I had only realised recently that my third patient was in a much worse condition than I thought. I had met her 10 days ago at the Cancer Research UK annual fundraising event. For some reason I had noticed her out of everyone in the crowd. Her eyes were bright blue and her freckles were perfectly placed above her cheeks. She was bald and beautiful; she seemed to be handling it. Until every time her mother looked away she doubled over in pain and struggled to straighten herself up. She had coughed and cried but managed to completely hide this from the world around her. Except from me.
Her mother had called me this morning after her daughter had started puking and feeling nauseous in the middle of the night. It was apparent that she wasn't sure of who I was but called me for help because the hospital phone line was down and she had written down on a post-it that I could help her, which in all honesty I said I could do. But this, this wasn't my field of expertise. I was fully trained in first aid but not necessarily dealing with situations like this. I had been mainly researching cures for cancer, not how to treat it medically.
I knew I was driving in my car to a situation that I possibly couldn't solve but, if I couldn't do anything I would simply drive her to the hospital. Unfortunately the mother was in a wheel chair and the daughter had to do most of the driving. I think her name was Anna? Yeah, Anna. I had all the right vegetables, fruit, tea and booklets my little Panda could support but I still felt scared, was I capable of doing this?
When I arrived, the mother was already waiting and immediately took my hand and dragged me whilst wheeling herself along to the front door as quickly as possible.
"She's in here. Can you help her?" Anna was coughing violently, a mixture of sick and blood plasma appeared to be dripping out of her mouth as we spoke. I grimaced.
"Well first I'm going to need a bucket and a bowl. The bucket for the sick, and the bowl for the remedy. I need the bowl filled with half a litre of warm water and maybe some towels to wipe her face with?" I was being way too rash and demanding, but the mother seemed to not care.
"Got it." She raced out of the room at full speed. I turned my attention back to Anna. I knelt down beside her and felt for the right segment down her spine, I hit it with my knuckle.
"OW!" She cried, instantly turning to me. "What was that for?!"
"You've stopped vomiting haven't you?" I smiled back. The mother was already back with the list I gave her.
"Anything else?" There was no sarcasm, thank god, just pure unadulterated worry.
"No that's all, thank you." I chopped up the ingredients with a penknife, added some powdered cinnamon and vigorously mixed the ingredients in with the water until foam started to build. I took the tablespoon from my bag and gave it to her.
"Urgh. That tastes funny." Anna said. I chuckled at this.
"Well get used to it, because this is going to be your breakfast blend for the next 20 days."
20 minutes later Anna came back from her shower and sat down at the table with myself and her mother, who had been intensively interviewing me about who I was and how I did what I did. She called me a ‘miracle maker’. I laughed that off and then turned to Anna, who was looking at us cluelessly from not understanding our conversation having come in half way through.
“Wait, I’m not supposed to go to the doctors. How will I get my chemotherapy then?”
“You won’t.” I said sternly. “If you go near that doctor’s office you will be basically condemning yourself to death. The worst part is, they don’t know they’re even doing it.”
“So how can you help me?” I pulled out my card with my number and told her about the schedule I had planned out for her. She was a bit unsure over what I had to say but who would? Eating certain foods and drinking certain drinks along with mental/spiritual exercises obviously didn’t seem like the obvious answer. I knew no-one would understand me, until they were cured.
I shook hands with Anna’s mother as I left their house and got back in my car. As I drove back along the road I noticed that there was a light blinking in the back of the car that was in front of me. At first I thought it was a clock, but then I realised.
“No!” I cried as I swerved out of the way, attempting a U-turn in the middle of a busy road. I was too late. The car exploded before I even had the chance to get out of my own. My world after that for the next few hours was simply a blur.
I woke up in the hospital and winced as the intake of light pierced my eyes. I looked up to see a girl looking at me worriedly; I didn’t recognise her one bit.
“Hi, my name’s Kate.”