by Sue Lawson
“I’ll drop in later.”
“Paul.” I force myself to look into his face. “Thanks.”
He pats my shoulder and heads down the corridor to where I figure his office is.
Exhaustion engulfs me the moment I see my bed. I curl up on my left side and sleep.
76
ALEX
Screaming sirens announced the ambulance’s arrival. In moments two ambulance officers were with me and Mia.
“Alex, isn’t it?” asked the guy, his voice slow and calm.
“Yeah.”
“I’m Duncan. You okay to go a bit longer while we set up?”
What I would have been okay with, was Mia sitting up and crapping on about fairies. “Whatever it takes.” Teeth gritted, I keep pumping.
Duncan unzipped a bag and took out a clear balloon thing and mask. “How long was she under the water?”
The girl ambo had a towel and was drying Mia off.
“I don’t know. She was floating, blue …”
“How long have you been doing CPR, Alex?”
“I don’t know. Forever. As long as I’ve been on the phone to Sam.” The words came in the same rhythm as my compressions. “She’s not as blue now. That’s good, right?”
“You’re doing well.”
The girl picked up the phone. Her movements, like the guy’s, were calm and measured. She spoke to Sam then pressed call end.
Panic cloaked me. “Shit! No! You can’t hang up!”
“It’s okay, Alex. We’ve got it.” Her voice was soft and light. “I’m Lucy. What’s her name?”
“Mia. She’s my sister. Damn it. I’ve lost count.”
“Relax, Alex. Keep that smooth rhythm going. Duncan will look after Mia’s airway in a tick.” She unzipped another bag. “We’re going to do everything we can, Alex, okay?”
The guy placed the mask over Mia’s face. “I’ve got her airways, Alex. Keep the compressions going.”
Lucy came at Mia with enormous scissors.
“Hey,” I yelled. “Don’t cut her.”
“Just the straps, Alex, so I can roll down her bathers.” Lucy worked around me, cutting and peeling and attaching big blue stickers to Mia’s small chest. Wires hooked Mia to a monitor or something beside Lucy. “Right, Alex. Stop for a tick.” She frowned. “Okay, keep going.”
My stomach lurched. Not real. It couldn’t be.
More people in uniform arrived; ambos carrying bags, another who gathered Ethan’s friends and took them inside, two firemen.
“There’s no fire,” I puffed.
“Normal procedure, bud. We’re all here to help,” said the new guy, kneeling beside me.
“This is Alex, Harry,” said Lucy, who was now sticking needles into Mia.
“Hey, Alex,” Harry placed his hand on my shoulder. “Let me take over now.” When I didn’t move, he added. “I’ll look after her, I promise.”
“I can’t leave her.”
“You don’t have to leave, just let me take over.”
I shuffled aside. With my hand on Mia’s ankle, I watched them work. The stuff we’d been taught, DRS, ABCD swirled around my head. Had I done everything? Had I done it right?
D – check for danger. Tick.
R – check for response – yep.
S – send for help – done.
A – airways clear – definitely.
B – check breathing.
C – commence compressions.
D – defibrillator.
“Hey,” I said, my voice loud. “The defibrillator? You have to shock her.”
“Just compressions, Alex.” Lucy, who was attaching tubes to the needles, didn’t look at me.
“But you have to.”
Lucy shook her head. “Alex, we can’t shock her.”
My stomach lurched. At the CPR course they’d told us you couldn’t shock a patient whose heart wasn’t beating.
From then, everything was a blur.
Two police – a guy and a girl – bags of fluid – medical equipment – a tube down Mia’s throat.
Four of them lifted Mia, floppy like one of her dolls, onto a trolley, then surrounded her small body, each doing a different job – compressions, holding IV bags, steering, ventilating, watching monitors, swapping who did compressions every few minutes. Their movements were smooth and machine like.
The trolley’s rattle on the tiles was a physical sensation beneath my skin. I followed like a zombie, my brain and body numb. Some part of me registered Ethan as we moved through the family room. He stood by the sofa, holding a garbage bag, picking up rubbish.
In the driveway, the sunlight was harsh and heat oppressive.
