41

Sunday 27 July 2014

The diurnal passage of light and darkness was masked by other rhythms. Always the soft footfall of shoes. The opening and closing of curtains. People touching her skin, lifting her, moving her. Pain in her side and back. A dry mouth. A difficulty swallowing and a soreness in her nose where the oxygen feed rested. It was always a penumbra here.

Breathing was effortful. She put her hand to her chest and the skin crackled beneath her fingers like tissue paper. She tried to raise herself, looked to her left and saw her vital signs spelt out on the monitor. Her heart was beating, slow and steady. On her index finger was the light of the pulse monitor. She tried again to sit but a woman in a royal blue dress stayed her with a hand on her arm.

‘I’m taking you down to theatre. Do you want to say a quick hello to your mum?’

Theatre? She wanted to say, ‘What are we going to see?’ but she knew that was silly, although in her confusion she wasn’t quite clear why. She opened her eyes, saw her mother.

‘Mum.’

Her mother smiled. ‘Lizzie.’

She closed her eyes. The woman in the blue dress was talking about stuff but it was too hard to follow the words. The bed pulled away. Suddenly she was really confused. Frightened. Where was she going? What was she doing, moving like this? What was happening? Or was it just her sister, Natty, pushing her around the garden blindfolded in a wheelbarrow, like she used to do?

She had come to a stop. People were talking. She heard them discussing her – confirming her name, date of birth.

‘You’re aware of the positive pregnancy test?’

She opened her eyes. In front of the super-bright theatre lights a man was standing looking down at her. He had a hairnet on over his grey curly hair.

She said, ‘I’m still pregnant?’

He said, ‘You are, but don’t worry about that now. Plenty of time to talk about that as soon as we’ve sorted out that nasty wound you’ve got in your lung.’

She looked at the people around her in their blue scrubs. Her heart filled. They looked so kind. ‘Thank you.’

The man with the grey hair smiled. He said, ‘Our pleasure, PC Griffiths. You’re a hero. Now, count to ten.’