Sam and Noleen

The more of my stuff I put up the more I notice how dark so much of it is.  But then life has it all, the laughs the tears the losses the gains.  I suppose writing is a bit of therapy for me, so no apologies for the darker regions then.

 

Sam and Noleen

Soon it would be all over, he told himself.  Life was ebbing away, moving out.  He could feel less and less, physically, with every passing hour, but strangely his mental alertness was profoundly intense.  It was perverse.  Here he lay unable to move even an eyelid, with the morphine being pumped rhythmically into his body, and yet the distress of his wife Noleen, who sobbed beside him, was raw and painful.  He could hear her harsh sobs and occasional wheezes, her asthma catching her.

He felt her heart contract with pain and his own seemed to flutter in unison.  He wished he could reach out and stroke her hand, reassure her, but it was just that -  a wish.  He had no more time left to do all the undone things.  That page had turned.  She had been a lovely, loving wife.  No regrets there.  So many friends had suffered with bad humour, coldness and demands, whereas Noleen had been a joy from beginning to end.  Even now, as life drained away, the thought struck him that there was no one in the world he would rather have had with him at this moment.  Even her sadness soothed him confirmed that bond they had.  She rang true even at this late hour and Sam thanked the fates that had brought them together.

A nurse came in and he felt her check his morphine injector at his side, his bag of pee and his drip.  These things had been a source of annoyance - things attached that he longed to be free of but no more.  He was past that.  His world was contracting and physical things were way out there beyond him. Emotions swept around him and he was surprised he could feel them - like a fragrance.  The nurse’s was a sharp annoyance - metallic and tangy with a cold undercurrent, like dislike just barely hidden.  She was speaking to Noleen in clipped tones,

“Would you like a cup of tea? There’s a family room on the other wing.”

Noleen responded politely, but in tear filled shyness,

“No, thank you. Tell me… he’s not in pain is he?  He’s not suffering?”  Her voice rose in fear with each stuttering word.  There was fear in that last line and the nurse spoke factually,

“No, Mrs MacAllister, the morphine injections take care of that.  He is not in pain, just getting weaker.”  The nurse glanced at the blood pressure reading and ticked the chart at the end of the bed.

Noleen nodded and stroked his hand which she held gently.

“Yes, I can feel that.” Noleen whispered so low the nurse hardly heard.  But Sam did and the ocean of her loss surged across between them in the tiny kneading, stroking movements against his unresponsive hand.

The nurse asked, “How long have you been sitting here?”

Noleen answered, “I don’t really know.”

The nurse fussed around the sheets and pillows and Sam wanted her to go. She had an air of importance that intruded between him and Noleen.  So strange to be bothered by that now.  As if any of it mattered.

She was speaking now in knowing terms, “These things can take a long time, you know. Do you want to go and lie down?  There is a family room.  It’s nice and quite nearby.”  The nurse spoke confidently, in practiced tones.  But Sam felt his heart contract with fear at Noleen’s possible departure.  Just having her here in this room, holding his hand, eased the knot of fear that nestled inside him somewhere.  Noleen answered - apology in her gentle tone.

“No, it’s alright. Really. I’d rather just be here, if you don’t mind.”

The nurse spoke with her voice pitched in a ringing long-suffering tone, as if Noleen had forced the whole issue into confrontation with her stubbornness.

“Well, we don’t really like family being on the main ward with patients at night.  It is a matter of security and it can bother the other patients.  I’m so sorry; you’ll have to move to the family room.  If anything happens, I’ll call you,  if you like.” Her tone was confident and business like and he could feel Noleen quailing at her obvious authority.  But Noleen was trying to stay put and apologetically pleaded,

“Can’t I just stay here? I’ll be ever so quiet.”

The nurse was relentless and insistent,

“Well, you can imagine, the ward would be filled with family if we didn’t have rules.  I’ll have to ask you to go to the family room.  I’ll show you the way.”  There was a long awkward pause and then he heard Noleen get to her feet and move away, reluctantly stroking his hand in goodbye.

Noleen had always been polite.  It was the gentleness of her that had first attracted him.  That quiet stillness that made her seem untouched by the world.  He had wanted to protect her from all that would hurt her, help her keep that deep calm at her centre that no one could touch.  He’d been allowed to share that calmness all these years and he wanted to hug and thank her for each and every second they’d had.  He heard Noleen respond, “Of course.” She gathered her handbag and coat to go with the nurse, and he wanted her to stay so much.

The nurse was pulling back the curtains round the bed and moving away, talking about the facilitaties the family room had - the bed, the shower, etc.  Bloody woman, delighted now she had her way.  Their voices began to fade and Sam felt his fear begin to grow.  He was alone, Noleen was gone.  The silence of the ward stretched out like a cold vicious lover and its foreignness embraced him - the sounds of coughs and bed squeaks, the groan of a patient, three beds away.  The fear that had lay like a pet inside started to become agitated and growled.  He would die alone, then.  He remembered this fear like an old enemy, could taste it in his mouth, feel his stomach contract.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t cry out. Nothing to ease the awful constricting fear. He was alone again, always alone.   He remembered the night he had met death before.  His mother had just laughed at something; he couldn’t remember what.  But her laugh was full bodied and infectious - as if the entire world was a great joke and you’d suddenly discovered the punch line.  Then she’d crumpled to the floor like a dishcloth and was blue in the face.  He’d screamed and screamed and his brothers and father came running but she had gone.  He’d seen, knew the very moment when life had ebbed away.  Knew it was his mother’s body lying there, but not her.  Just a husk.  Death had reached into his life and stolen its heart and nothing would ever be the same.  He remembered the images of the funeral, the tears, the empty house.  And he remembered hugging her old apron; the smell of her was in its pockets.  The laughter was gone and no one could fix it.  He took to collecting car numbers.  Hundreds and thousands of car number plates.  What the hell had that been about?  Death did that.  It robbed you of all purpose and direction and left you with a husk. Just meaningless routines that you followed for no reason.  He could see her face, still - the laughter changing to fear and that fear .. the presence of death in the room.  Stealing in and striking unawares, making a pretence of all that was valued in this stupid world.  Now it was here for him.  Noleen’s hand suddenly lifted his and squeezed.  He could tell her hands anywhere, so calloused and bony with huge arthritic knuckles.  She’d come back, she was with him, and he was not alone.  He heard her lean forward across the stiff sheets and whisper in his ear,

“I’ll have to be quiet, I’m not supposed to be here, Sam.”

Then she stroked his cheek and leant back, settling in the plastic chair beside him.  His heart filled with gratitude.  She was here, had filled his empty fear filled world, just as she had his whole life.  To be really alone is like being on a wild, wild sea and that was where he had been as a child, as a young man.  Then he had found her.  She didn’t have to speak. He could feel her love surround him and the fear fell away.  Death wasn’t so bad.  He and Noleen together in the darkness of the ward.  He knew he would not see the morning.  He could feel a floaty sensation beginning in his chest.  Difficult to describe but not unpleasant.  Then a sinking feeling, like when you fall when sleeping, but not frightening.  Like falling into something soft. And he knew to relax into it, not to fight it.  The sensation was becoming heavier.  He relaxed all his muscles, felt the strain of breathing, and stopped.  It was so good to stop. It felt right and then he wanted to laugh.  It was so simple - dying so easy, so natural. And he was so very grateful.