Holding the Man

by Timothy Conigrave

  ‘We have to get the cricket whites! The other team will be here in a minute.’

  ‘John, what team are you talking about?’

  ‘The Australian cricket team. They’re coming on the supply ship.’

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Christmas Island.’ Do I humour him, or try to give him a reality check?

  ‘John, we’re in Rose Bay in Sydney.’

  ‘What about the team?’ His face was scrunched with worry.

  ‘There is no team.’ He tried to comprehend what was happening to him. He started to whimper.

  ‘It’s all right, Johnny. I think we should go to see the doctor.’

  ‘I’m not sick.’

  ‘I have to go to see the doctor and I’d like you to come with me.’

  I rang Carole. I didn’t want John to hear so I lowered my voice. ‘I’m taking John into hospital. He’s absolutely mental, hallucinating. I’m worried the lymphoma may have gone to his brain.’

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  I drove John into Emergency. ‘You can’t park there, mate.’

  ‘I’m just dropping my friend off. He’s very sick.’

  ‘It’s parking for ambulances, mate. Just pray they don’t clamp your wheels.’

  Carole was waiting in the foyer. John had to be admitted: name, address, what drugs? Then the nurse took us down to a cubicle.

  Tony the registrar appeared. ‘Hi John, what’s going on for you?’ John looked confused.

  ‘He’s been behaving oddly, sleeping with his eyes half open, sleep-talking, and this morning he was hallucinating.’ Tony said they would run some tests and hurried away. I told Carole I should move the car and realised I would have to go home anyway to get John’s things.

  The flat felt odd, like no one had been living there for a while. I grabbed a couple of pairs of sleep shorts, some T-shirts and John’s slippers. He always put on his brown corduroy slippers when he got home from work, much to the amusement of his flatmates down the years. I put everything into a sports bag and I was about to head off when the phone rang. It was Carole.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this. He’s diabetic. They did a blood sugar reading and found that it was 42. Apparently he should have been in a coma.’

  I laughed. ‘I can’t believe it. Sorry to laugh.’

  At the hospital John was sitting up in the bed, smiling.

  ‘Johnny, you’re back.’ He didn’t understand. ‘You’ve been away, to Christmas Island.’

  ‘I sort of remember.’

  Tony turned up again. I asked how this could have happened.

  ‘It was probably the Pentamadine that they used for his PCP. We’re concerned at how much weight he has lost. We think he should be on naso-gastric feeds, but he’ll have to be in here so we can monitor his blood sugar. We’ve got a bed up on the ward.’

  John complained of pain when he ate, as he had when he had lymphoma. Sam suggested another endoscope, which showed the ulcer in the same place as before. Chemo was no longer feasible, but they might be able to use radiotherapy. The radiologist saw us after he had the biopsy results and told us he could start treatment early in January. ‘In the meantime we need to run some more tests to determine how disseminated it is.’

  ‘We’re going to Melbourne for Christmas.’

  ‘We’ll start when you get back.’

  That night I dreamt that John had been bitten in the stomach by the devil himself.

  Home for Christmas

  I was sick of sitting in the back seat of the car. But we would soon be home for Christmas, which meant sleeping in, Mum’s smoked salmon platter, and the smell of pine needles.

  When we reached Melbourne we dropped Peter off at the nurses’ home at Fairfield Hospital, thanking him for everything he’d done for us in the last months. I drove John to his family home in East Ivanhoe. Lois was watering the garden in her turquoise shell suit. She opened John’s door and smiled, offering him a hand to get out of the car.

  John sat on the lounge. Lois brought him a cup of tea and asked about Byron Bay. ‘I believe it’s magnificent. I’ve never been anywhere other than Sorrento or Sydney.’ She thanked me for driving John home and asked what I was doing for Christmas day.

  ‘Lunch with the family, I guess.’

  At home Mum was sitting at the dining-table with the usual book. She asked after John.

  ‘He’s now having difficulty breathing, I think because he’s anaemic. I want to say to God, Just give him a break, will you?’

  ‘It’ll be over soon.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear that.’

  Next morning I was woken by Peter ringing from Fairfield. ‘John can scarcely breathe this morning. He asked me to bring him into hospital.’

