Authors: Bernadette Bohan
The Choice (5 page)
Chapter Eight
Â
⦠and the Ugly
âT
here she is,' Richard pointed at me. âI told you she was fat. Look at her.'
It was true. I was parked on the sofa one afternoon watching television, trying not to put pressure on my knees. Richard, just home from school, had brought three of his friends over to see me. They all stared open-mouthed at me for a moment, then rushed out to play in the garden. I smiled ruefully to myself â I had become a freak show for my kids. I knew all these lads, and they knew me. I didn't blame Richard for showing me to them like this â after all I
was
fat. It was horrific to me, but just a fact of life to him. I had changed, and there it was. Even Sarah had taken to calling me her âfat Mammy'.
I am short, with a small frame, and I normally weigh around 45 kilos, or seven and a half stone. I had heard that people could put on weight with steroids, and the last thing I wanted to do was to acquire the physique of an Eastern Bloc shot-putter. But since that July, when I started taking prednisone, I had been ravenous. Even after a huge meal I would still be hungry and I was constantly fighting the urge to binge. Although I was aware of eating healthily and always tried to be careful, I quickly did put on weight â muscle weight, as well as fat weight. It was hard, rock hard, like a layer of cement under my skin. My stomach looked engorged, almost pregnant. My neck was thick, solid with a mass of hard tissue. My face was so swollen I could hardly see the television. My ankles were huge and my shoes no longer fitted me. Within two months of starting the treatment my whole body had swollen up like a balloon. I could not look in the mirror without crying.
âI've never made love to a fatty before,' said Ger, trying to make me laugh. âYour boobs are gorgeous.' He did make me feel better, and I was determined not to let my hideous shape affect the way I behaved. I believed that these drugs were making me well again and I wanted to live much, much more than I wanted to be thin again. So I still shuffled up the hill to collect the children and tried to ignore the looks from people who didn't know me. It did hurt when people I knew fairly well would cross the road rather than speak to me, and I kept telling myself that it was because they were embarrassed and did not know what to say to me.
I did get out when I could, and not just to the school gates. I went shopping in my âgood' periods, just down to the local supermarket. As I handed the groceries to the cashier one day, who was a girl I knew quite well, she looked up at me in surprise.
âJesus, what happened to your face?' The words were out before she realized how appalling they sounded. She clapped her hands over her mouth and looked stricken.
âI'm on medication right now,' was all I could manage.
âI'm so sorry,' she called after me. âI didn't mean â¦'
I got home somehow, and shut the door behind me. Safe once more, I leaned against it and decided never, ever to go into that shop again. I don't think of myself as a vain person. I look OK, that's all, and I don't bother with make-up every time I go out â a slick of lippy normally does the trick for me. But to feel truly ugly, that is a different matter. My face was round, moon-shaped. I thought I looked like a giant chipmunk.
One morning we had a parents' meeting at the school to discuss our children's work. I dressed carefully, taking care with my appearance as much as I could, for I always liked the children to be proud of me. The meeting took place in Sarah's classroom, and while I was waiting I occupied myself with looking at the brightly coloured artwork on the walls. I was the next one to be seen, and Sarah's teacher looked up at me and then down at her list. âI'm sorry,' she said, extending her hand and introducing herself. âYou must be, ah, Sarah's aunt?' My heart stopped.
âNo, actually I'm her mother, but I'm on medication at the minute,' I managed to blurt out.
âI'm terribly sorry,' she stammered, clearly embarrassed by her mistake. Somehow we both got through the meeting, which was not easy since at that time Sarah was not doing too well at school, and I blamed myself for not being able to give her enough attention at home. As I left the school, tears were rolling down my cheeks. My own child's teacher doesn't recognize me, I thought. Will I ever look normal again? I didn't see one of the other mothers coming towards me and, disorientated, I almost walked into her. âAre you OK?' she asked, seeing my distress. I didn't know her well, but I knew her name was Patricia. It was one of those moments when virtual strangers can be of more help than close friends, and I told her everything.
I went out less and less, and persuaded some of the other mothers to drop off the kids for me so I did not have to face the world. I felt more and more isolated. Of course I had Gerard, and I had the children, but I still felt terribly alone. The days were awfully long, at home by myself. I didn't have many friends nearby at that stage, as we hadn't been in the house very long and I was only just starting to meet people through school. I had no close girlfriend to confide in apart from Marian.
âThis won't go on for ever,' she kept saying. âJust hang on in there.'
