If I Die Before I Wake

by Emily Koch

  My heart rate climbs steadily. My mouth is dry – it feels full of grit. I’m thirsty to the point that I think I can smell the water in the air around me, the moisture on the gathered group’s skin. I’m certain I can smell an open bottle of water in someone’s hand.

  This can’t go on. I have to show them.

  Move. Move. Move.

  ‘We discussed what Patient would have wanted. We talked about his past wishes and feelings. Unfortunately, they hadn’t discussed the possibility of this type of situation before he was injured – but they believe he would not wish to be kept alive in this condition for any longer.’

  So I was right. When Philippa said she would miss me. When Bea said goodbye.

  ‘Now, they don’t want to go down the road of withdrawing Patient’s nutritional support …’

  They don’t? They’re not going to – what? They’re going to keep me alive?

  ‘… because, as we all know, that can be a cruel way for things to end. But.’

  He takes a deep breath.

  No buts. Please. Watch me. Look at my arm.

  ‘When he is next ill – the most likely scenario we’re looking at here is that the pneumonia returns.’ He coughs. Splutters. ‘Excuse me.’ He hacks away again. Someone near my head tuts.

  ‘Where was I?’

  ‘When he is next ill.’ I recognise Connie’s voice.

  ‘Ah, yes. When he is next ill, we will not be treating him. Now, let’s discuss …’

  No. I need more time. I NEED MORE TIME.

  How long did I spend wishing they would do this? Wasted hours. I should have used that time to prove I was conscious. I need to show them.

  Last chance. Move. MOVE.

  ‘… this is not to say that we will not give him pain relief. If there is any indication that he is in pain, continue as normal. But no antibiotics. All decisions on treatment should be referred to me or Dr Sharma. Under no circumstances should anyone allow the dramatic events of the last week to have any bearing on deciding the best path for Patient.’ He coughs again. ‘Everyone clear?’

  Murmurs of ‘yes’ and ‘okay’.

  ‘Good. That’s today’s ward round done, then. Thank you, everyone.’

  It’s happening.

  Chest tightening. Head throbbing.

  I don’t know if I’m ready I don’t know if I’m ready.

  Relax, Alex. You’re still alive. Stay calm. It’s not over yet. Think of good things. Remember … when you were sixteen? You spent the summer climbing on the garage wall, you’d nailed four wooden blocks onto it, remember? Relax. You would climb a little way up, traverse from one end to the other using those blocks and the tiny features on the bricks to hold onto. Relax. You’d swing along, hanging on with your fingers, your trainers smearing on the wall below you …

  I’m reaching up, right. I grab hold of the top of that brick with the chip in the corner. Cling on. Keep my arms straight. Move my right foot along, edge it up against the wall. Bring my left foot through between my right leg and the wall, and move my hands along to follow …

  My breathing has slowed. My chest is still tight and my head aches but the panic has receded.

  What now?

  Maybe it’s time.

  Who’s there?

  Hello?

  Footsteps. Uneven – limping.

  Dad?

  The door shuts with a click.

  Dad?

  A zip purring open.

  The soft sound of strings being strummed.

  My mattress sinks under the weight of a steadying hand, and a body sinks into the chair on my right-hand side.

  A couple of chords, strummed slowly.

  Dad?

  The beat of his fingers on the wooden body of his guitar, and more strums. Up, down. Up and down. His foot tapping on the floor.

  ‘You know, we never wanted to have to do this,’ Dad says quietly. His foot stops.

  ‘I just hope things start to get better, for Philippa, for – for me. It feels as if a weight is lifting, now that we’ve decided.’

  He clears his throat.

  ‘It’s not just you. It’s everything with your mum. I need to – you know.’

  What?

  ‘There’s a song that makes me …’

  What?

  ‘I – I’ll just play it.’

  He clears his throat again. Resumes his foot-tapping and picks out a tune on the guitar strings.

  I know this one.

  He sings ‘Blackbird’ gently.

  I don’t understand.

  A knock on the door interrupts my confusion.

  ‘Come in,’ he says. The door whines. ‘Oh – Pauline, hello again.’