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ I drove off with the tape of Prince’s Diamonds and Pearls blaring away.

  Fairfield, the infectious diseases hospital, is surrounded by magnificent lawns, and at this time of year the gardens were filled with peacocks and agapanthus in full bloom.

  In the ward I asked a nurse for directions.

  ‘You’re John’s lover? He’s very sweet. Beautiful eyelashes.’

  In John’s room a tall woman with sensual lips painted fire-engine red was standing next to Peter. I went to kiss John but he was wearing an oxygen mask. I kept pretending I was trying to kiss him through the mask. ‘I can’t do it, there’s this thing on your face.’ He smiled, lifted the mask and pouted his lips. The doctor introduced herself.

  ‘We think it’s pneumonia but we don’t know which kind, and I don’t want to do an induced sputum or bronchoscopy in case it causes another pneumothorax. I suggest that we treat for both PCP and bacterial pneumonia. Are you happy with that, John?’

  ‘You’re the doctor.’

  ‘I’m afraid it means that you’ll be in here for Christmas.’ John sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll see you in the morning.’ She left.

  ‘Fuck. In here for Christmas.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll make it the best Christmas ever.’

  Peter left and I crawled onto the bed beside John, holding him close to me. Stay with me, don’t go just yet. Like a puppy crawling up to its mother I drew comfort from his heartbeat.

  A chubby man with thinning hair came in carrying two bags of drugs and a kidney dish. He introduced himself as Michael. I held John’s hand while Michael swabbed John’s forearm. ‘Good veins. Most of the patients in here would kill for veins like these. Right, anaesthetic, small prick.’ John grimaced. ‘Now the cannula.’ He flashed its steel tip. ‘Should be numb enough now.’ He speared John’s forearm. John groaned. ‘It’s in.’ He secured the cannula with tape. ‘I’ll see you guys later. Don’t hesitate to buzz me. Oh Tim, do you want to stay tonight? There’s a camp stretcher we can set up for you. And we may be able to get you some dinner, even though we’re not meant to feed visitors.’

  I lay on the stretcher waiting for John to wake. When he stirred I sat beside him and leant on the bed. I sang softly, ‘We wish you a merry Christmas.’ John opened his bleary eyes, smiled and stretched. I kissed him gently and he ran his fingers through my hair.

  ‘My Timba.’

  ‘My John. Time for presents?’ I handed him a box wrapped in silver paper. He opened it. ‘It’s a Stable Table. It’s like a tray with a pillow under it so you can eat in front of the teev.’

  ‘Thanks. There’s something for you under the bed. I got Peter to get it for me.’

  I ripped off the paper. I didn’t know what it was. ‘It’s a document holder. It’s got a little motorised clamp that moves up and down when you use the foot pedal.’ John grabbed the pedal from the box and set the clamp running.

  ‘It’s bizarre.’

  ‘You don’t like it?’

  ‘It’s good, but I don’t know if the clamp is all that useful.’ You always have to tell the truth, don’t you Timothy?

  The nurse came in with John’s breakfast tray decked in tinsel. She was dresse
d as an angel with cardboard wings.

  ‘You look fabulous!’

  ‘Thank you. Christmas breakfast: fruit muffins, fruit salad, scrambled eggs and a chocky. Tim, would you like some eggs?’

  ‘Please.’

  Later that morning John’s youngest brother Anthony and Lois arrived with shopping bags. Anthony stood shyly on the outer, smiling bashfully. ‘We’ve got some treats for you. Some Christmas cake,’ Lois said. Anthony hung a gold-foil Season’s Greetings banner. John smiled contentedly. Lois handed him his present, a pair of pyjamas. ‘It’s not much but I thought they’d be useful.’

  Anthony handed him his present, a book about Australian cricket.

  A man stuck his head round the door. ‘Can we come in?’ He brought three children into the room. One handed John a small cactus in a terracotta pot with a ribbon around it. Another handed him a bag of mixed lollies, and the third handed him a handmade card that read, ‘Hope you get well soon, Merry Christmas, the Baileys.’ They shuffled out again.

