Unspoken Words

by K. M. Golland

  “Have you held her yet?”

  He sighed. “No.”

  “When can we hold her?”

  “When it’s safe.”

  My lips trembled and my eyes filled with tears.

  “It’s okay, baby.” Connor pressed a kiss to my head. “You’ll hold her soon. I promise. You’ve just woken up—”

  The door to my room swung open, and Mum, Dad, and Chris entered, Mum pausing mid-step, her coffee cup suspended midway to her mouth. “Oh thank goodness!” She shoved the cup into Chris’s hand then approached my bed and delicately swept my hair away from my face before kissing the pads of her fingers and gently pressing them to my cheek. “How are you feeling?”

  I lifted my oxygen mask. “My chest is sore, my throat is dry, and I’m a little short of breath, but other than that, fine.”

  “Put that back on,” she scolded, refixing it to my face.

  I rolled my eyes then ran my hand along Christina’s plastic crib. “I’m more than fine because look … I have my baby girl!”

  “You do, and isn’t she so precious.”

  “Just like her mother,” Dad added, leaning down to kiss my head.

  When Dad stepped back, Chris moved into his spot and wrapped his big bear arms around my shoulders. “Stop dying on me. It’s mean,” he whispered.

  I simultaneously laughed and sobbed. “Think of it as payback for the times you hid your dirty socks in my bed,” I rasped.

  Mum turned to Chris. “You hid dirty socks in your sister’s bed?”

  “No. She’s lying. Must be all that funny gas she’s breathing in.”

  “Christopher Roger Mitch—”

  He moved to the other side of my bed. “I’m coming round here where the cool kids are,” he said to his niece.

  Connor squatted down next to the crib, and I could see his proud grin through the plastic. “She’s definitely cool. Look at her, growing steadily, sleeping really well, and she’s even breathing on her own too.”

  Relief and satisfaction washed over me like a warm, soothing blanket, and I couldn’t help but close my eyes. I had Connor, my daughter, and my family by my side, and it gave me nothing but peace. For the past seven months, all I’d wanted was for Christina to be born healthy. I’d wanted to give her the best start in life, even at the expense of my own, because that was what a mother did; she put her child first. Always.

  When I opened my eyes again, Mum, Dad, and Chris were gone, and Dr Webb was hovering over me instead. I turned my head to my side, to see my daughter, but she wasn’t there. Panic shot through my body like a bullet.

  “Where is she?” I wrenched the mask off my face and frantically shuffled to sit up.

  Dr Webb held me still, his hands firm but gentle. “Ellie, calm down. She’s fine. Her visit time was over. She’s back at NICU.”

  “Visit?” A vast emptiness near swallowed me whole. I wanted her back. Now.

  “Yes, baby,” Connor said, taking my hand in his. “Christina was only visiting. Today was her first time.”

  “But … she needs me. I’m her mum.”

  “While you were asleep, I went back with her to the NICU. The nurses were really happy with her visit. They said she could come back again tomorrow.”

  “Or maybe I could go to her instead…?”

  “Let’s not move too quickly, Ellie.” Dr Webb dragged a chair closer to my bed and sat down. “I’m afraid that what I have to tell you is not good news.”

  Connor took a seat as well and pressed my hand to his lips, his warmth and presence soothing and protective.

  “You suffered another heart attack right before your baby was born. Unfortunately, scans show the thickening of the myocardium of your left ventricle has increased considerably. The damage is extensive.”

  “Okay. So what do we do now? What does that mean?” Connor asked.

  “It means that implantation of an AICD is no longer an achievable treatment. The risk of heart failure during surgery is too high.” He laid my chart on his lap and glanced down at his entwined hands before looking back up again, his eyes sad but professional. “Your only option now is a heart transplant.”

  His voice lacked optimism, so I knew instantly that he had more to say.

  “But…?” I asked.

  “Yes, there is a but. The wait for a viable heart isn’t promising, and considering the current condition of yours, it means you’re at risk of further arrest at any moment. If that happens, successful resuscitation is unlikely.”