  The scrape of chair legs, the acoustic echo of the guitar as it hits something solid when Dad rushes to stand up. I feel his hand on the mattress.

  ‘Ooh, steady now. You didn’t need to get up on my account, Graham,’ Pauline says.

  ‘Only polite.’ He wheezed, seemingly exhausted by the small effort.

  ‘I was listening to you play, outside. You stopped?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  ‘No, not at all, my love. I like it.’

  Dad laughs. ‘You’re the only person who does, apart from him,’ he says, and I sense a nod in my direction. ‘His sister hates it, finds it embarrassing. So I don’t subject her to it any more.’

  ‘I think you have a hard time, trying to keep everyone happy, all the time, hmm?’ She speaks softly. ‘Not an easy job.’

  They stand in silence for a moment, before Pauline breaks it. ‘You were saying earlier, outside, before we were interrupted.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I was wondering. If you’d like to, you know …’

  ‘Yes. I’d like that. I’ll catch you before you leave and we can work out a date – got to get on now.’

  ‘Okay. Yes, okay. Great. I’ll – yes. I’ll see you when I leave.’

  The door clicks shut. Dad doesn’t move.

  What just happened?

  ‘There’s a turn-up for the books,’ he mutters, then lifts his guitar and settles slowly back into his chair.

  He starts picking at the strings again.

  Did you just ask Pauline out?

  Help me. Make the pain stop.

  My mouth feels like it is full of painful ulcers – swollen and burning. I can only take shallow breaths, as if my chest isn’t there and I’m breathing no deeper than into my throat.

  I’ve stopped trying to move. Please, just help me.

  Aches pound around my nose, under my eyes, behind my eyes. Toothache-type pain in places I have no teeth.

  The doctors haven’t noticed yet. Normally, by now, they’d have seen the rise in my heart rate. They’d have seen me sweating, and noticed that their suctioning didn’t seem to have done anything.

  Help me. Give me morphine.

  I think I’m ready.

  42

  DEATH. I WANT to claim it – make it my own. It can be – will be – what I want it to be. I will fly if I want to. I will live my final hours as a blackbird, soaring in the sky, looking down on everyone. I’ve always wanted to fly. I will dive down, rise up, marvel at my speed and agility. Then I will close my eyes, and fly through into eternity.

  If I decide that I want to die with Bea in my arms, I will do that. She will be warm, smooth, as we lie together on the sofa. I will smell the fine down on her neck, kiss the pinkness of her ear. Hold a hand on the rise of her hip. Then I will close my eyes and take the touch of her with me.

  If I want to go while sitting above the blue-green Grassi lakes, then I will. I will hike up there at dawn and sit amongst wild flowers and imagine diving; no – I will dive into the freezing water, because its iciness will hold no danger for me. As I sink under, I will roll over onto my back and look up at the cloud-free sky through the lake’s rippled surface. Then I will close my eyes and let my body float upwards – and away.

  I can do anything and be anywhere.


  The room is getting hotter, hotter, hotter. Steamy, as if I’m in a sauna and each time a nurse comes in she is pouring a ladleful of boiling water onto a pile of rocks at the end of my bed.

  Hotter, hotter.

  The heat is inside me, too, rising up.

  It’s him. He’s calling me, drawing me into the ring.

  In the BLUE corner it’s PNEUMOOOOONIA.

  The door whines and – clack – shuts.

  Hello?

  Pauline’s familiar marzipan smell hits me before she starts humming a tune I don’t know.

  She stops and runs her hand over my forehead. It slips through the moisture.

  ‘You don’t look good, do you, my love? Let’s see.’

  She presses a finger to my wrist.

  ‘Hmm.’

  She touches my forehead again.

  ‘Very hot.’

  She’s never done this before – she’s – stroking my hair.

  ‘Poor love.’

  ‘Think this might be the last time you get ill, my love.’

  She pats my shoulder.

  ‘I’ll see what I can find to make you more comfortable.’

  Her footsteps are leaving the room.

  Pauline – hey, Pauline?

  Pauline.

  She’s gone.