âOh, look at this will you now,' I cried one day, after discovering to my horror a thick covering of downy hair on my top lip. I was growing a moustache, and my natural hair colour was dark brown. Any day now Gerard was going to start calling me Hitler.
âNow don't you go fretting over that, Bernadette. Just bleach it and no one will notice. Whatever you do, don't shave it. Leave it be and when all this is over you'll be back to normal with no harm done.'
I had not told my mother that I had cancer. She was in her seventies and becoming frailer by the day, so I felt that news such as this would crush her. I did not want her to worry â what good would that have done anyone? And it might just finish her off: I could not face losing her on top of everything else. My sister Aquinas had just had a new baby after losing one, so the last thing I wanted was to upset her. I was the baby of the family and had always been a bit spoilt and treated special. I knew that it would shock them all to the core to think that I was in mortal danger â it would have been against the normal order of things for me to have a fatal illness before the others. So I battened down the hatches, kept quiet, and tried my best to get through each day.
âBernie,' said Gerard one evening. âHave you remembered what's coming up at the end of the month?'
âOh!' I gasped. âAugust 21st!' I had completely forgotten. The end of August was always celebrated in our family. It marked both the anniversary of my father's death and Richard's birthday, and we always got together for a family day and a bit of a party. There was no way I could get out of it. Mum in particular always looked forward to the day and would spend days preparing food for all of us. Since my father's death she had really come out of herself â she had her own freedom at last and was enjoying life to the full. A few days before the party I called my mother to have a chat about the day â of course, my main reason for this was to prepare her a little. I mentioned to her that I was on tablets and looked a bit swollen. But nothing could prepare her for the shock of seeing me in the flesh.
She gave a little scream when she saw me. âBernadette, will you look at your face? What has happened to you? I hardly recognize my own daughter.'
âI told you, Mum, I'm on some tablets at the minute.'
âWell, we'll just have to get you off them, that's all. You tell your doctor they're not doing you any good â they're destroying you.' And that, as far as she was concerned, was that. She was always very protective of me, being her youngest.
When Aquinas saw me she burst into tears. âSweet Jesus, Bernie, what's wrong?' I couldn't not tell her.
âIt's cancer,' I whispered, not wanting Mum or the kids to hear, âbut the treatment is working. I know I look bad, but it's for the best. Don't you worry, I'll be fine.' She nodded, aghast, as I explained about the lymphoma and the steroids. I tried to make light of it â I couldn't see her upset, because even though she is my older sister I wanted to protect her. Thankfully my other sister Deirdre could not make it that day â she is a big softie and I knew she would find it hard to deal with. It was a strange day, most unlike all the other end-of-August parties we had held. Gerard and I were putting a brave face on things, Aquinas kept shooting me pitying glances, and my mother kept telling us all that I looked a fright. Even the kids were jumpy â they picked up the air of unreality and uncertainty. Cancer was back in all our lives once more, and it was to change everything.
When we left, some time later, we drove through the town and passed Aquinas standing talking to a friend. She was crying her eyes out. I felt sorry she was upset, but relieved that at last I had been able to tell her.
And so the days wore on, the weeks turned into months, and I got better at dealing with the pain and facing my reflection in the mirror. On good days I would feel cheered that I had managed to cook a meal, or do some painting after school with the children. On bad days I would wonder if I would ever come out of this intact. I felt like a monster, like a mistake of nature, and I would seethe with anger. One evening some old friends came over. I love them both dearly, but they had no idea how they upset me that night. I watched them sit together on the sofa, him stroking her thigh as if she needed polishing. I was furious. How dare they do that in front on me? I raged inwardly. They looked so perfect, beautiful, whole; and I was hideous, swollen and sore. Get out of here and do it in your own house, I thought. I needed this like a hole in the head. In my raw anger I could not see that they had come to see me in a spirit of kindness and only meant well. It seemed to me that they were there to gloat, and to have a good look at me in my wretchedness. That's how twisted my view of everything had become.
The final few weeks were intolerable. In late October I went back to the oncologist for my monthly appointment. My face was so puffy and swollen I could barely see out of the slits of my eyes. He looked up as I entered the room and a look of sharp surprise crossed his face. He held up his hands as if I was about to shoot him.
âI'm taking you off them! I'm taking you off them!' he said.
I was full of gratitude and relief. This man had saved my life. He had treated me, I was better, and now he was saving me from the treatment itself. He told me I could come off them straightaway, and I left his surgery feeling elated. It was over. I was cured of the cancer and I could now go back to a normal life. I stopped taking the steroids that very day.