  The kids must have known which ward they were walking into. Very touching. ‘Isn’t that fantastic?’

  ‘A piece of human kindness,’ Lois pondered.

  When lunch arrived, Lois took the lid off the meal. ‘Roast turkey. Lucky boy. Would you like me to cut it up for you?’

  She started feeding him like a baby. I felt she was infantilising him, but when I saw the comfort he was getting I knew she was right. I left to have lunch with my own family.

  I was getting into the car at the supermarket after getting nibblies for John and noticed a big scratch in the driver’s door. When I got home I started to tell Mum someone had dinged her car.

  ‘That happened weeks ago. The doctor from the hospital rang and wants you to call as soon as you can.’ My heart was in my throat. Please be all right. Please.

  ‘John’s had a respiratory arrest but we were able to resuscitate him. I think you should come in as soon as you can.’

  Mum made me ask Anna to drive me. ‘We don’t want you to have an accident.’

  We drove to Fairfield talking about her pregnancy. ‘Is it like having an alien inside you?’

  ‘Yes, it’s this thing that takes over your body, making all the decisions.’ I started to wonder if John might come back as Anna’s baby. We drifted into silence. I felt numb. What could I do to change what was happening? My friend Ken at work would suggest sacrificing a chicken or burning ginseng.

  We went into the ward and Lois was there. ‘How’s the baby coming along? Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?’

  ‘Don’t mind.’

  Lois and Anna left us alone. I sat next to John’s head. He turned to me with tears in his eyes. ‘It didn’t hurt a bit. I was just not here and now my ribs are all bruised from the bloody cardiac massage.’

  He looked at me with those big brown eyes. ‘I wish I’d gone. It was so easy.’ I could feel tears in my eyes. ‘Are you okay hearing that?’

  ‘No, I’m not ready for you to go.’

  ‘We’ve said goodbye, haven’t we?’ I hugged him and we both cried.

  ‘What did you see on the other side?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  I was relieved that he hadn’t died. I’d always had this fantasy of being there holding his hand as he slipped away. And we had made a pact that if one of us was dying he would wait until the other was there.

  Lois, John, the registrar and I discussed John’s decision that he didn’t want to be resuscitated again.

  Our friend David had been sitting with John and asked me if I wanted to go to a movie. He suggested Truly Madly Deeply. Had I heard about it?

  I had. Another friend raved about the performance of Juliet Stevenson. Her boyfriend had died suddenly under anaesthetic and she was sitting with a counsellor. ‘It’s an amazing performance, so undignified. She’s got tears running down her cheeks and she’s really snotty.’

  There was a crowd queuing for tickets. I wanted to tell them all about John. I wanted them to know how brave I was being.

  I braced myself in my velvet seat, terrified I might howl. The film started. Juliet Stevenson talks to her counsellor. She is sitting with her head in her hands. She says bitterly, ‘I miss him, I miss him, I miss him! I know I shouldn’t do this.’ The counsellor says nothing. ‘There’s no point going to bed because he’s not there. I’m so angry with him. I can’t forgive him for not being here.’ She was snotty and hysterical. I don’t know if I can sit it out. Don’t cry yet. Not yet.

  As we were leaving the cinema, I remembered that first moment and started to cry. Over coffee David told me about his conversation with John that morning. ‘He’s getting really tired. He wishes he’d died but feels that’s giving in. I said, “Buddy we all know how hard this has been for you and we wouldn’t think any less of you. And it’s not giving in, it’s taking control.” ’

  I told him I wished I could be brave enough to say that.

  ‘You will be.’

  John was being wheeled into the shower. I watched the nurse undress him, revealing his skeletal body. ‘We should change that dressing on your pressure sore after the shower.’ Oh God, a pressure sore, he’s falling apart. ‘Are we washing your hair today?’

  I want to wash him; a chance to be together in a way that we haven’t for some time. ‘Can I wash him?’ John agreed unenthusiastically.

  I turned on the hose, felt its temperature and swung it onto John. He reeled. ‘Ow! Too cold.’

  I fumbled nervously. Now it was too hot. ‘You’re not doing it right. Can you get the nurse to do it please?’ I sat on the window-sill feeling rejected and sooky, chewing my nails. The nurse caught my eye and winked.

