Maggie's Five ...the first in a LOVE story (5 page)

Desperate to get
to my child’s side, I jerk and rotate my shoulders for escape. She
needs me. She needs her Mummy.

A stream of
curse words carries over the violent screeching of a machine. I
can’t see clearly through tear-blurred eyes and shamefully give up
my struggles because I’m not strong enough. I’m not
enough.

A piercing whine
builds from my other side. I turn to see what’s creating the
ear-splitting whine building until a sharp Scottish voice demands
that everyone is, too: “Clear.” Then a jolt’s sent through my
Mattie’s tiny body, sending her undeveloped frame rigidly leaping
off the thin mattress.

Jon wraps my
head into the nook of his elbow, folding him into me, or is it me
into him, I can’t tell. Luke’s strong hold is firm as our three
bodies shift for a better fit.

“
Clear.” the woman demands again. “No response, continue CPR,”
pressing something onto Mattie’s chest as the high-pitched whine
increases again.

“
Clear.” There’s another jolt. Mattie convulses, and then
thuds limply. “Charge again… darn it, come on,” she says through
clenched teeth. “Clear.”

Another
convulsion. Another limp non-response.

“
Call
for an O.R. We need to take her now.” This is the male voice
dictating directions over Ella. “We need to stop this bleeding
yesterday people,” he growls, tearing off his gloves and letting
them drop to the already littered white vinyl floor. They hurriedly
snap the sides of Ella’s bed in place.

“
Just
bring it all,” he barks impatiently, pulling the bed towards a set
of imposing white doors with glass panels in the top quarter. “And
DO NOT let go of that FOOT.” The last of his words are lost to the
laborious swing of the heavy wood they took a third of my heart
through.

“
Again. No. I said again.” This demand is from Mattie’s
doctor. “Don’t you dare stop CPR.” The whining builds and I know
what comes next. The jolt I feel from across the room piercing red
hot through my heart.

“
Clear,” she calls desperately. The electrical current arcs
its way through my baby’s body. She falls limp. They all stop and
listen hard, as though they can all hear through the doctor’s
stethoscope. “CPR. Charge.”

“
Avery it’s been-”

“
Charge.”

A dreadful
suffocating sensation fills my senses, my legs go limp and I feel
my body dropping in slow motion to the floor, dragging Jon and Luke
down with me.

“
Clear.”

The jolt chips
at my heart and sends my head snapping into Jon’s jaw. He doesn’t
even react to the hit.

Mattie’s limp,
unresponsive.

“
Avery.” A mature voice sounds from far away.

“
No-”

“
Avery, it’s time. You need to call it.”

The doctor
hovering over my baby straightens; her posture becomes rigid for a
moment, before drooping in defeat. Her back’s to me so I can’t see
the expression on her face, but hear her inhale deeply. She snaps
her gloves off and throws them harshly to the floor, then turns so
I can see her profile. She looks upwards while taking a sidewards
step away from the cot.

She rests her
hands on her hips and lowers her head, “Time of death…” Another
deep breath. I’m silently begging her not to say it. Please don’t
say those words.

“
Time
of death,” she repeats in a pained whisper.

Please don’t say them… please.

“…
Fifteen twenty hours.”

The doctor
finally turns in our direction, her dark brown doe eyes widening in
surprise. I don’t think she knew we were in the room, witnessing,
watching, and slowly dying on the inside. Pausing briefly before
walking to us, she spares a hard stare at the nurse that brought us
here.

“
The
whole time?” she questions disbelievingly. Out of the corner of my
eye I see the young nurse nod once in response. “We’ll discuss this
later.”

Crouching down
to be at my eye level, the doctor’s coffee coloured cheeks
glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights. “I am sorry for your
loss,” she begins sounding almost genuine and not overly rehearsed.
“We did everything in our power, but...” she sighs, then shifts her
body weight so she is blocking out the scene continuing on behind
her, “it just wasn’t enough today. I’m so very sorry.” Her lips
press tightly and brows rise as though she is fighting back tears
while studying my face. I hear Jon sob, his shoulders shaking
against my side with every deep, silent gut-wrenching release and I
know I should be reacting too, but the poor woman in front of me
looks so shattered I’m afraid if I break, she is going to break
too, and I can’t have that. I can’t deal with her pain as
well.

