Must You Go_ - Antonia Fraser [102]
14 December
Today Harold goes for a scan to see it ‘from another angle’. And then to an oncologist. Wish it wasn’t the eclipse tonight. And I thought it would be poor Mummy … (My mother had been very ill with a series of strokes but had recovered.)
Harold tremendously calm. Asked what could be done. The answer: ‘An operation or chemotherapy or a combination of the two.’ Late, late last night, Harold: ‘I just can’t get used to the notion of death in my early seventies.’
In the event the decision was chemotherapy followed by an operation if the tumour was shrunk or at any rate not increased. So months of chemo followed.
14 December cont.
Harold had the scans, saw the consultant and was then given his programme. He’s also given a printed list of possible side-effects: ‘You won’t necessarily need a wig.’ Suggest that Harold has a trendy short haircut, like David Beckham, before the chemo kicks in.
Everything is cancelled, Ireland, Paris, Barbados. Harold very sweetly keeps apologizing. As if I cared a hoot about any of that! The sheer shock of the verdict, though. I fear my lip trembled. I realized that a small part of me, I suppose it’s only human, had hoped that the consultant would spread his arms and say: ‘It was all a mistake.’
On the whole I haven’t cried very much, only on the telephone breaking the news to very sympathetic people like my children.
19 December
Odd thoughts. I gave Harold my usual early-morning kiss, and then wondered: ‘Is this the spot where the tumour is?’
22 December
Harold, although feeling very weak after a procedure under anaesthetic (thank God no spread!), persisted in his plan to go and buy me a Christmas present at McCarthy’s jewellers in Artillery Row. We found a jade bangle, thick, bright spring green, full of light. I am giving Harold a DVD of the work of Frank Auerbach that he likes so much.
25 December
All in all, despite dreads (like: I won’t have the energy to carry this through) it was a lovely Christmas Day. Harold made a touching speech about the power of human support, especially the children. I drank a toast to Dada and the past, but the star was Thomas Fraser who had written both an earnest and considered speech and a Viking poem. Also Phoebe Fraser who recited ‘Away in a Manger’ in a strong voice, aged three, word perfect. A tiny star.
27 December
Harold’s first go of chemo. Tests, tests, tests. I visited Harold at 8 p.m. The hospital at night quite sinister, the smell of chloroform. Told myself: ‘It’s the smell of cure.’ Harold very positive: ‘I only have four goes and this is number one.’
30 December
Took Harold up to the Serpentine as we had had a terrible night of worries, both of us, which we could not somehow seem to control, and I thought air would be beneficial. We sat in the bright winter sun, huge ducks and geese being fed, light on the water. I went for a brief walk while Harold reflected. Alternative was going to Mass, but good deeds preferable.
2002
1 January
Palindrome year as Simon Gray points out last night. I shall be seventy in August, I said. Simon: ‘What’s a girl like you doing being seventy?’ Gallant. I feel a hundred and seventy.
Lack of courage this morning and a few tears of which I feel ashamed. No way to start the New Year. Not fair to Harold, to put it mildly, and to have provoked the sleepy words ‘I am so sorry’ made me even more ashamed.
4 January
Harold read me ‘a sketch’ – former Minister of Police becomes Minister of Culture. He said: ‘It’s very crude.’ It was. I got upset: the death of a child being described as ‘educational’. I realize that it’s the relic of the play he began once as a sequel to One for the Road. Still, the energy is good.