Page 101 of Here One Moment

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I’m sorry.

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Please give me a moment.

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I’m afraid I can’t offer any more details as I feel queasy. I have avoided seafood ever since. I’m sure you have already guessed what happened.

You are correct. I suffered the most shocking case of food poisoning. I have never experienced anything like it before or since. David was fine. It must have been something only I had the misfortune to eat or the foolishness to choose from the buffet.

I thought I was going to die. I actually had no idea it was possible to be that violently ill.

David looked after me, of course he did, and made sure I did not become dehydrated or die, but he was a cardiologist, not a nurse.

He wasn’t unkind. Just brisk. Certainly not cruel.

I’m trying very hard to be accurate here.

David was driven by self-interest. It was at the heart of everything he did.

Every one of us is driven by self-interest, of course.

Never mind. I’m not sure what point I am trying to make. It’s something to do with convenience. I discovered on my honeymoon that David preferred not to be inconvenienced. Ever.

When he drove me home after the Swiss fondue party and so kindly let me sleep rather than waking me to ask for directions, I got an impression of him that turned out to be somewhat inaccurate. That can happen. I guess that was before he’d got me into his waterbed.

He did not exactly blame me for the food poisoning, but he did say under his breath: “Never eat the oysters at a buffet.” He said this as if it were a truism, a rule of life that everyone knew except me. But he saw me eat them and never said a word! They were the first oysters I’d ever eaten! He made jokes about them being an aphrodisiac!

Anyhow, we agreed there was no point both of us having a terrible time so he signed up for lots of resort activities, which was sensible. One such activity was scuba diving. He fell in love with it. He canceled the other activities and decided our honeymoon was the perfect opportunity to complete a five-day Learn to Dive course.

Never mind, I thought, as I lay with my cheek pressed to the cold bathroom tiles. At least one of us is having a good honeymoon.

But on the fourth day, when I had recovered enough to lie on a deck chair out in front of our “villa” while David was out doing his first open-water dive, I found myself looking at the horizon and thinking of Jack Murphy and wondering if he would have been good in bed. I decided he would most likely have been marvelous.

Try not to think about former boyfriends while on your honeymoon. It’s never a good sign.

Chapter 88

It’s five a.m. on a Tuesday morning and Sue lies in bed, curled on her side, her pillow clutched to her stomach, while she watches the light in the room change. Max sleeps beside her, his back against hers, snoring the way he has snored throughout their marriage: soft and regular, in perfect time, like the ticking of a grandfather clock.

Something is not right.

It started the day after her wake-like birthday party. A kind of dull ache in her stomach. She put it down to eating too much spicy food at the party and drinking more than usual due to stress. It was just her middle-aged digestive system not being able to cope with a party. It was not a sign of something terrible. She told no one, went to work, and the feeling came and went, and she convinced herself it was all in her head. That night she had a long bubble bath, unusual for her, tried to make herself relax, went to bed early, told herself it was psychosomatic.

But the next day she felt even worse, and the pain seemed to be moving, possibly radiating into her back, and then: itchiness.

Itchy skin is on the list, along with abdominal pain, loss of appetite, fatigue, nausea, and vomiting. The awful list: Early signs of pancreatic cancer. The list that means it’s happening. The Death Lady’s prediction is coming true, just like all the others. No getting off that roller coaster. People used to say that to her when she was pregnant.

Sue has not mentioned her symptoms to anyone. Of course, she will take action very soon, but once she says the words out loud it will set everything in motion. There will be no going back. Appointments, forms, tests, and procedures. Poking and prodding. Pain and pain relief. Prescriptions, medication, side effects, medication for the side effects, more side effects. There will be waiting: for results, for phone calls, for treatment plans, for busy people to get back to her. There will be nothing else but the disease. She just wants a few more moments in her beautiful normal life. She now understands the pregnant woman from the plane and her desire to simply ignore her diagnosis, especially if she believes that she is ultimately going to die anyway. Sue sees it in the face of every patient at her work: Let me get back to my life, I don’t belong here, I don’t want to be here, I have things to do. They tell her what they were busy doing just before their life was interrupted by this trip to the ER. They want her to know: Out there I am somebody.

The nausea swells and recedes.

She was so lucky with all her pregnancies. No nausea at all. She got pregnant easily and she coped well. She’s been lucky with her health. She’s never had an operation. She’s only been in the hospital to give birth.

Your luck has to run out sometime.

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