Luke shifts his
long legs so they are straddling me and wraps me deeper within his
frame, protecting me from the world outside my fragile bubble. A
hand squeezes my shoulder before the doctor stands and returns to
the other side of the room and draws the curtain around my baby’s
bed.

I’m left staring
at pale blue drapery, shimmering under the artificial glow of the
harsh lighting. Hearing the murmuring of indecipherable
conversations that I know are about me coming from behind the
curtain. With a man I haven’t seen since childhood comforting me,
his forehead pressed gently to the side of my head, breathing deep
warm breaths across my cheek and down my neck; and masculine,
harrowing sobs coming from my brother-in-law.

“
Um,
Mrs Cartwright, I need you come with me please. I can get you a
wheelchair if you need one. But we can’t stay here. I’m
sorry.”

“
But
I need to see my baby-”

“
Yes
I know, but in a few minutes okay? Let me take you somewhere more
comfortable. They’ll know where to find you when they’re
ready.”

We’re taken into
a bland room with mint coloured walls, and windows that offer a
view of the neighbouring brick building. There is a tattered old
brown couch resting to one side and a row of stiff metal chairs
with the same cracked brown vinyl, facing the couch.

Luke still has
me in a firm hold underneath one of his arms and Jon is gripping my
hand to his chest now that his sobbing has subsided. My fingers are
protesting under the pressure of his grip but I relish the fact
that I can still feel.

“
Ah,
fuck man.” Luke pulls on the back of Jon’s neck and drags him into
a one armed embrace, not a bro hug, or a masculine hold and
release. A proper, rib crushing hug that pulls me closer into him.
He takes this as a sign of me wanting more from him, so he presses
me closer and kisses the top of my head. “I don’t know what to say.
‘Sorry’ kind of sucks arse right now.”

His comment
takes me by surprise. I start chuckling. He’s right, sorry does
suck arse. My chuckles escalate into laughter, building in volume
and intensity. Both towering men pull away with crossed brows,
confusion written all over their faces.

“
He’s
right, this sucks big time.” My laughing words are broken by sharp
breaths that catch in my lungs. I’m gulping down air that I’m
unable to release, the choking pressure building painfully as tears
begin to stream down my face and drip from my chin. The density in
my chest soon becomes so intense black spots fill my vision. I
press the heel of my palm over where my heart should be to try and
elevate the dizzying pain. From a distance I hear my name being
called but with all the blood pounding in my ears, I can’t be sure
who’s calling for me. I see the speckled grey vinyl come up to meet
my face and feel hands cradling my decent.

I’M LYING
DOWN.

I don’t remember
going to bed.

My body feels so
heavy I’m surely leaving indentations in the mattress.

People are
whispering nearby; hearing them is comforting because I don’t want
to be alone. My closed eyelids are a glaring red and my breathing
is even. I feel an odd sort of quietness flowing through me. Not
happiness, or contentment, just a bland calmness.

The deep timbres
of voices are familiar and I start to catch snippets of their
conversation -
‘going to crush her’
and
‘don’t know how
she is going to get through’
… then worst of all:
‘can’t
believe the three of them are gone’
.

I’m quickly
learning that sometimes it really is better to be left in the
dark.

A door opens and
the scuffing of feet travel towards me. “Maggie not awake yet?” The
anguished voice is coming from my father.

“
Not
yet.” I’m sure that’s Jon replying. He sounds exhausted.

There is a heavy
sigh and the scraping of metal over lino. Someone sits by my side
and takes hold of my hand. The weight of their limbs on the thin
mattress causes my body to dip; warm coffee breath gives voice to
my father’s words.