  Connor shook his head and closed his eyes for the smallest of seconds. “So you’re saying that if we don’t get her a new heart as soon as possible, she’ll die?”

  He nodded. “The damage is just … it’s too extensive.”

  Connor stood up, his frame towering over us. “THEN GET HER A NEW HEART.”

  “It’s not as simple as that—”

  “DON’T FUCKING TELL ME IT’S NOT THAT SIMPLE. IT IS. IT’S GOT TO BE.”

  “Connor.”

  He ignored me, turned around, and plowed his fist into the wall, plaster splintering and cracking under the force.

  “Connor,” I said, my voice barely audible.

  “You need to calm down, Mr Bourke. This is exactly what Ellie doesn’t need.”

  Connor turned to face me, his eyes red, teeth clenched. The muscles and veins in his neck were tense, and he looked about ready to tear the place down. If my heart wasn’t already broken beyond repair, the sight of him in so much pain would’ve annihilated it.

  Reaching out my hand, I beckoned him. “Come here.”

  He burst into tears and dropped to his knees by my bed, his head buried into my lap.

  “Dr Webb,” I said calmly. “Can you please leave us?”

  He stood up, his expression just as pained. “I know this wasn’t what you wanted to hear. But we will take every measure that we can to keep you stable while you wait for a new heart.”

  I believed him, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was comforting my husband and preparing him for when the time came to say goodbye.

  And it would come; it was just a matter of when.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Ellie

  Part of me knew when I was pregnant that I wouldn’t live to see my daughter grow up. That I wouldn’t hold her hand on her first day of school or meet the first boy who’d break her heart. Call it a mother’s intuition, I don’t know, but all I could fathom each night, as I lie awake in my hospital bed, was that I’d felt a sense of undeniable love and fulfilment drenched with inexplicable loss. Joy and sadness. A purpose, but one I couldn’t quite figure out.

  What I did know was that life, at the best of times, was unfair. The ultimate challenge. It was difficult and painful and, more often than not, a maze of dead ends and paths that led you right back to where you first started. Some people prospered over others, and when that happened, it was easy to feel cheated or that you’d lost or failed. The truth was, no one ever lost, and no one ever failed. Life was a string of achievements, whether great or small, and if you chose to look forward you moved forward. Always. You found your purpose again and again.

  My purpose was Connor, from my beginning to my end, to show him life and how to live it, how to enjoy it and, most importantly, how to accept it. It was to show him light in the dark. That from Aaron came me, and from me, came Christina.

  It was to show him how to live, and how to speak with or without words.

  “You told me you loved me,” I said, nonchalantly, as I folded my nightie and poked it into my hospital bag.

  “You heard that?” he asked, response just as indifferent.

  “Yes, I did.”

  Connor stepped into the bathroom of my hospital room and began collecting my toiletries while I continued to fold my clothing.

  “I’m curious why you chose that moment to say it.”

  “Because I wasn’t sure I’d get another chance.” He returned to the side of my bed and plonked what he’d gathered onto the matt
ress. “I still stand by them being just three meaningless words though.”

  I tried not to smile. “Why?”

  “Because they are.”

  Turning to him, a t-shirt folded in my hands, I probed a little further. “Did you mean them when you said them?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then they weren’t meaningless, were they?”

  He changed the subject, which didn’t surprise me. “Ellie, I’m not sure you coming home is a good idea.”

  “What?” I wrenched up the zip on my bag, placed my hands on my hips, and turned to face him. “Why?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I want you home, more than anything, but I’m … I’m scared, baby. I’m scared you’ll—”

  “Drop dead?” I stared him down.

  “Yes!”

  “Well, that makes two of us.”

  “Then why are you insisting on leaving this place? It’s the safest place for you right now.”

  Walking to the window, I gazed out over the hospital garden, the summer heat lightly radiating from the glass and warming my face. “Because I want to be out there. And I refuse to let my daughter go home without me. Connor, I’m not going to die here. I’ve done it twice already, I’m not doing it again.”

