“Clear!” Again I heard it from behind the closed door with that awful sinking feeling. It was followed by a dull thud and a sort of flopping sound as his body arched and fell back onto the table. For a split second my entire world fell silent, and then I could hear muffled panicky voices again. Hurried and desperate, I heard “twenty milligrams…” and the sound of someone counting breathlessly; “three, four.”
I could only guess at what was happening but I felt the sweat run down my brow and my heart sinking slowly like a lead weight into my stomach.
“Clear!” And again the thud. Without thinking I checked my watch. Six minutes since they rushed him through those doors. It felt like six hours! But now the voices sounded calm. The urgency had gone and yet the tone gave me no hope. I couldn’t make out any words, but I heard footsteps head towards the door and felt my heart sink to my feet as I stood and waited for the news. It seemed an age before the door opened, and the doctors’ eyes met mine momentarily and then dropped to the floor. I knew what he was going to say and I felt my legs giving way beneath me.
“Doctor! Quickly!” The shout came from back in the theatre before he could say a word and as I steadied myself against the wall, he spun about and disappeared back through the doors and I felt a sudden skip in my heartbeat like I’d had the electric shock treatment.
Once again there was the urgent bustle of activity behind the door and faintly, as though through a mist that clouded my head, I could hear the slow, steady beep of the heart monitor through the sound of amazed voices. I hadn’t realized I had been holding my breath, but I let it out now through my teeth with an overwhelming sense of relief. He was still alive!
It was almost an hour before they let me in to see him, and the shock took my breath away. There were tubes up his nose and another in his mouth, all taped to the side of his face. There was a catheter in the back of his left hand with a clear saline drip and other wires attached to his chest to monitor his heart rate. The screen at the side said he had a good regular pulse, but I found the machine behind that to be more disturbing as it pumped up and down to help him breathe.
He had always been an active man. Hard working, quick tempered, but active, and to see him laid out so came as a shock and brought tears to my eyes. I had to turn away and compose myself; I didn’t want him to see me cry. Though his eyes were shut and the doctor had said it may be some time before he regained consciousness, I still felt as though he would know if I faced him.
“He died there Mrs. Willis,” doctor Sutra had said when he’d finally come back out of the theatre. “We lost him for over six minutes, and that’s long enough to declare him officially dead. The fact that he came back, particularly after we’d given up, is nothing short of a miracle.”
“I’m ever so grateful doctor,” was my feeble response, and then as an afterthought, I said, “and I’m sure James and Julia will be too.” James and Julia being out two grown up children. The doctor just smiled thinly. I thought it seemed a little patronizing, but then, that’s my opinion of doctors.
“There’s no guarantee that there won’t be brain damage when he comes round,” he continued, explaining things slowly as though I was an old woman. “When the brain has been starved of oxygen for so long, there’s really no telling what the effect will be….” I held my hand u and stopped him. I really didn’t want to hear any more.
“Are you telling me he’s going to be totally dependent doctor?” I got the thin smile again, though this time tinged with sympathy.
“There’s really no telling at this time Mrs. Willis, but that is definitely a possibility. If that does turn out to be the case,” he continued, “there are options open to you, and we can certainly help with….” I held my hand up again and stopped him.
“Thank you doctor.” I was going to add “we’ll just wait and see,” but decided to say nothing more.
The little room closed in again. The beep of the heart monitor and the hiss and click of the respirator beat a constant regular rhythm and I began to feel sleepy. Turning the light low I sat in the reclining chair and began to doze. As my eyes became heavy my thoughts began to crowd in. The trouble I had suffered in the past was gone, but they would be replaced now with troubles of a different kind. Troubles I may never be free of. And I would suffer them out of a feeling of responsibility and guilt.
Suddenly someone was shaking me by the shoulder. For a moment I was disoriented and fear jerked me wide awake.
“Mum! How long have you been here?” My sons’ voice was concerned though not overly quiet. In the background the heart monitor and respirator kept their steady rhythm and my husband still lay motionless on the bed.
“Hello James,” I tried to smile, “you got my message then? Julia not with you?” He gave me a quizzical look and shook his head.
“I spoke to her, but she’s not coming. I only came myself for you.” As he spoke he looked over at his Father with some disgust, then with a nod towards him he said,
“What have they said?”
“They don’t know yet. They had to revive him, and he was gone for over six minutes, which is apparently a long time. He may have brain damage.”
“He’s always had that,” he said sharply. “I thought you were going to leave him?” I turned my face away and stared blankly at my husband lying still on the bed, the soft regular hum and click of the machines keeping him alive filled the awkward silence.
“I was going too,” I said at length, “but I can’t now, I’d feel guilty. Besides, what would people think of me if I left him in this state?” James put a huge hand on my shoulder and turned me back to face him.
“No one would blame you Mum. Do you really think no one knows the truth? Do you think they believed that we all used to walk into doors so many times? Or fall down stairs?” He was shaking his head as he spoke but I caught my breath and stood back from him, totally horrified at the thought that everyone knew. All these years I’d covered up, and they knew. And even worse, they knew I’d let it happen and done nothing about it.
“If he’d died it would have been so much easier,” I whispered, “but now I can’t go.” James was shaking his head again and turned me back towards him, this time putting both hands on my shoulders and looking into my eyes.
“Whether he recovers or not,” he began, “if you stay now, he’s won. If he’s in some way disabled, you’re going to be his slave for the rest of your life. You’ll be exactly where he’s always wanted you.” I nodded my head. I knew he was right.
“And if he’s not disabled,” I said quietly, “he’ll never let me forget. Bastard!” James gave me a curious look. I don’t think he’d ever heard me swear before, or say a wrong word about his father. “What do you mean?” he asked almost in a whisper. The sound of the respirator and the heart monitor seemed to become deafeningly loud as my thought and my guilt closed in on me.
“I was packing my bags,” I said, turning and looking at the bed again. “He came home early and caught me and started kicking off, but he would have done that anyway. It made me more determined to go, I felt no guilt at all, even after I’d pushed him down the attic stairs.”
My son let go of my shoulders and stepped back with a look of surprised shock on his face, turning from me to his dad and back again.
“That’s just how he looked,” I continued. “I was so angry he actually backed away from me. Big mistake,” I almost laughed at the thought. “The stairs from the landing are much longer.”
James’ mouth fell open and his eyes widened.
“It was the cellar steps that did the real damage though.” I looked over at my husband and the wide gash along his temple that was now beginning to blacken as the bruising spread down the side of his face and the guilt of all those years seemed to clutch at my heart. Till death us do part seemed like an awful long time away now.
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