The ambulance is racing. I see Copthorne traffic island and know that it is still a half mile to go. ‘Will I make it ?’ The siren allows us to rush past the queuing traffic. ‘Will I make it to the hospital?’ I think to myself. My baby son is at home with my husband. ‘Will I ever see him again?’ So many times doing this same route, sirens blaring, desperate to make it that last half mile. Copthorne Island the last landmark, I fight for every breath, my chest and whole body heaving with the effort; even with oxygen. I pass out.
My mind comes back to the present and I look down at my two year old grandson who is now fighting for every breath. He has an oxygen tube in his nose. I look into his eyes. I see a desperation I know so well. It’s thirty years since I have been so ill; but I am the only person who knows exactly what he is going through,
I am nineteen and wake up to see my father standing next to me. I am in a hospital ward and I think to myself, that it must have been a very bad one for my Dad to be called. I say to my mum, "I’ve been to a really beautiful place, they said it wasn't time yet and sent me back." She cries with relief and later tells me there were a few minutes when they didn't know if I would survive.
I am 23 and pregnant, in intensive care. I was brought here -the worst asthma attack I’ve ever had. I keep passing out and having terrible dreams: each one is a race which after tremendous effort I just win. Five races, each one seemingly a race of life and death.
My grandson Max, starts to breath easier now. I stroke his head. He drifts into sleep I remember when I fell asleep in intensive care. When I woke up feeling better I was embarrassed and said ‘Thank-you’ repeatedly to the nurse for making me better. She said it was not just the staff’s efforts that did it. –they didn’t know how. I do -it just wasn't my time; someone was looking after me and has been all along. I’m not a religious person - but hypocritical enough to beg for help from a higher power for Max!
Sunday, 17 October 2010
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