What a mistake that was.
The next morning I woke up shivering, feverish, by turns boiling hot or freezing cold, rigid with shock. My body was suffused with pain, and I had vomiting bouts. I felt panicked.
âDo something Ger, I'm frightened,' I begged.
âI'll call the doctor straightaway,' he said.
âNo. Don't do that. Ring Marian.'
It was only later that I understood I'd been going through withdrawal symptoms more suited to a heroin addict than an ordinary mother-of-two. Marian's father had had leukaemia and had been on the same drug as me for some time. She would know what was going on.
âWhat do you mean she has just stopped taking it? That's crazy, you can't stop a drug like prednisone abruptly. She needs to wean herself off it gradually. Very gradually. Let me talk to her.'
Marian explained that I should go back to the full dose. I felt as if I had been promised a ticket to Heaven and now told that I should go straight back to Hell.
âNo, Marian, please, I can't stay on those drugs a day longer.' She must have heard the disappointment in my voice.
âYou have to, Bernadette. Your body will go into shock otherwise â it messes with your adrenal system something horrible. You must give your body a chance to adjust and it can't do it overnight. You've been taking sixteen tablets a day. Go back to sixteen, then in three days take it down to fifteen. Stay on fifteen for three days, then reduce to fourteen, and so on.' We worked out a schedule, and it took me many weeks to come off them completely. I thanked her so many times, but I suspect Marian will never know how much of a life-saver she was to me.
The joint pain finally receded. The hard muscle weight faded away. I looked like my old self again, and I was thrilled.
âLet's have a treat today,' said Gerard one Saturday shortly after I had finished coming off the drugs. âWhat would you really like to do?'
âWhat I really fancy is some new clothes,' I said, feeling as excited as a little girl.
âRight then, come on you lot, let's go,' said Gerard. We all piled into the car and went into Dublin. What a wonderful day we had, the four of us, wandering around the city, choosing new clothes for me. I revelled in my new body, loving the chance to feel like a real woman again after months of being a freak. Sarah was great, making me try on everything, running around the shops pulling clothes off racks she thought I'd like. It reminded me of the feeling you get when you have just had a baby, or just stopped breastfeeding, and you are starting afresh with a new wardrobe. I still have a khaki suit and blouse from Principles I bought that day â it was so smart, and I felt so good in it.
Â
⦠and the Ugly
âThere she is,' Richard pointed at me. âI told you she was fat. Look at her.'
It was true. I was parked on the sofa one afternoon watching television, trying not to put pressure on my knees. Richard, just home from school, had brought three of his friends over to see me. They all stared open-mouthed at me for a moment, then rushed out to play in the garden. I smiled ruefully to myself â I had become a freak show for my kids. I knew all these lads, and they knew me. I didn't blame Richard for showing me to them like this â after all I
was
fat. It was horrific to me, but just a fact of life to him. I had changed, and there it was. Even Sarah had taken to calling me her âfat Mammy'.
I am short, with a small frame, and I normally weigh around 45 kilos, or seven and a half stone. I had heard that people could put on weight with steroids, and the last thing I wanted to do was to acquire the physique of an Eastern Bloc shot-putter. But since that July, when I started taking prednisone, I had been ravenous. Even after a huge meal I would still be hungry and I was constantly fighting the urge to binge. Although I was aware of eating healthily and always tried to be careful, I quickly did put on weight â muscle weight, as well as fat weight. It was hard, rock hard, like a layer of cement under my skin. My stomach looked engorged, almost pregnant. My neck was thick, solid with a mass of hard tissue. My face was so swollen I could hardly see the television. My ankles were huge and my shoes no longer fitted me. Within two months of starting the treatment my whole body had swollen up like a balloon. I could not look in the mirror without crying.
âI've never made love to a fatty before,' said Ger, trying to make me laugh. âYour boobs are gorgeous.' He did make me feel better, and I was determined not to let my hideous shape affect the way I behaved. I believed that these drugs were making me well again and I wanted to live much, much more than I wanted to be thin again. So I still shuffled up the hill to collect the children and tried to ignore the looks from people who didn't know me. It did hurt when people I knew fairly well would cross the road rather than speak to me, and I kept telling myself that it was because they were embarrassed and did not know what to say to me.
I did get out when I could, and not just to the school gates. I went shopping in my âgood' periods, just down to the local supermarket. As I handed the groceries to the cashier one day, who was a girl I knew quite well, she looked up at me in surprise.
âJesus, what happened to your face?' The words were out before she realized how appalling they sounded. She clapped her hands over her mouth and looked stricken.
