In the Midst of Life

said: ‘We are going to miss you.’
    ‘You’rea sweet girl. You all are, and I have grown very fond of you.’
    He kissed a couple of the girls, and then turned to Matron. He hesitated for a fraction of a second – the navy blue uniform, the silver buckle, the high collar, the white cuffs, the frilly cap, were a touch intimidating for any man. Would he, wouldn’t he? He did. Cheered on by the nurses he kissed Matron, who blushed as pink as a peony.
    Mr Anderson returned looking a lot better. He was tanned from the fresh air and sunshine, and although he had not noticeably gained weight, his muscles were stronger. He told us that he had started his walking with a paltry five miles a day, which was exhausting, but day by day he improved on this until he could manage twenty miles without too much fatigue.
    ‘And what about the rough canoeing?’ I enquired.
    ‘That also. It was a great help, having lost so much weight. You need to be light to shoot the rapids of the Wye.’
    ‘Wasn’t it dangerous?’ asked a nurse.
    Yes, but that’s half the fun. And if you’ve got nothing to lose but a life that’s on borrowed time, you can do anything. I took far more risks than anyone else. It was great.’
    He laughed in a devil-may-care way. ‘Now I’ve got to get back to work. There is a good deal to be completed still.’
    Blood and serum tests were taken, and a series of X-rays. The Chief was so impressed by the apparent reduction in the size of the growth, and especially in the improvement in the patient’s general health, that he thought we could risk a further series of radium treatments. Normally, one has to limit the radiation because the effects on the body are so debilitating.
    Mr Anderson was re-admitted, and his previous working pattern resumed. The effects of the radium were quickly evident, and the poor man became very weak and ill, but still he carried on going to his broom cupboard. It was pathetic, yet inspiring. There was no point in telling him to rest more; he took no notice.
    TheChief had decided on a ten-week course of radium, which was longer than is usually ordered, and could easily kill a person, but they had discussed it, and Mr Anderson had declared that, by sheer strength of will, he would overcome the side effects. He was determined to go fell running in Cumbria, and the Chief felt sure he could manage this, although it is notoriously difficult and dangerous.
    During the next two years Mr Anderson worked like a man possessed, in his city office during the months after he had been discharged, and in the broom cupboard when he was in hospital. He never let up. Work was punctuated by strenuous holidays – he walked the 190 miles of the Pennines in seven days; he climbed the Welsh mountains, including Mount Snowdon; he went frequently to Scotland, determined to climb each of the Munros and the Cairngorms. He did more in two years than the majority of us will do in a lifetime.
    And it was not the cancer that killed Mr Anderson. It was the Cairngorms. In the mountain ranges, the weather can change from sunshine to blizzards in a few hours. Mysterious things can happen on those remote heights; perhaps he saw a beckoning hand, or heard a beguiling voice, luring him towards danger. ‘There’s nothing to lose,’ was always his spur. He had flirted with Death for so long that he almost loved Her. As he fell in the snow, and his body temperature dropped, his senses would have become numb and easeful rest would have seduced him to a sleep from which he did not waken. He had not wanted to die in a hospital bed, and the cold and the snow had saved him …
    The mystery of what had been going on in the broom cupboard was later revealed. Through a combination of hard work, speculation and professional expertise Mr Anderson had accumulated millions of pounds. Every penny of it was left to Cancer Research.

POOR VAN GOGH
     
    What poor Van Gogh needed
    was a little pill,
    or perhaps not that pill
    but a different little pill,
    or perhaps a different one again
    for a month, for a year, for life,
    or perhaps a combination
    of little pills, try this one, try that one,
    try that one and another together,
    lots of little pills perhaps he needed,
    a thousand pounds’ worth,
    ten thousand pounds’ worth,
    half a million pounds’ worth
    given the research costs
    and the cost of Public Relations
    and the expectations of shareholders,
    then poor Vincent could have
    given up painting masterpieces
    and vanished