“
Maggie, do you want to wake up, Chicken? You’ve been sleeping
for hours and we would really like to talk with you,” he says
quietly, squeezing my knuckles for good measure. The sadness in his
voice wounds me deeply and has me cowering in my skin.

Do I want to
wake up?

I don’t think I
do.

“
Maggie, the doctors are waiting on you. Wake up
Chicken.”

My strangled
hands sweat and the constant caressing starts to chafe
uncomfortably, but I don’t pull away. Though my world is in
tatters, my father still needs to find solace where he can and,
since my mother died three years ago, I’m all he has.

For my sole
parent I force my red lids to creep open and immediately snap them
back down and squeeze them tight. The instigator of the bright red
glare is a sharp fluorescent light directly above my head. Seconds
later there’s a click and the offender disappears. I cautiously
open my eyes again, blinking repeatedly to allow my pupils to
adjust to the softer amber glow and turn my head in search of my
dad. His face is puffy and splotchy from crying too much, and fresh
tears are running over his ageing skin.

“
Maggie… I’m so sorry Chicken…” He swallows hard, causing his
Adam’s apple to bob up then down, holding the rest of his words
captive. I roll over onto my side and take in the room. I’m in the
hospital.

“
I’ll
go let them know she’s awake.”

“
Thanks Luke.” Luke. Jon’s friend I haven’t seen in years. The
man we went to school with, whom we’ve glanced at on Skype, who
held me firm through all of this devastation. The virtual stranger
who didn’t hesitate to envelope me in a blanket of safety and not
let go.

“
I
need to see my girls, Dad. Please,” I say, pushing my resistant
body off the hard mattress. Dad cups my shoulder, coaxing me to
stay down. When he’s satisfied I’ll do as he asks, he runs his
arthritic fingers through my tangled hair.

“
In a
minute Chicken. The doctors want a word first, okay?”

Dad hasn’t
called me Chicken for more years than I can count. It was a
nick-name he used when I was Mattie’s age. He said he gave it to me
because I was so much tinier than all the other kids in the
neighbourhood. Mum said it was because I hated the animation with a
passion after Dad compared Chicken Little to me. And now he’s using
it like a life line.

Before I can
respond to my father, the door to my hospital room opens and four
people - three male, two wearing green scrubs, and one female,
dressed in a blue version of her colleagues, enter and surround my
bed. I look into their eyes as they situate themselves, three pairs
breaking contact before I do, one pair of piercing blues hold
steadfast and unrelenting.

They introduce
themselves and explain why it’s necessary for them to be here. The
first, Dr Toey, tells me of my husband. He says Brendan was found
unresponsive at the scene and further investigation proved that he
suffered excessive trauma to his brain and spinal column, resulting
in an immediate loss of life and that he most likely didn’t suffer
any pain through his injuries.

He uses the term
‘loss of life’
not death and emphasizes the words
‘didn’t
suffer’
because that’s supposed to be so much kinder. To me,
the end result is still the same. Dr Toey is still telling me that
my husband is gone, dead. He pats my arm and steps away with a nod,
glad that his part in all of this is done.

I roll further
onto my side again, hitch the scratchy covers to my ears and stare
into my father’s dull hazel eyes. The second doctor takes his turn;
Dr Cox speaks of excessive blood loss and that’s when I start to
block him out because I’ve already seen the unrelenting flow he’s
talking about. I already know the outcome. I can see it ageing my
father’s face with the more detail Dr Cox divulges.

Dr Cox takes
hold of my ankle when he gets to the end of his speech, recapturing
my attention. “We tried everything we could, but there was just too
much damage. I truly am sorry, Mrs Cartwright.”

Why he needed my
undivided attention to rip another third of my heart out, I’ll
never know.

I fist the sheet
and turn back to my father, noticing Luke leaning on a wall in the
background studying me. He fills my blurry vision as the last
doctor introduces herself. Dr Avery Baxter - she’s Scottish,
according to her accent anyway. I find it ironic how, with all the
devastation that pours past her lips, the same devastation I
witnessed earlier, somehow manages to sound less severe, less
intense with the addition of her brogue.