  I’ll go outside and wait for him …”

“Of course, Mrs McCarthy.  You take your time.  I’ll see the next patient and then we’ll reconvene …”

I leave and walk around outside the building, in a daze.  Why have I called Ben?  What can he do?  It’s
got
to be my decision.  I know what I’ve got to do really … I do … but I can’t face it.

Shall I give him a few more days … take him home … a few last walks? 

But who would I be doing that for?  Him or me?  How would that benefit
him
? 

I feel like an executioner … what right have I to make such a decision, to end someone’s life?  He’s only a dog, I tell myself, he’s not a person … but he’s been my constant friend for so long … he’s helped me through this awful time … how can I simply give the go ahead to something like this?  But the alternative?

Ben walks up the drive and comes straight to me and I collapse onto him.  He puts his arms around me and strokes my back.

“Oh Ben, it’s the worst possible news …” and I tell him what the vet told me. 

“She won’t decide … it’s
me
that has to make that call.  What shall I do?”

“I think you know what to do, don’t you?” he says, calmly, stroking my hair.  “There’s only one outcome … you’ll just be making it a better ending for him, Anna.  He won’t know anything … he’ll just go to sleep.”  Whether he believed his own words or not, I don’t know, but I knew what he was saying was right.  “You’ve got to be brave, for
his
sake, Anna.  I’ll come with you.  We’ll do it together.”

I look up at him and he’s smiling down at me, willing me to do the right thing.  My heart is fluttering like a trapped bird, my legs are shaking; he walks with me, holding me under one arm, back into the building.

We sit together; I see he’s holding me hand – it’s comforting, but it’s as if my hand doesn’t belong to me at all.

The vet comes out and calls us in and once again, Ben holds my arm as we go into the room. 

“Have you made your decision?” she says.

“Yes,” I whisper, “I think so.”

“Do you want to be present?” she says, understanding instinctively what I’ve decided.

The thought of Gaz dying without me is unthinkable and even though I dread it with all my being, I say, “Yes.”

Ben squeezes my arm and then puts his arm round my back and pulls me into him, kissing my head.  “I’ll be with you,” he says.

“Are you ready, then?” the vet says, looking me directly in the eye.

My voice won’t come out.  I nod.  How is this happening?  One day, I’m walking with him, he’s sniffing lamp posts, cuddling up with me on the bed … and now …

She busies herself, with her back to us and then goes through the door.  She comes back almost immediately, with Gaz.  He’s wagging his tail slowly and plods over to me, nudging my hand.