Our doctor
arrived at the hospice at around six thirty pm and I was asked to
wait in the visitor’s room again.
I was hungry.
There was nowhere in the building I could get a sandwich, but I knew there was
a filling station with a sandwich bar on the main road across from the hospital
and I walked across and got myself a BLT - bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich,
and a coffee. I took them back to the visitors’ room and found a quiet
corner. There were other people in the room, but nobody seemed to mind my
eating in there.
Kristen arrived
shortly after I finished eating. “How is she?” she said, sitting down beside
me.
“No-one’s said
anything to me yet,” I said. “I guess we just play a waiting game.”
“Greg’s on his
way. He should be here in about an hour. He couldn’t get away any earlier. Caroline’s
in a panic. She can’t get a flight until tomorrow morning.”
Sue came in to
give us an update on Liz’s condition. “So far, so good,” she said. They’ve
managed to stop the seizures. They’re going to keep her sedated, so she’s going
to be sleeping a lot. I’ll drop in again tomorrow. You can go in now.”
When Greg
arrived, the three of us sat round Liz’s bed talking in hushed tones so we
wouldn’t wake her, although she looked so dead to the world that a jumbo jet
crashing through the ceiling probably wouldn’t have woken her. Greg had come
down in such a hurry that he hadn’t the chance to eat, and by nine o’clock he
was ravenous. Liz still seemed to be blissfully unaware of our presence, so we
left. I asked the ward sister to please call me if there was any change in
Liz’s condition. Whatever the time of day, or night.
Extract from my
book WILL YOU TELL HER, OR SHALL I? A true story. My story. The story of how I
lived with the ten-year terminal illness of my wife. Available on www.booksthepublishersmissed.com
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