  As we wheeled him back to bed she confided to me, ‘He loves you, and that’s why he feels he can trust that you won’t leave.’

  Later that day the physio came into the room. ‘Are you ready for some chest work?’

  ‘No. I hate it,’ John whinged.

  ‘We have to get the mucus out of your lungs or you’ll drown.’ He tilted the bed, put John on his side and started gently percussing his ribs. ‘Playing the bongos, eh Johnny?’ John coughed furiously, bringing up sputum into a tissue. It’s weird that the way to treat your cough is to make you cough more.

  The physio did it a couple more times and started on the other side, until John said, ‘No more.’ He lay back on the bed, exhausted. His cough didn’t stop there. Every time he tried to catch his breath he would splutter. I buzzed and Michael came in, then fetched some morphine. John winced as he drank it. ‘It’s so bitter.’

  Michael asked me to step outside. ‘Sorry to tell you, but we think he’ll be dead by the end of the week.’ He let the thought sit for a moment. I was in shock, my hands shaking. ‘Why don’t you take him home, or down to Sorrento?’ When I suggested it to John he said no. He wanted to stay here.

  I walked through the hospital grounds. Agapanthus gave way to scrappy Australian bush and the Yarra River opened up before me. I sat on a bench that overlooked a Victorian boatshed. There were kids paddling in small dinghies and canoes, splashing each other with their oars. Their laughter echoed through the gorge. Life goes on. I’m jealous. I used to love these kind of afternoons. I noticed a coin-operated barbecue.

  I found some enclosures with scrawny sheep and goats. The goats had pustules, growths around their mouths. They must be experimental animals, infected to see what happens. They stared through the fence with big weeping eyes, as if asking for help. I couldn’t handle it and turned away. The ground in front of me moved dramatically. Rabbits, millions of rabbits. Probably escapees from the lab. Hope none of them is carrying disease.

  Back in the ward I told John what I’d seen. ‘There’s a coin-operated barbecue down there. I reckon we should get all our friends to come and have a barbecue.’ John liked the idea.

  My friend Tom had gone to Cleveland to further his English studies. He and his wife Laura, a stunning Italo-American, were back in Melbourne to spend Christmas with Tom’s family
. They turned up to see John. Tom looked staggered and his sadness leaked out from behind his attempt to appear cheerful.

  I asked Laura about her research.

  ‘I’m still digging for pig bones in Kenya, and going through drawers and drawers of bones in the archaeological museum.’

  John asked why, and then started coughing. Tom held his hand.

  ‘There has always been a relationship between the migrations of pigs and man.’

  ‘Because man feeds on the pig?’

  ‘No, I believe they have similar needs for water, warmth and food. That’s what my thesis is trying to prove.’

  We sat chatting. John was coughing. None of us said anything, pretending it wasn’t happening. He kept apologising.

  Tom and Laura were going to Sydney for a few days. We lent them our flat. They asked if there was anything we would like brought back. I asked for mail and our photo albums. John had always been a camera bug and we had photos from every holiday we’d been on. I wanted John to see them again, hoping to give him a little something to cling to.

  Tom said goodbye with tears in his eyes. Laura bent down and kissed John. I saw them out. Tom put his arm through mine. ‘He is such a beautiful man, kind and warm. I feel very sorry for you both.’ We hugged and they were gone.

  I went back into the room. ‘It’s a really nice day outside, John, quite warm. Do you want to go for a walk? I’ll get us a wheelchair.’

  I came back with a tall nurse with a beautiful Danish accent. We lifted him into the chair and put a rug over his knees. I wheeled him out to the garden and then across the paddock towards the river. The ground jumped. ‘Oh, bunnies,’ John gasped. ‘Millions of bunnies.’ He was ecstatic.

  We sat on the bench and held hands like an old couple on a verandah, listening to the birds and enjoying the cool breeze and the sun.

  I wheeled him back to the ward. The Danish nurse was waiting for us. ‘How vos det, John?’ We lifted him into bed. ‘You see the peacocks?’

  ‘No. Lots of bunnies.’ John started coughing again. She left to get some medication. I put my head in John’s lap.