Ethan hovered by the ambulance’s open door, glancing from the vehicle to the open front gate.
The trolley jolted and dipped as the crew glided it into the ambulance. The sound of metal scraping against metal echoed the panic writhing through my veins.
Three ambulance officers climbed into the back with Mia, blocking my view of her.
Duncan closed the ambulance doors. “Coming, Alex?”
Ethan strutted forwards. “He’s not. I am.”
The thread that held me together snapped. I shoved Ethan hard. He stumbled and fell to the driveway.
“I’m staying with her.”
Ethan cowered.
“Tell your parents we’re taking Mia to the children’s hospital,” said Duncan to Ethan. “Sit in the front with me, Alex.”
Without another glance in Ethan’s direction, I climbed into the passenger seat.
77
ROOM 302, NEUROSURGERY UNIT, PRINCE WILLIAM HOSPITAL
Vicky stands over me, rubbing my shoulder. “It’s okay, Alex.”
I struggle to sit up. My face is wet and my nose snotty. It takes me a moment to realise I’m crying. I pull away from Vicky and wipe my face with the back of my hand. “Hayfever,” I mumble. “Allergic to … antiseptic.”
Vicky sits in the visitors’ chair that only Mum or Paul have used. “It’s horrible when you wake from a dream, crying. Most of mine are about Mackie.” She twists her hands in her lap. “Was your dream about your sister?”
“It was more like a memory than a dream.”
“They feel so real, don’t they?” Tears well in Vicky’s eyes.
A shard of ice spears my heart. “Mackie? Is she?”
“I had a meeting with the doctors.” Vicky bites her bottom lip. “She’s dying, Alex.”
“I know.”
“In my heart I’ve known since the cancer returned, but I couldn’t–” A sob catches in her throat. “She should be at home, Alex, surrounded by her things. Not here.” Tears run down her face. “They say she’s too unwell to move. That she needs constant nursing and pain relief. But there isn’t enough time to organise everything for us to take her home.”
My heart kicks in my chest.
“Mackie’s brother, Ash, won’t come in. Neither will her dad.”
“What about Tim?” If Vicky is surprised I know his name, she doesn’t show it.
“He’s in Sydney for work.” Vicky wrenches tissues from the box on my cabinet. “I pushed him to go. Said we’d be fine, that nothing would happen this week.”
“Maybe this is how Mackie wants it.” I wriggle to sit higher in the bed. “Maybe Mackie’s worried that if she dies at home, it’ll become a kind of torture chamber for the rest of you.”
Vicky chews her thumb nail, her gaze fixed on Mackie. “Your sister died at home.”
“Kind of.”
Vicky’s hazel eyes seem to look right into my heart. She bites her bottom lip. “What was her name?”
“Mia Christina Hudson.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Alex.” She blows her nose. “Thank you for all you’ve done for her.”
My face burns. “I haven’t done anything.”
Vicky smiles. “You and I both know that’s not true.”
Mum walks through the door, my gym bag in her hand, followed by my fir
st visitor other than her; Harvey.
“I’ll leave you to your family,” says Vicky. She wipes under her eyes and turns to Mum. “He’s a treasure, Christina.”
Mum places the gym bag on the foot of my bed and squeezes the lump that is my foot. “Thank you, Vicky.” Mum moves to the cabinet. “Clean clothes.”
“Last time I was here I thought you were going to die,” says Harvey. He’s smiling, but his eyes hop around like that sparrow in the cafeteria. He places a black shopping bag on the end of my bed. “What do you do in here all day, anyway?” asks Harvey.
“Sleep mainly.”
“At least you have a TV.”
“Can’t concentrate for long though.”
“Oh. That sucks. Hey, maybe I’d beat you at Wii for the first time ever.” Harvey’s eyes narrow. “Alex, are you, like, mental now?”
“Harvey!” Mum’s voice is sharp.
“Well, that’s what Dad and Ethan said …”
Mum taps Harvey’s shoulder. “Give your brother the bag.”
He picks up the shopping bag. “Mum and I bought you this.”
An iTunes card and an iPod identical to the one that was smashed that day in the city.
