When the ambulance took Sheila away, Tom’s body began to tremble. The day had almost done him in and he felt every bit of his sixty-odd years. And no matter how hard he tried, Sheila’s overdose and the little baby sent Tom into the darkest part of his mind. Memories, dreams of a time in his life that he fought to avoid, overcame him. This was a home he did not want to revisit, but his mind found its way there all the same …
Tom dropped his toothbrush to the floor when he heard Cathy’s voice scream out. He wiped the foam from his mouth as he ran towards her voice, terror, horror, heartbreak laced in every scream.
It only took seconds for him to reach Mikey’s room, but it felt like an eternity. As he pushed open the white door, as it swung open wide, Tom had the urge to slam it shut once more. To run away from whatever horror lay on the other side causing his wife to howl like she did.
Nothing prepared him for the truth on the other side. Cathy lying on the ground holding Mikey in her arms, kissing his face over and over, begging him to wake up. ‘He isn’t moving. He was on his tummy face down when I came in, Tom. Why isn’t he moving? I need to warm him up; he’s so cold.’
Tom’s mind screamed No! over and over. Yet somehow he managed to calmly say to Cathy, ‘Give Mikey to me, love. Let me do my job and see what’s wrong with him.’
In the end, he had to peel her hands away from him. She couldn’t let go. Tom laid his son down gently on the floor. His tiny body was cold and lifeless.
No!
He refused to believe that he could not help. He was a doctor. This was his job, to save people. To save children. To save his son.
‘Do something. Please, oh, please, do something …’ Cathy was on her knees, as if in prayer, sobbing hysterically.
‘Call 999,’ Tom instructed. Then he began CPR, blowing gently into Mikey’s mouth.
Time stood still and they waited for a miracle.
God damn it, Mikey, breathe. Don’t you dare leave us.
Cathy watched him with hope and fear stamped onto every nuance of her face.
Mikey did not move. No answer to their prayers. No miracle.
The paramedics arrived within fifteen minutes. They found Tom still trying to resuscitate his son. Gently they asked him to move aside. And to Tom’s shame he felt relief that he could now hand over the responsibility to someone else. Let the paramedics perform a miracle that he could not muster. They continued CPR and they injected Mikey with adrenalin.
Tom fell back and leaned against the white cot that only a few short months ago he had put together. His mind refused to accept the reality of the nightmare that was in front of him.
Over and over he screamed inside, No! No! No!
The silence in the room thundered around them. Tom closed his eyes, unable to watch as the paramedics began to shock his baby’s heart.
Cry, Mikey, cry for your mama and dada. Cry …
But all around them was that thundering, fucking sound of silence.
‘We need to bring Mikey into hospital now,’ the paramedic said kindly. She had tears in her eyes and this made Tom cross. No tears, no crying for their son allowed. He was going to live. He had to live.
They picked him up and wrapped him in a blanket, walking out of the house to the waiting ambulance. Tom and Cathy ran behind them, clutching onto each other. Horror unlike anything they could ever have imagined ripping them into shreds.
‘They’ll put him on a drip or something. A life-support machine to help him breathe. Won’t they?’ Cathy shrieked at Tom.
Tom lied and said yes. Of course they would. But he knew all was lost. Because even if by some miracle they managed to bring Mikey back, all that time without oxygen to his brain would leave him severely brain damaged.
He felt sorrow begin to seep into him, working its way through his body, poisoning everything. Causing a lasting fracture in his mind that would one day snap in two.