Chapter 5: What My Soul Does When I Am Asleep by Stephen Simpson

One taxi ride to the airport, three connecting flights and twenty-two hours later, we stop in front of my grandma's two-bedroom cottage. Everything looks silent and foreboding.

My mum scratches in her bag for the spare set of keys she has for the house. “I hope I remembered to take the keys.”

My dad is edgy from too little sleep. “That would just be the icing on the cake, wouldn't it?”

“Gabriel!” my mum hisses. No other words are needed to express her urgent need for him to not say another word. “See, I have them.” She dangles the keys in front of his face with a smug grin.

“Just open the door already,” I complain. The Australian sun is hot and burning the nape of my neck. My hair needs to be washed daily, or else it has to be fastened into a ponytail behind my head. It is one of those days, and I am desperate for a cool, refreshing shower.

My mum pushes the key into the lock, and when the door swings open, we all bundle over the threshold. My dad stays behind to haul the bags in.

The front door opens into the lounge. The curtains have not been drawn, and the house is dark. Everything has a grey hue about it.

Isaac flops down onto the nearest chair.

“Can I shower first?” I say before anyone else makes a claim for it.

“Okay. But we need to hurry. I want to get to the hospital as soon as possible.”

I pick up my bag and walk to the spare room. The house feels lonely and dejected. It is as if a dark gloominess engulfs me.

In the spare room, I lift my bag up onto the double bed in the centre. The room smells dusty and forgotten, and the bed is the only furniture inside. I pull the zipper open and then pull out fresh underwear, a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, as well as my toiletries. With everything under my arm, I go to the bathroom.

The sides of the bath are full of bottles of shampoo, conditioner, bath soaps and candles. Even the windowsill is filled to the brim. I drape my clothes over the side of the bath and have no choice but to drop my towel on the floor next to the shower cubicle. Picking up a plastic container from the windowsill, I feel the weight of it, and realise the bottle is empty. My grandma obviously is not much into keeping a tidy house, and I know what my mum will be doing for the next couple of days when she is not at the hospital.

I pull open the glass door of the shower cubicle and twist the water tap to open. I let the hot water run, testing the warmness every now and again with my hand. At last it starts to get hot, and then, after I have adjusted the temperature to lukewarm, I step in under the waterfall. Immediately I feel better. I wash off as fast as I can, and then after I dry myself, I get dressed.

When I walk out of the bathroom in a cloud of fog, my mum is waiting to go in after me. “Hope you left some hot water?”

“It was still warm when I got out.”

“Good.” She pushes past me and closes the door behind her.

After I put all my things back in the spare room, I join my dad and Isaac in the lounge, sitting down on a spare seat.

Isaac tells me, “There's no Netflix.”

“Grandma wouldn't be bothered with that. There's a whole stack of videos over there, though.” I lift my arm and point to them. “We should go through them and see if there's anything we haven't seen yet.”

“After the hospital,” my dad mumbles.

I glance at him. His eyes are closed, and he has dark stubble on his cheeks and chin. This morning there are no merry whistling tunes coming from him at all.

“Aren't you going to get ready, Isaac?” I ask.

“I'll have a bath tonight,” he says shrugging his shoulders. If Isaac could forever avoid the ritual of bathing, he would.

“And you, Dad?”

“It's my turn, after your mum.”

I glance at a wall clock behind his head. “If we are going to be at the hospital at ten, we don't have a lot of time left.”

“We'll be ready. Now, watch some telly.”

I get the message, loud and clear. He does not want to use the added energy it requires to speak or listen. Sitting in silence, I watch the flickering images on the television screen.

Before long, my mum calls, “Gabriel, I'm done. I don't think there's a lot of hot water left.”

My dad sighs long and loud as he stands up and leaves the room.

At exactly ten o'clock, we leave the house and then it takes us another forty-five minutes to get to the hospital in the rental car my dad rented from the airport this morning.

At the information desk at the hospital, my mum asks all the necessary questions and before long we ride up an elevator to the fourth and top floor of the hospital. Although the hospital is not a skyscraper, it seems to stretch across an immense space.

When we get out of the elevator, there are large windows across from us, and through them, hospital buildings and parking areas go on as far as my eyes can see.

Turning to our right, we walk toward the area where my grandma’s ward is supposed to be.

At the end of the long passage, we push through a large pair of light blue doors and a nurse comes walking toward us. Her strawberry blonde hair is pinned behind her head, and her green eyes are bright against her pale skin. Freckles are scattered across her nose. “Can I help?” she asks with a helpful tone in her voice.

My mum steps forward. “We are here to see my mum. She came in after having a stroke almost three days ago.”

The nurse continues to smile as she asks, “What's your mom’s name, dear?”

“Constance Whittaker.” Though fear emanates from her as if it is perfume, I see a glimmer of hope in her eyes.”

The nurse’s smile widens. “Ah, Constance. She woke up last night, and she is doing very well. She ate a little bit of soup this morning.”

My mum almost collapses from relief, but my dad is right there to support her.

