Page 34 of One Last Thing
‘Tremors?’
‘In my hand. Subtle but irritating, especially when trying to write. I went to the doctor about this combination of ailments and after a few tests, I’m afraid my suspicions have been confirmed and it’s MS.’
He didn’t say anything. A muscle in his jaw twitched. His forehead was creased. I realised he was trying not to getupset, the thought of which made me so upset I was forced to lift up the menu and say, ‘Now, what are your thoughts on padrón peppers?’
He never got over that remark. He brought it up almost any time I saw him after that. ‘What a moment to ask about my thoughts on padrón peppers, for Christ’s sake,’ he would mutter, shaking his head in disbelief.
I made it clear that I didn’t want to focus on my illness or talk about it, in much the same way he didn’t want to discuss his either. We were very different people but, in the end, when it came to life-threatening problems, we chose to face them in the same way: pretend they didn’t exist. Henry’s reasoning for that is because he hated attention. My reasons were much more based in denial. We agreed my motivations were the unhealthier and more destructive of the two, but I was going to stick with it.
‘You should talk about it with someone,’ he advised once, not for the first or last time.
‘I talk about it with you.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘Youknowabout it.’
‘But we don’ttalkabout it. You deflect or joke when I bring it up.’
‘Yes, but you’re not well.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘I don’t want to steal your thunder.’
He gave me a wry smile. ‘Go ahead and joke, Dawn, prove my point. You don’t have to talk about it with me if you don’t want to, but you should talk to someone. Have you told Jemma?’
‘No.’
‘She’s your best friend. She’d want to know. You have to tell Megan, too. It’s not fair.’
‘I’ll tell her in my own time, Henry, now stop it.’
‘As someone who has recent experience in these matters, I’m only trying to give you some advice. It helps to talk about it.’
‘If I wanted your advice, Henry, I’d have stayed married to you. Besides, I know that if ever Ineedto talk to someone, I have you. Does that satisfy?’
He nodded. ‘For now.’
We sat in content silence for a while. Then he said, ‘I’ve been trying to work out if a terminal illness gives life more meaning.’
‘Nothing too heavy on your mind, then.’
‘It seems almost a stroke of luck that uncertainty has been taken out of the equation.’
I turned to look at him in curiosity.
‘I can draw up lists,’ he continued calmly, ‘make plans to do what I’ve always wanted to do, see what I want to see, tell people how much they mean to me without coming across as a pretentious twit. I can make peace with life and what it’s given me. Now, when I experience genuine joy, I feel it deeply.’
‘We’re all dying, Henry,’ I reminded him. ‘There was never uncertainty of that.’
‘I know. But we’re so casual and thoughtless with that knowledge.’
I took a deep breath. ‘Carry on like this and I’ll never invite you to any parties again, you’ll bore the whole room. People have a right to enjoy profound ignorance.’
He chuckled, shifting to look at me. ‘All I’m saying is, there is a different way to view this.’
I tore my gaze from his. ‘The decline is a certainty.’