“I said we should bring in your phone, but Mum said they won’t let you have it in here,” continues Harvey.
“I don’t suppose an iPod will matter,” says Mum. “Harvey and I synced it with your itunes account. At least Harvey did. He knew your password.”
“It’s not hard. It’s my birthday.” I turn the iPod over in my hand. “Does Dad know about the iPod?”
“Shit no. He’d kill us.” Harvey blurts.
“Harvey!” snaps Mum.
“How’s he going to avoid me when I come home?” I ask.
Harvey shuffles his feet.
Mum chews her bottom lip. “Alex, when you come home …”
A woman wearing a floral shirt and holding a folder walks past the end of my bed to where Vicky is sitting with Mackie. I watch the floral woman introduce herself. Vicky’s face crumples as she shakes the woman’s hand.
“Alex? Are you listening?” says Mum.
“Yeah.”
Vicky wipes her eyes and shakes her head. “No!” Her voice is strong.
How come this woman is talking to Vicky without a nurse? I push my buzzer.
“What is it, Alex?” asks Mum. “Pain?”
Dimity’s arrival silences Mum. “Okay, Alex?”
“Yeah, but …” I look to Vicky.
Dimity nods. “Ah, thanks, mate.” She bustles across the room to stand beside Vicky.
“Have you told Alex about camp?” Mum’s voice is tight.
Harvey sighs. “Next week, we go to that place you and Ethan went in year seven.”
“Great.”
Dimity has her arms folded. Vicky is pointing at the floral woman’s chest. Dimity speaks and Vicky glances at me. I look away.
“… orienteering and this huge obstacle course.” Harvey hasn’t noticed I’m not listening. Mum has. She scowls.
“Excuse us for interrupting.” Dimity, Vicky and the floral woman stand at the end of my bed.
Mum’s eyes narrow. “Not at all.” Only it sounds like she does mind.
“Mrs Hudson, Alex, this is Sarah Walton from palliative care.”
“What does this have to do with us?” says Mum.
“We’ll leave,” says Sarah.
Dimity glances at Vicky, “Sarah wants to move Mackie to a palliative room.”
“No!” The word ricochets around the room.
“Alex, you need to listen.”
“No, I don’t,” I say to Sarah. “Mackie stays here.”
Sarah’s face flushes. “I don’t think you understand what you are saying.”
“I’d rather Harvey wasn’t part of this conversation,” says Mum, placing a hand on Harv’s shoulder.
“TV room is down the hall, buddy.” I say. “And there’s a vending machine. They have honey soy chips.”
Harvey grins and turns to Mum, who is already fishing around in her purse.
Before he’s out the door, Mum starts. “My son has been through enough.”
Vicky hangs her head. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Does it matter what I think?”
All four of them look at me. “Palliative care rooms are private, right?”
“Indeed,” says Sarah. “So the family isn’t restricted by visiting hours and can sleep over if they wish.”
“But it’s hard for Mackie’s family to be here all the time.” I shrug. “I have to be here, so I’ll keep her company. And it doesn’t worry me if Vicky or the others stay.”
“Are you sure you understand what you’re saying, Alex?” asks Dimity.
“Mackie is …” I glance at Vicky. “… dying. I get that. I don’t think she should be alone.”
“But, Alex,” says Sarah, hands clasped in front of her, “if Mackie stays in this room, people will be coming and going all the time, at all hours.
“You’ve never been a patient in hospital, have you?”
Sarah shifts her weight from one leg to the other.
“Hospitals aren’t exactly the quietest places. Cleaners, physios, ward staff, nurses and doctors are in and out all the time.”
“I don’t think Alex is equipped to make this decision.” Mum’s arms are folded. “I’m his mother and I …”
“Mum, I want to do this.”
“But, Alex, I don’t think you understand what this means.”
My lip curls. “Yeah, because I haven’t been touched by death, have I, Mum?”
Mum’s eyes widen.
“I didn’t mean to start a fight,” says Vicky.
I ignore her. “Please, Dimity. If it’s okay with Vicky, leave Mackie where she is.”
“I can’t see it being a problem,” says Dimity.