âI'm on medication right now,' was all I could manage.
âI'm so sorry,' she called after me. âI didn't mean â¦'
I got home somehow, and shut the door behind me. Safe once more, I leaned against it and decided never, ever to go into that shop again. I don't think of myself as a vain person. I look OK, that's all, and I don't bother with make-up every time I go out â a slick of lippy normally does the trick for me. But to feel truly ugly, that is a different matter. My face was round, moon-shaped. I thought I looked like a giant chipmunk.
One morning we had a parents' meeting at the school to discuss our children's work. I dressed carefully, taking care with my appearance as much as I could, for I always liked the children to be proud of me. The meeting took place in Sarah's classroom, and while I was waiting I occupied myself with looking at the brightly coloured artwork on the walls. I was the next one to be seen, and Sarah's teacher looked up at me and then down at her list. âI'm sorry,' she said, extending her hand and introducing herself. âYou must be, ah, Sarah's aunt?' My heart stopped.
âNo, actually I'm her mother, but I'm on medication at the minute,' I managed to blurt out.
âI'm terribly sorry,' she stammered, clearly embarrassed by her mistake. Somehow we both got through the meeting, which was not easy since at that time Sarah was not doing too well at school, and I blamed myself for not being able to give her enough attention at home. As I left the school, tears were rolling down my cheeks. My own child's teacher doesn't recognize me, I thought. Will I ever look normal again? I didn't see one of the other mothers coming towards me and, disorientated, I almost walked into her. âAre you OK?' she asked, seeing my distress. I didn't know her well, but I knew her name was Patricia. It was one of those moments when virtual strangers can be of more help than close friends, and I told her everything.
I went out less and less, and persuaded some of the other mothers to drop off the kids for me so I did not have to face the world. I felt more and more isolated. Of course I had Gerard, and I had the children, but I still felt terribly alone. The days were awfully long, at home by myself. I didn't have many friends nearby at that stage, as we hadn't been in the house very long and I was only just starting to meet people through school. I had no close girlfriend to confide in apart from Marian.
âThis won't go on for ever,' she kept saying. âJust hang on in there.'
âOh, look at this will you now,' I cried one day, after discovering to my horror a thick covering of downy hair on my top lip. I was growing a moustache, and my natural hair colour was dark brown. Any day now Gerard was going to start calling me Hitler.
âNow don't you go fretting over that, Bernadette. Just bleach it and no one will notice. Whatever you do, don't shave it. Leave it be and when all this is over you'll be back to normal with no harm done.'
I had not told my mother that I had cancer. She was in her seventies and becoming frailer by the day, so I felt that news such as this would crush her. I did not want her to worry â what good would that have done anyone? And it might just finish her off: I could not face losing her on top of everything else. My sister Aquinas had just had a new baby after losing one, so the last thing I wanted was to upset her. I was the baby of the family and had always been a bit spoilt and treated special. I knew that it would shock them all to the core to think that I was in mortal danger â it would have been against the normal order of things for me to have a fatal illness before the others. So I battened down the hatches, kept quiet, and tried my best to get through each day.
âBernie,' said Gerard one evening. âHave you remembered what's coming up at the end of the month?'
âOh!' I gasped. âAugust 21st!' I had completely forgotten. The end of August was always celebrated in our family. It marked both the anniversary of my father's death and Richard's birthday, and we always got together for a family day and a bit of a party. There was no way I could get out of it. Mum in particular always looked forward to the day and would spend days preparing food for all of us. Since my father's death she had really come out of herself â she had her own freedom at last and was enjoying life to the full. A few days before the party I called my mother to have a chat about the day â of course, my main reason for this was to prepare her a little. I mentioned to her that I was on tablets and looked a bit swollen. But nothing could prepare her for the shock of seeing me in the flesh.
She gave a little scream when she saw me. âBernadette, will you look at your face? What has happened to you? I hardly recognize my own daughter.'
âI told you, Mum, I'm on some tablets at the minute.'
âWell, we'll just have to get you off them, that's all. You tell your doctor they're not doing you any good â they're destroying you.' And that, as far as she was concerned, was that. She was always very protective of me, being her youngest.
When Aquinas saw me she burst into tears. âSweet Jesus, Bernie, what's wrong?' I couldn't not tell her.
