The Choice by Bernadette Bohan Page A

enough to get hit a second time. Put it out of your mind until you can get it checked out.’
‘I’ll wait until my period comes to see if it goes away – it might just be the time of the month.’
‘OK, but don’t mess around, Bernie. Don’t wait too long.’
A few days later I saw my GP, who got on the phone instantly. He discovered that my usual oncologist was on holiday at that time, so he booked me in for an appointment with another specialist.
This doctor was young and fresh-faced. He smiled nervously as he examined me. I ought to be the nervous one, I thought.
‘I think I’ll just do a needle biopsy,’ he said. ‘It’s a simple procedure in which I remove a few cells from the lump and send them off to the lab for analysis.’ I was surprised that he could do it then and there, but pleased that the first step was being taken this quickly. I felt a deep stab of pain as the needle went in – after all the injections and tests I had had before, this one felt particularly sore, perhaps because the needle was going into one of the softest, most personal parts of my body. I shut my eyes and pretended I wasn’t there. As he transferred the contents of the syringe to a slide he carried on talking.
‘The results of a test like this aren’t always conclusive, so don’t be surprised if we call you back for a further test, what we call a core biopsy.’
‘Should I be worried? I’m about to go on holiday for two weeks.’
‘Oh no, we won’t get the results until next Tuesday anyway, and if we need to book you in for another test that can wait until your return. Are you going somewhere nice?’
I explained that we were going to Fuerte Ventura, in the Canaries. We hadn’t had a holiday for some time and although Richard couldn’t come with us – he was going off to Greece with his friends later in August – the girls were really excited. He asked me how old the children were, and then he told me that he had been two years ago with his girlfriend and had had a wonderful time surfing – the waves were superb.
‘I don’t expect I’ll be doing much of that! In fact I don’t know how I’m going to relax at all with this hanging over me.’
‘Try and put it out of your mind and give us a call when you get back. Have a lovely holiday – and don’t spend it worrying.’
Yet it was with a heavy heart that I set off on that year’s family holiday. Not that I was normally the superstitious kind, but there did seem to be an awful parallel with that other holiday twelve years ago when we discovered the first lump. It was June again, we were off to the Canary Islands again, and Julie was now just about the same age as Sarah had been then. Surely, surely, this could not be happening all over again?
Sensible, practical Gerard wouldn’t hear of this ‘ déjà vu ’ talk – and he did his best to keep up all our spirits that fortnight.
He couldn’t stop me from phoning the hospital, though, on the Tuesday I knew the test results would be in. I made the call from a café near our beach, and it was a bad line. It took the hospital some time to put me through to the doctor, and I could barely hear his voice.
‘Mrs Bohan? Yes, we have your results here – but as I predicted we are going to have to get you back in again for the core biopsy.’ I froze. What did this mean? The pips went and I fumbled in my shorts’ pocket for more coins, dropping some on the floor in my hurry.
‘Are you still there?’ he was shouting, but faint.
‘What is it? Is it the cancer back?’ I made myself say the words.
‘Look, it is standard practice; it doesn’t mean there is anything sinister there. We’ll see you at the end of the month. Don’t worry.’ I put the phone down: I was running out of coins and he wasn’t going to tell me what I