  So let’s welcome him to the RIIIIING. In the RED corner, it’s Alex Jackson …

  I’m stepping in. If Pauline thinks I’m hot then I’m stepping into the ring, aren’t I? This is it? I’m up?

  Are you happy, now, Cameron?

  Where is he? Sitting in a prison cell.

  Do you really think this is what Abigail would have wanted?

  I’m going to die in this bed, but that’s okay.

  You didn’t break me.

  I’ve had a good life. A happy life. I’ve known real love. Real love with a beautiful, funny, intelligent woman. My Bea. My girl.

  You didn’t take that away. Nobody can take away what I had before all of this. You can’t touch it.

  … voices? Whispering voices.

  Speak up. How am I meant to hear you?

  Shwshwhshwhshhh. Whispers. Sshwhshshwhshhh. Psshwhsh. Coconut. Lemony-sweetness. Who smells like that?

  Oh, I know who you are. You’re those art dealers, aren’t you? The ones I called earlier. Hey, you know what? I have something you might want. Under my bed. Look under my bed. There’s cave paintings under there. Medicine men with hoops. Hoopla! Worth a few quid, I think you’ll find. I can grant you access if you want, let you take them away for the right price.

  Shwhshswhshwhsh. ‘… can’t believe they’re going to do this to him …’

  Tom? Mate, look at these cave paintings, buddy. Hoop men with medicine and bears and snakes. You can look for free. No charge for you.

  ‘… do you want to say anything to him?’

  ‘I don’t know, Rose. What kind of thing?’

  ‘Anything. Things you need to say. Memories?’

  Chalk dust smell in the air. Cracking knuckles. Crrrr-ack. Crrrr-ack.

  They are thousands of years old. Untouched. I found them. No one ever thought to look under my bed but they were there all along.

  ‘… I was thinking about that day we went deep-water soloing at Berry Head …’

  Yes! Berry Head. What a place. Down climb the cliff from the top, right down to the sea then traverse left to climb back up – no ropes – if you fall you drop into the sea but we didn’t we climbed to the top no ropes – free and easy.

  ‘… remember it? Rainbow Bridge. The water was so clear and bright, like we were in the Med. And deep. That was the best climb of my life …’

  Let’s go again tomorrow. Let’s take your car though, mine’s in the garage.

  ‘… I’ve never felt adrenalin like it, knowing I could fall at any minute but I would just plunge into that water. That rock – remember? Orange and grey and black and white – technicolour. The final overhang with those massive dinner plate holds. The feeling when we topped out – climbed up over the last section. I’m so glad we did that climb together …’

  I might need to borrow some gear, too – I can’t think where mine is – it must be somewhere but I can’t think where I put it.

  ‘… I promise I’ll live my life to the full, mate. I’ll do everything to make it count.’

  ‘Come here, Tom. Come here.’

  Pick me up at seven, will you? …

  … a spider walking across my face. I feel its eight legs, little pins walking over me. It crawls up my nose, out of my ear.

  Or is it a bird? There are feathers now, soft against my face. A beak, tapping at my lips. Tap. Tap. Did the bird eat the spider? She swallowed the bird to catch the spider, that wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her.

  I feel it, the crunching of the bird’s jaws and teeth as it devours little eight-legs. Without seeing it I know it’s a blackbird. I can tell from the gurgle of his stomach as he sits on my forehead, and digests.

  What does spider taste like? Bitter. No, sweet – like honey. Honeycomb. Crunching in my mouth, melting onto my tongue …

  … you came all this way, to see me.

  ‘You sound surprised.’

  It’s so nice to hear you. And you look good. Healthy – you’ve put weight back on.

  I breathe in – hairspray and red roses perfume. Mum.

  ‘Yes. I’m doing well. But I miss you.’

  We’ve missed you too.

  ‘You can stop fighting now, my darling.’

  You think so?

  ‘You can let go.’

  I’ll think about it.

  ‘Don’t just think about it.’

  I like how you’ve done your hair. You like it when I say that, don’t you? You used to tie it up like that when we were kids.

  ‘Come and find me, my darling.’