âIt's cancer,' I whispered, not wanting Mum or the kids to hear, âbut the treatment is working. I know I look bad, but it's for the best. Don't you worry, I'll be fine.' She nodded, aghast, as I explained about the lymphoma and the steroids. I tried to make light of it â I couldn't see her upset, because even though she is my older sister I wanted to protect her. Thankfully my other sister Deirdre could not make it that day â she is a big softie and I knew she would find it hard to deal with. It was a strange day, most unlike all the other end-of-August parties we had held. Gerard and I were putting a brave face on things, Aquinas kept shooting me pitying glances, and my mother kept telling us all that I looked a fright. Even the kids were jumpy â they picked up the air of unreality and uncertainty. Cancer was back in all our lives once more, and it was to change everything.
When we left, some time later, we drove through the town and passed Aquinas standing talking to a friend. She was crying her eyes out. I felt sorry she was upset, but relieved that at last I had been able to tell her.
And so the days wore on, the weeks turned into months, and I got better at dealing with the pain and facing my reflection in the mirror. On good days I would feel cheered that I had managed to cook a meal, or do some painting after school with the children. On bad days I would wonder if I would ever come out of this intact. I felt like a monster, like a mistake of nature, and I would seethe with anger. One evening some old friends came over. I love them both dearly, but they had no idea how they upset me that night. I watched them sit together on the sofa, him stroking her thigh as if she needed polishing. I was furious. How dare they do that in front on me? I raged inwardly. They looked so perfect, beautiful, whole; and I was hideous, swollen and sore. Get out of here and do it in your own house, I thought. I needed this like a hole in the head. In my raw anger I could not see that they had come to see me in a spirit of kindness and only meant well. It seemed to me that they were there to gloat, and to have a good look at me in my wretchedness. That's how twisted my view of everything had become.
The final few weeks were intolerable. In late October I went back to the oncologist for my monthly appointment. My face was so puffy and swollen I could barely see out of the slits of my eyes. He looked up as I entered the room and a look of sharp surprise crossed his face. He held up his hands as if I was about to shoot him.
âI'm taking you off them! I'm taking you off them!' he said.
I was full of gratitude and relief. This man had saved my life. He had treated me, I was better, and now he was saving me from the treatment itself. He told me I could come off them straightaway, and I left his surgery feeling elated. It was over. I was cured of the cancer and I could now go back to a normal life. I stopped taking the steroids that very day.
What a mistake that was.
The next morning I woke up shivering, feverish, by turns boiling hot or freezing cold, rigid with shock. My body was suffused with pain, and I had vomiting bouts. I felt panicked.
âDo something Ger, I'm frightened,' I begged.
âI'll call the doctor straightaway,' he said.
âNo. Don't do that. Ring Marian.'
It was only later that I understood I'd been going through withdrawal symptoms more suited to a heroin addict than an ordinary mother-of-two. Marian's father had had leukaemia and had been on the same drug as me for some time. She would know what was going on.
âWhat do you mean she has just stopped taking it? That's crazy, you can't stop a drug like prednisone abruptly. She needs to wean herself off it gradually. Very gradually. Let me talk to her.'
Marian explained that I should go back to the full dose. I felt as if I had been promised a ticket to Heaven and now told that I should go straight back to Hell.
âNo, Marian, please, I can't stay on those drugs a day longer.' She must have heard the disappointment in my voice.
âYou have to, Bernadette. Your body will go into shock otherwise â it messes with your adrenal system something horrible. You must give your body a chance to adjust and it can't do it overnight. You've been taking sixteen tablets a day. Go back to sixteen, then in three days take it down to fifteen. Stay on fifteen for three days, then reduce to fourteen, and so on.' We worked out a schedule, and it took me many weeks to come off them completely. I thanked her so many times, but I suspect Marian will never know how much of a life-saver she was to me.
The joint pain finally receded. The hard muscle weight faded away. I looked like my old self again, and I was thrilled.
âLet's have a treat today,' said Gerard one Saturday shortly after I had finished coming off the drugs. âWhat would you really like to do?'
âWhat I really fancy is some new clothes,' I said, feeling as excited as a little girl.
âRight then, come on you lot, let's go,' said Gerard. We all piled into the car and went into Dublin. What a wonderful day we had, the four of us, wandering around the city, choosing new clothes for me. I revelled in my new body, loving the chance to feel like a real woman again after months of being a freak. Sarah was great, making me try on everything, running around the shops pulling clothes off racks she thought I'd like. It reminded me of the feeling you get when you have just had a baby, or just stopped breastfeeding, and you are starting afresh with a new wardrobe. I still have a khaki suit and blouse from Principles I bought that day â it was so smart, and I felt so good in it.
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