Sarah’s lips twist as she takes a business card from her folder and hands it to Vicky. “You need time to think about this. Contact me when you change your mind.”
“I won’t.” Vicky eyes are filled with tears, but her face is less drawn.
Sarah takes a deep breath. “We do have a few other matters to discuss.” She, Dimity and Vicky go back to Mackie’s bed.
Mum leans close to me and whispers, “Alex, are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
78
ROOM 302, NEUROSURGERY UNIT, PRINCE WILLIAM HOSPITAL
It’s dark when I wake. I’m groggy and foggy, like I was when I was on morphine. Only I’m not on morphine any more, just paracetamol and codeine. The residue of a dream clouds my head. I try to remember what it was about, but all I can conjure up is me at the bottom of a pool, reaching for Mia, who is trapped in silver bubbles that float away from me to the surface. No matter how hard I try, I can’t reach her, save her.
I pour a glass of water and with each swallow try to douse the despair and uselessness that lingers.
Across the room, Mackie lies on her back. Instinct draws me to her. I watch her shallow and irregular breathing for a moment, then reach for her scrapbook. It feels like weeks since I’ve read it, but it can only be a day or two. I re-read the whole thing, from the finished craft projects to the last entry I read, Reasons to Keep Fighting. On the next page an unfinished pencil sketch stares at me. Wavy hair frames a face with eyes, but no nose or mouth. The eyes are filled with sorrow and knowing. The necklace around the girl’s neck is a string of words: “Kiss. Ferris wheel. Fireworks. Kiss. Dolphins. Babies. Love. Kiss.”
The next page is blank, and so is the next. Like the face, Mackie’s journal isn’t complete.
“So, Mackie,” I say, taking her hand. “Pretty sure your mum is moving in tomorrow. Any bad habits I should know about?” I watch her face, as though I expect her to answer. “Like, does she sleep talk? Worse, sleepwalk? Mia used to talk in her sleep. I’d hear her from my room sometimes.”
There’s a tightness in my chest, like someone has wound a massive rubber band aroun
d and around me. I roll my shoulders forwards then back, but the pressure won’t ease. “This sucks, Mackie. You should have been able to do all that stuff. The hot air ballooning, concerts, all that normal things. It’s not fair.” I squeeze her hand. “I’m sorry.”
I rest my head against the back of the chair, listening to Mackie’s shallow breathing.
Kiss. Ferris wheel. Fireworks. Kiss. Dolphins. Babies. Love. Kiss.
“Okay, this is going to sound stupid. There aren’t any fireworks and we’re not in a Ferris wheel, and I don’t look anything like Johnny Depp.” I take a deep breath. “But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to cross one thing off your list.”
Holding her hand, I lean in and kiss her lips.
79
ROOM 302, NEUROSURGERY UNIT, PRINCE WILLIAM HOSPITAL
I walk out of the bathroom, wet towel and pyjamas over my left arm, plastic bag still strapped over my right, straight into Mr Dobson and his groupies.
“Good morning, Alex,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
I shrug. “Okay. Better.”
“Good, good.” Mr Dobson motions for me to continue to my bed. As I sit, one of the male interns pulls the curtain closed.
“Let’s have a look at how you are healing. Sanzia, would you?”
A tall girl with eyes the colour of chocolate, steps towards me. “Do you mind?” she asks, her voice soft.
“Go for it.”
Her name tag swings near my nose. She peels back the plastic Deb taped over the dressing before my shower.
Her touch is bird-like. “Don’t let me hurt you.”
“Firm but gentle, Sanzia,” directs Mr Dobson. “How is the wound?”
“Good. Healing well. Staples can come out.”
“Staples?”
Mr Dobson smiles. “Quicker to insert than sutures and less scarring.” He cranes past Sanzia to inspect my head. “Very good. You can take them out today, Sanzia.” He folds his arms. “Well, Alex, as long the orthopaedic surgeons are happy, looks like you’ll be home in a day or two.”
My stomach flutters. “Are you sure I’m ready?”
“You’re ready.” He turns to his groupies. “Right, who’s next?”
They scurry out. Jenny lingers a moment. “Okay?”