The nurse continues, “You need to first speak to Doctor Green, and then when you are done there, visiting hour should be starting. His consulting rooms are here in the hospital.” She explains which way we should go after leaving the ward.

My dad insists, “We have come all the way from England. Can we not see her now?”

I wonder if her smile is permanent as she says, “We do not like to disrupt the other patients, so it's best to come back at visiting time. I'll tell her you're here, though.” She looks at my mum. “Is your name Sarah?”

My mum nods.

“Well, she'll just be so happy to see you. She has been talking about you since she woke up last night.”

My mum’s one hand flies up to her chest as if she is trying to keep her heart where it belongs and with her other hand she grabs hold of my dad’s arm as if she needs the extra support.

My dad puts his arm around her waist and together they turn back to the heavy swinging doors, as he says, “Okay, let's go find this Doctor Green.”

Isaac and I follow them down a couple of long and winding passages until we step into a small office. Isaac, my dad and I sit down on the chairs in the small waiting area while my mum, who is looking as if some colour has returned to her cheeks, crosses the room to the reception desk, sidestepping a coffee table with glossy magazines. After talking to the receptionist, she sits down next to my dad and reaches for his hand. She whispers, “I am so glad she’s awake.”

From the corner of my eye, I see my dad rub his thumb against hers.

About ten minutes later, a tall, handsome doctor walks into the waiting room and straight to us. He has the kindest, brownest eyes I have ever seen. “Mrs. Watson?”

My mum stands up and holds her hand out to him. “Doctor Green?”

He smiles. “Nice to meet you.” His eyes glance over us as we stand up. “Please, follow me.”

I ask, “Can I come, as well?”

“Of course,” Doctor Green says.

Obviously, if I go with, Isaac also has to come.

We all squeeze into his office. There are only two visitor chairs, so Isaac and I remain standing at the back of the office.

After my mum and dad sit down and the doctor moves around his desk to take a seat, he says, “Mrs. Watson, your mom has an injury to her brain caused by a minor stroke, which could lead to widespread and long-lasting problems.”

My mum's eyes stay focussed on him, waiting for him to continue.

My dad nods his head every time the doctor pauses to take a breath.

The doctor continues, “Although some people may recover quite quickly from a stroke, others will need long-term support to help them manage any difficulties they have and regain as much independence as possible. This process of rehabilitation will be specific to each person and will depend on their symptoms and the severity of the damage done. Often, we will start while the patient is still in the hospital and will continue at home or at a local clinic in your community once the patient is well enough to leave. I understand you live abroad.”

My dad replies, “We do, but we are planning to take her home with us if it is at all possible.”

This is news to me.

“I am sure, once your mother-in-law is well enough to leave the hospital, it would not be a problem to take her home with you. She does not have any other family here?”

My mum shakes her head. “No.”

“We have an excellent team of specialists to help with your mum's rehabilitation and they will set the necessary goals to achieve such an arduous journey.”

“But she'll be able to travel?” my mum asks, fidgeting with her purse strap.

“Eventually, yes. However, you might want to consider the option that your mom might never be able to undertake such a gruelling journey, and we have excellent institutions for senior members here in Sydney. We do not yet know if she will ever recover fully, and this might be the best option.”

I thought we would only be here for, at the most, a week. What is going to happen now? What will happen if my grandma will never be able to travel? I open my mouth to ask, but then close my lips again as the doctor continues to discuss my grandma's treatment.

My legs are starting to get tired, and I move from one leg to the other when at last the doctor stands up from his large leather chair and walks around his desk to my mum.

She and my dad stand up as well, as the doctor says, “Your mom is very strong, and I am sure she will recover quickly. She will never be exactly the same, but she will eventually achieve moderate independence again. She is lucky to have you.”

The doctor pulls open the door, and Isaac and I leave ahead of the adults. In the waiting room, another couple has taken our place. They look shell-shocked.

After we leave the doctor's consulting rooms, we retrace our steps back to the ward where my grandma is.

I want to ask my parents what is going to happen now, but they have both retracted into their minds. We walk down the long passages, with images of flowers and fields at measured distances on the walls to either side of us, without speaking.

There are other people gathered in front of the large doors and, as we arrive, the doors are opened wide and everybody enters the ward.

When we reach my grandma's bed, she looks terribly frail and small. Her platinum grey bangs hang to the side of her face. The left side of her face pulls down a little. When I see her, my eyes fill up with tears. She looks so helpless and weak. Her face lights up when she sees my mum, and then tears run down my cheeks freely.

After we pull the wooden benches out from under her bed, we sit down, two on each side of her. My mum grips my grandma's tiny hand between hers.

I am so happy my grandma did not die, and although moments ago when my dad said she was coming home with us, my first thought was where she would sleep, I realise how much I love her. The feeling fills my heart to the point where it actually hurts.

Looking around the room, I see she is sharing it with another patient. The other bed is closed off with curtaining though, and I cannot help but wonder who is behind them.

Continue reading Chapter 6/19

Copyright © Stephen Simpson. All Rights Reserved.
All work created and posted on this blog is the intellectual property of Stephen Simpson.