  “But, Ellie—”

  “No buts, McButthead.” I walked back to where he was standing and placed my hands on either side of this face. “It’s been two months. Christina is ready, and I’m ready to leave. I don’t know how much time I have left, so I don’t want to spend it here. I want to be a proper mum, a proper wife, and I want to be home for Christmas.”

  Anguish swept across his pinched face, and I sensed he was internally wrestling with what he thought was right and what actually was right, so when he opened his mouth and said ‘okay’, I knew that no matter how terrifying or painful this was for him, his acceptance of the path we were on was growing.

  And that gave me peace.

  “Good.” I clapped my hands like a trained seal. “First thing I’m gonna do when I get home is put up a Christmas tree.”

  “Yeah, that would be a no, Ellie.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’ll put up the tree, you can tell me how to decorate it.”

  “Fine. You can put it up, I’ll decorate it.”

  “You can help me decorate it, Eloise.”

  “Don’t you Eloise me.”

  Christina’s hungry cry interrupted our battle, but I didn’t mind; I was about to win it anyway.

  “What’s wrong, my baby girl? Don’t tell me you’re hungry again.” I made my way to her crib and picked her up, hugging her to my chest and breathing her in.

  Her smell, that newborn baby smell; it was the most precious scent on earth—sweet, soft, milky, and clean. “I could gobble you all up, pretty princess.”

  My little hungry hippo was now full term and growing fast thanks to my plentiful milk supply. She loved it, as did I, for breastfeeding her was my most favourite thing in the entire world. It was our time, just mummy and daughter. Skin to skin. The moment we bonded over what she needed and what only I could give her. The way she suckled peacefully while grasping my finger, and how she snuggled into my arms and watched me as she swallowed. I never wanted it to end, but I knew it would, and sooner rather than later. So I cherished it. Every second.

  The option to breastfeed her had never been negotiable, which was why I’d refused my heart medication. None of them could reverse or fix my problem. They could ‘potentially’ delay another attack, but that wasn’t reason enough for me to choose them over bonding with my daughter and giving her the very best start in life.

  Smiling, I sat down in the nursing chair and unlatched the strap of my bra. “Come on then, Milk Monster. Let’s get you sorted before we leave.”

  Connor packed the rest of our things, and when Christina was milk-drunk, clean, and sleeping peacefully in my arms, we left my room for the final time. My nurses and doctors all formed a guard of honour as we walked along the corridor and said our goodbyes. Nurse Tracy was crying, and Dr Goodman blinked back tears. But it was Dr Webb’s stony face that moved me the most.

  Turning to Connor, I passed Christina to him. “Can you hold her for a minute?”

  “Sure. Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. I just have to do something.”

  I stepped up to Dr Webb and wrapped my arms around him. “Thank you,” I whispered into his ear. “You’ve done all you can, and it’s enough. More than enough. I just want you to know that.”

  His arms slowly found my back, and he gave me a light hug in return. “I wish I could do more.”

  “Well, you can’t,” I said, pulling back. “You’re not a superhero or a wizard.” I winked at him. “But close enough.”

  “Merry Christmas, Ellie. And remember, take it easy.”

  “Merry Christmas, Dr Webb. And I will. I promise.”

  Connor moved to my side and placed Christina back in my arms before shaking Dr Webb’s hand.

  She didn’t stir, didn’t wake, she didn’t even bat an eyelash.

  “She sleeps like you,” Connor said, touching her button nose.

  I smiled. “I know.”

  “Ready to go home?”

  “You better believe it.”

  During the weeks leading up to Christmas, Christina settled into her new environment like the perfect little angel that she was. She ate, slept, burped, pooped, pee’d. Repeat. Connor and I savoured every feed, every nappy change, and every cuddle. Even Max loved the days he stayed with us, offering to help bathe his baby sister the second he walked through the front door. It was tiring but wonderful and, sadly, the physical toll on my body meant that my milk production had drastically slowed down, as had my mobility. No more light strolls with the pram. No more checking the letterbox. No more trips to the supermarket.

