Chapter 19

The paramedics wheel me out and rush me in through the emergency double doors towards the A & E corridor. Nat and Eunice run at my side.

‘Ladies, go to reception. You can come to ICU afterwards,’ shouts the paramedic.

The strong stink of antiseptic, tinged with blood and pus, hits me as the paramedics wheel me further down the long corridor. There are streaks of blood smeared across the ceiling and the air smells like iron. I feel bile rise in my throat. My eyes are wide open and I try to ignore the people at my side, crammed along the corridor. A young child screams, while a man with a thick blob of congealed blood on the side of his head reaches out to stop the gurney. The paramedic pushes him roughly away. I cringe at the awful reality of all the suffering and anger. What the hell am I doing in King Edward’s hospital? Two nurses saunter towards us, talking loudly in Zulu and laughing.

‘Mind!’ barks the bald-headed paramedic. ‘This is an emergency.’

The nurses give him a dirty look but move to the side so they can wheel me past.

I see the notice board for the ICU rear up as we approach the end of the corridor. They wheel me into the industrial lift and seconds later we’re surging upwards.

In ICU the air is cold. The smell of bleach catches the back of my throat. Machines hum like wasps as the ventilators breathe their mechanical life into their patients, but the ward feels strangely silent. The steady rhythm of the ventilators draws me in and for a second I feel I’ve strayed onto an alien mothership where some weird mechanical life will experiment on me.

The paramedics lift me onto the bed and hand a file to a tall Indian doctor who stands over me.

‘Convulsions,’ says the bald-headed paramedic. ‘We’ve managed to control them some. We’ve moistened the open eyes, but she’s not responding.’

‘Good man. Thank you,’ says the doctor.

The doctor studies my file while another young man slices away my sweat-drenched pyjamas, totally oblivious to the fact that despite appearances, I’m conscious. He sticks material patches all over my chest and instantly the heart monitor springs to life. The fast, steady beeps mean the thin blue line is beating. Can’t they tell from my fast pulse that I’m awake? My legs jerk and I feel a wave ripple through my body. A fat nurse attacks me with needles; first on one hand, then the other. I watch, frozen, as she mounts the infusion bag and opens the taps to let the liquid drip life into my body. My jerking eases. She tightens a blood pressure monitor around my arm.

‘It’s low, Doctor.’

He nods and shines a light into my eyes. His face blurs. His hands are cool against my chest as he examines me. At least it feels like he cares. He squeezes some liquid into my staring eyes and the room dissolves for a few seconds into a dense mist. He closes my eyelids and tapes them down.

My pulse quickens and I try to still my mind from the panic which seeks to invade it. I hear the swoosh of the ICU swing doors.

‘Ladies, you can come in now. Please just put on these covering shoes and cap and wash your hands.’

Footsteps pad towards me.

‘She’s stopped fitting now but is not responsive.’

‘Will she be … okay?’ Nat’s voice breaks mid-sentence.

‘We don’t know yet. Her brain has gone a long time without oxygen. I’m sorry, lady, it’s still touch and go. We will just need to wait and see. You can sit here by her and hold this hand.’

I hear the scrape of a stool and sense someone sitting down next to my bed. Someone takes my limp hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

‘Houw,’ whispers Eunice. She clicks her tongue, ‘Houw!’

‘Can you hear me, Liss?’ whispers Nat. ‘Elsa and me are here, so is Eunice. Don’t worry, you’re going to be okay. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.’

I will myself to respond to Nat’s touch and manage a slight squeeze.

‘She just squeezed my hand. Feel, Elsa … feel.’ Nat lets go my hand and I feel another hand close around mine and give a gentle squeeze. I respond.

‘Nat’s right,’ says Elsa. ‘She just squeezed mine too, Doctor.’

‘Probably a slight muscle spasm. She’s in a deep coma. She won’t be able to respond.’

‘She just did. Don’t discount it,’ Elsa snaps.

‘We’ll keep a careful eye on her. She’s hooked up to the latest machinery. You can see that.’

