Because Susan Kelly had cancer.
She didn't want to admit it, but she felt it just the same. She never had the nerve to analyze the mammography herself for fear of what she might find and also because she doubted her judgment at that time. Instead she had sent it to Beatson Centre in Glasgow, the best cancer treatment and diagnosis clinic in Europe. Susan had some old college friends working there and she trusted they would conduct the analysis with extra care. But the professional in her, with fifteen years of experience, felt that the evil cells were there, spreading like dumb but deadly zombies. She touched her chest, feeling her breasts, praying nothing would be growing there.
"God, it's the only time in my life when I wish I were a bad doctor," she whispered as she stood on her feet, leaning against the window, looking down into the waves seventy yards below.
The thought of having to subject herself to chemotherapy made her want to vomit. She had even done so a few times, since she began considering the option. That reminded her of Mrs. O'Ceallaigh and the pains Susan had put her through "to kill the bad cells." She had never told the lady that, together with cancerous cells, the toxic aldehyde was washing out healthy ones, too. Susan will never forget the woman's face at seeing her doctor putting on an extra pair of surgical gloves every time she was injecting her dose.
"Why? Is it...the chemical?" she had asked.
"Just our policy, that's all, Peggy," Susan lied, trying her best not to gulp.
Now Mrs. O'Ceallaigh was dead and buried and suddenly the waves turned to aldehyde and were eating into the cliffs, looking for a way to reach her. The hissing sound of the chemicals burning into the bluff startled her and she closed the window, almost breaking the glass.
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