  “Can I please help with something?” I asked Mum as she pulled the roast turkey out of the oven. It was Christmas day and we were preparing for our traditional family lunch, one I hadn’t experienced in years.

  “No, you cannot. You just sit there and keep my granddaughter happy.”

  “She is happy. She’s asleep. Maybe I could peel the potatoes?”

  “Nup. Already done it!” Chris wiped his hands on a tea towel and then tossed it at my face.

  “Since when do you peel potatoes?”

  “Since forever.”

  “Liar,” I grumbled and looked around for something else to do. “How about I set the table?”

  “No. Your father is going to do that, aren’t you, Roger?”

  “Roger that,” he called out from the lounge room.

  “Ugh! How about dessert? Yes, I’ll make dessert.”

  As I was about to set myself to task, Raelene and Curtis entered the room.

  “Merry Christmas, everyone. Connor, darling, can you please take this Pavlova and Trifle for me, they’re breaking my arms.”

  “Argh!” I groaned and plonked back into my seat.

  Raelene shot me a look of concern. “Is everything all right, Ellie?”

  Mum gave a dismissive swish of her hand. “Don’t worry about her. She’s whining because she has the most important job of all.”

  “What’s that?” I deadpanned. “Keeping this seat warm?”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  Comforting hands gripped my shoulders then trailed down my arms, embracing me from behind. “Just relax, baby. Enjoy the festivities.”

  I surrendered and leaned against Connor’s arm. “I feel so useless. I want to help.”

  “Trust me. You being here is helping. It’s helping more than you could ever know.”

  Sweeping my eyes across the room, I took in how happy everyone seemed. Mum hummed as she turned the roasted vegetables in their trays, Dad positioned cutlery as if the Queen of England was to be our guest, Chris was drying dishes without complaining—he was even smiling, which was remarkably funny—and Raelene and Curtis stood over Christina’s bassinet in the corner of the ro
om, their faces full of awe as they silently cooed, Max proudly waving an Iron Man toy at his sister.

  Connor was right. This was my last Christmas—my first with our daughter—and I really needed to stop complaining and just enjoy the moment.

  Remembering all the things I’ve loved from Christmas past, a memory pinged into my head and gave me the perfect idea. “I know something I can do,” I said, slowly standing up. “And you can help me do it.”

  The muscles in Connor’s arms strained as he moved a cardboard box on top of another. “What are we looking for?”

  “A set of quoits,” I explained, coughing as dust billowed into the air around us.

  “Maybe you should stand by the garage door, where it’s less dusty.”

  I smiled at his cuteness but did as he suggested.

  “What are quoits?”

  “They’re like little rings made of rope that you toss onto a spike. I know they’re in here somewhere. Mum and Dad don’t throw anything away.”

  “And why are we looking for them again?”

  “Because when Chris and I were kids, we played with them every Christmas day. Except, if you were the tosser—”

  Connor laughed. “Chris is definitely a tosser.”

  I snort-laughed then playfully rolled my eyes. “As I was saying … if you were the tosser, you’d be blindfolded. The rest of us would stand near the spike and try to dodge being hit with the quoits.”

  “Sounds dangerous … and fun.”

  “It was.”

  “Found them!” Connor lifted a flap of a box and pulled out the old, wooden set.

  I clapped my hands with glee. “We haven’t played in years. If this is going to be my last Christmas, I want to play one final time. I want all of us to play.”

  Connor’s body stiffened, quoits in hand, all laughter and fun vanished.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say … Shit!” I quickly reduced the distance between us and wrapped my arms around him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin this day. I really don’t. It’s just … ignoring the inevitable only leads to regret. And I don’t want that, Connor. Not for you, not for Chris, and not for Mum and Dad. I want the goodbyes, all of them.”