Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [68]
My mental calculations, however, had her coming back to the room in two hours, and, when she didn’t, my imagination went into overdrive, envisaging all sorts of horrors. While the clock on the wall went on ticking, as if mocking me. And still Claudia didn’t return.
By the time I finally heard her being wheeled back along the corridor, I had convinced myself that the whole thing had gone horribly wrong and Claudia had died on the operating table.
But she wasn’t dead, she was just cold and shivering uncontrollably.
I was so pleased to see her but she was not a happy bunny, not at all. She was sore from the surgery and feeling nauseated from the anesthetic. And she couldn’t stop the shivering.
“It’s quite normal,” said a nurse curtly when I asked about it. “She’ll be fine soon.”
“Can she please have another blanket?” I asked.
Reluctantly, she agreed. And, in time, the shivering did abate, and Claudia relaxed and eventually went to sleep.
Dr. Tomic came to see us at about two o’clock while Claudia was still sleeping.
“I have some good news and not quite such good news,” he said to me quietly. “First, the good news is that I removed only one ovary and the other one looked perfectly fine, although I took a piece for a biopsy and it’s currently being assessed in the path lab.”
“And the not-so-good news?” I asked.
“The tumor was not quite fully contained in the ovary, as we had thought, and it had erupted on the surface. It’s often difficult to tell precisely from the scans.”
“And what, exactly, does that mean?” I said.
“It means there is every likelihood that there will be some ovarian cancer cells present in the fluid within the abdominal cavity. We will know for sure when the lab tests are complete.”
“And?” I said.
“In order to be sure we’ve killed off the cancer completely, I think a course or two of chemo will probably be needed.”
“Chemotherapy?” I said.
“I’m afraid so,” he replied. “Just to be sure.”
“Does that mean I’ll lose my hair?” Claudia asked. Her eyes were closed, and I hadn’t realized she’d been awake and listening.
“It might,” he said, “although the drugs are much better than they used to be.” I took that to mean yes, she would lose her hair. “But even so, it will grow back.”
Claudia’s long, flowing jet-black hair was her pride and joy.
“Does the chemo start straightaway?” I asked.
“Within a few weeks,” he said. “We’ll give Claudia time to recover from the surgery first.”
“Will it affect the other ovary?” I asked. “I read on the Internet that some cancer drugs made women infertile.”
“The drugs used are very powerful,” he said. “They work by attacking cells that divide rapidly, like cancer cells, but they do tend to affect everything in the body to some degree. Am I to assume that preserving fertility is a priority?”
“Yes,” said Claudia unequivocally, still not opening her eyes.
“Then we will just have to be very careful,” he said. “Won’t we?”
At three-thirty in the afternoon I left Claudia resting in the hospital while I went home to change and have a shower, taking a Northern Line Tube train from Warren Street to Finchley Central.
“I won’t be long,” I told her. “About an hour and a half. Is there anything I can get you?”
“A new body,” she said miserably.
“I love the one you have,” I said, and she forced a smile.
The doctor had told us that she would have to stay in the hospital for another night but she should be able to go home the following day, or on Thursday at the latest.
The sun was shining as the Tube train rose from the dark tunnels into the daylight just before East Finchley Station. It was always a welcome sign. It meant I was nearly home.
As I walked down Lichfield Grove I could see that there was a man standing outside my house with his finger on the doorbell. I was