Dr Rajeet’s tone holds a hint of disdain.

‘We need to make sure we do everything we can for her. She’s our … baby sister.’ Elsa’s voice cracks as she utters the words.

‘I promise we’ll do everything we can. Does she suffer from epilepsy?’

‘No.’

‘How long was she drinking?’

‘She’d been to rehab … she was off it until this …’ says Elsa.

‘It’s easy to give in,’ says Dr Rajeet. ‘I’m sorry to say it but it’s probably drink which has caused this.’

‘Surely she would have had to be doing it again for a while,’ says Elsa. ‘She’s only been out of rehab four weeks. Eunice, have you seen her drink anything in that time?’

Akukho, only see the empty whiskey bottle today. Nothing before that since Melissa come out of the drink hospital.’

‘You see!’ demands Elsa. ‘She hasn’t been drinking for weeks or anything like that!’

‘If she had a great deal in one night then this can do it, especially if she has a history. The pyjamas we cut from her stank of alcohol. She must have had a lot. We will test for liver and other organ damage and also X-ray her brain. How old is she?’

‘Twenty-eight,’ says Nat. ‘but my sister’s right. If she’d been drinking again for a while we’d have known. I’ve seen her nearly every day since she came out. She was stone cold sober every time. I promise you she was.’

‘We need to examine every possibility, Doctor. Can anything else besides alcohol do this?’ Elsa’s tone is clipped and official, and she’s obviously in lawyer mode.

‘Ja, there’s a few things. Do you know if she took drugs?’

‘No, I’m sure she never took any,’ says Elsa.

‘Okay, we’ll look back at her records. We’ll leave you for a while to sit with your sister and then I’m sorry, you’ll all have to go. We’ll phone you if anything happens,’ says Dr Rajeet.

‘You mean if she dies?’ whispers Nat. ‘She’s not going to die, is she …?’

Dr Rajeet remains silent and my pulse quickens. I don’t want to die. Please God, don’t let me die. I hear the double doors swoosh open again and footsteps hurry in.

A nurse calls out, ‘You must put on a cap and slippers first – and wash your hands.’ The footsteps stop and seconds later hurry in my direction.

‘What’s happened to Liss? What happened?’

Oh Lord! I don’t want Karlos to see me like this. I really don’t.

‘I thought maybe you could tell us.’ Elsa’s voice is filled with bitterness. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘I just went to the gym at 5am … when I came back Lissa was gone. The neighbour told me about the ambulance. H … how is she?’

‘Not too fucking good, actually,’ Elsa’s tone is hard and condemning.

‘I’m sorry … I had no idea she was drinking. I don’t understand what has happened. I really don’t,’ mumbles Karlos.

‘Well, she apparently was drinking? Eunice found an empty whiskey bottle in the house. Weren’t you with her?’ demands Elsa.

‘I never saw anything … I don’t know … but maybe she was …’ Karlos’ voice rises and fills with anger, ‘maybe she hid it from me … I don’t know. Alcoholics do that, you know … I never gave her any.’

My mind whirls with confusion. I don’t remember drinking. When did I even buy it? How could Karlos think I would hide that from him? I just don’t know … But Eunice found the bottle and my pyjamas stank of booze … did I drink? Did I hide it from Karlos? Oh God, did I?

‘You cannot shout in here,’ says the nurse sternly. ‘I think you must go now. Say goodbye and please go. We will call you if we need to.’

They fall silent and I smell the Aramis aftershave I bought Karlos as he leans over and his lips touch my forehead. ‘Get better soon, Liss … please get better,’ he rasps, breaking into a loud sob seconds later. A mix of hopelessness and gratitude washes over me. I can hear from his voice that he really does love me. He sounds so broken, so distressed. How cruel, that just when I had one shot at real happiness again, this has to happen. Why did I have a drink? Why have the cards of time dealt me another joker? Wasn’t the last card bad enough? Where the hell’s my pack of Happy Families?