  How will I know where to look for you …

  ... ‘I think you may be right.’

  ‘It’s dropped slightly, hasn’t it?’ A hand against my head. Marzipan.

  Cool air on my chest – sheet pulled down and pyjama top pulled up.

  ‘He still feels hot, though.’

  That’s better. Thank you, Pauline.

  The sound of plastic and metal. She tugs at the tube in my stomach.

  Coldness inside me.

  ‘This’ll make it all a bit better now, my love.’

  She strokes my forehead. Feathers on her fingers …

  … the blackbird on my face. Pecking at my throat. Peck. Peck. Peck.

  Moves down my neck. Peck. Peck.

  He picks a hole in me, in my chest, with that sharp little beak. I can feel the hole.

  He is tunnelling. Where to?

  I understand! I understand, little bird. You’re trying to let me out. I can climb out of that hole, yes?

  They sent you, finally. Keep going, keep pecking at me, I can stand the pain.

  Keep going until you reach me – I’m a little bit further in, to the right and deeper down.

  Keep pecking, little blackbird …

  … Bea is on my bed with me, curled up at my side, her leg hooked over mine.

  My gorgeous girl. My Honey Bea. You know I love you?

  ‘Quiet, now. Not much longer.’

  I was thinking, we should go away for a weekend. A cottage in Wales. Log fires. You and me. Sheepskin rugs. Blankets and sofas you sink into. A few bottles of wine. Fish and chips.

  She doesn’t answer.

  Don’t you want to come?

  ‘Quiet, now. Shh.’

  She keeps stroking my arm.

  ‘It’s going to be okay. I love you …’

  … tap tap tap. Peck peck peck.

  You’re nearly there, little guy. Keep going. Keep tunnelling.

  I’ll set off a flare so you can see where I am – ready? Are you watching for it? Five, four, three, two, one.

  Did you see it?

  Yes – right here. I’m right here.

  I can see his yellow beak, I
can see the light behind him and his blue-black shadow.

  You’re through! You did it! Don’t go – don’t fly.

  He’s gone. But he has left his tunnel, right through my chest, my heart and lungs. I can see the light at the top.

  If I climb out, then I’m free.

  43

  SOON I’LL BE at the top. Lactic acid pumps in my arms but I have more strength in me, I can feel it.

  Not far now.

  No one has ever done this section before. There’s zero chalk on the rock, it’s unclimbed territory. I’ve always wanted to be the first to climb a route and name it.

  Up close to the rock you see so much more of it. The lichen and moss. The little cracks and chips that stretch out like a map: a puzzle for me to solve. It’s amazing. This grey limestone was formed hundreds of millions of years ago. This here is little creatures, insects, piled on top of each other. Dust and leaves. Piles. Layers. History. Millions of years of it.

  It’s just me and the rock. I’m free soloing: I’ve got no need for ropes today. I’m at the top of my game. I run my palm over the surface of the sun-warmed rock, checking for my next hold.

  Up. Up.

  The holds are small and crimpy: they bend my fingers to their limits. I swap my hands over, shaking the blood back into each of my forearms in turn.

  Up. Left.

  I traverse left around a blank rib of rock. Smooth moves. Strong moves. Hips in. Shoulders back. Finding the balance point on each move.

  Up. Up.

  I tackle a small arête section. Both my hands grip the far side of the vertical edge of rock, which juts out from the rest of the wall, parallel to my body. With my feet smeared over holds on the near side, I use my body tension to stop the lethal barn-door swing off the rock. I’ve never climbed so well.

  Up. Up.

  I’m so high now. A peregrine perched on the cliffs to my left carefully eyes the birds flying and singing behind me. Her sharp golden yellow feet clutch to a ledge sprouting lollipop-like purple spheres of flowers.

  Up. Up.

  I can’t wait to see the top. No one has been there before. This is going to be different. What’s up there?

  Up. Up.

  So close now. One – two – four more holds max. I can see them all. Up and right. I jam my left foot into a crack. Up and right. My left hand touches the top edge – a big jug of rock to pull myself up on. One more pull and I can haul myself over and top out. I pull myself up.