Ma, I've Got Meself Locked Up in the Mad House Page 13

  He stared at me balefully; I stared back, me lip hanging down to me belly button, taking in every word he was saying to me. He continued, ‘You see, the thyroid, as it is being removed, goes into emergency and starts to pump out an incredibly high dose of thyroxine. We call this a storming. It would be lethal. Your heart would start to race, trying to keep up. All your organs would shut down. You would be poisoned. We would lose you. That is why no anaesthetist is willing to take you on. Because you would die.’

  I gasped.

  He continued, ‘Unfortunately, we cannot control it with drugs, to allow us to operate. We tried that and you got uremic poisoning. Your kidneys packed up. They could not cope with the amount of toxins flooding into you. Most extraordinary you survived! People don’t usually. It’s fatal! So! We need to operate as soon as possible. Anything could happen at any moment. You could go into cardiac failure! But I have been speaking with a top anaesthetist – he has worked on the liver-transplant operations with me. Remember we had one recently in this hospital?’

  ‘Yeah, and it failed!’ I croaked, looking into his face, being cruel. Then thinking it went on all night, teams of medics, booted and covered up from head to toe. A whole relay of them taking it in turn, staggering down exhausted – all to no avail. The patient died. No glory for the pioneering professor and his team. Ah, but he is a gorgeous little man, very kind.

  ‘Yes!’ the professor said, thinking about it sadly. ‘However! I have asked him would he be willing to take you on, and he is examining your case. So, we may be lucky!’ Then he smiled at me and gave me a big squeeze, saying, ‘Whatever happens, we are not going to lose you!’

  ‘Thank you very much, Professor!’ I said, beaming at him. Delighted at the prospect of getting back on my feet instead of looking grey like cigarette ash and feeling ninety years old. Being able to walk with a stride again instead of gasping with palpitations on trying to make my way out to the toilet to have a smoke! What else is there?

  I watched the nurse disappear out the door, feeling very contented. At last something may be happening, and I can start to live a normal life again after years of going downhill. Getting sick and feeling old before my time, and still trying to carry on. Working and looking after Sarah but never understanding why I was always tired.

  The priest came rushing in through the door, heading straight for me. ‘I’m not dying, and I don’t need the Last Rites!’ I said, watching him put his holy oils on my locker and pull the curtains around. ‘This is the third time you’ve done this, and I’m still alive!’

  ‘Yes! Of course you are not going to die! This is just a precaution,’ he said, whipping the cloth off the oils.

  ‘No! I am definitely going to live a long life. So I really mean it, Father. You are going to jinx me with this business of the Last Rites. So, don’t argue with me Fat . . .’

  The curtain was whipped back and a blonde head with long hair and huge blue eyes with a big smile on its face suddenly appeared and shouted, ‘Mummy! You’re here!’

  I looked up, thinking, I was right! I really have died. That bloody priest and his Last Rites has killed me! I’m dead!

  My vision cleared, and I screamed, ‘SARAH!’

  ‘Please wait outside, your mother won’t be long,’ the priest told her solemnly, whipping the curtain back and getting on with the business.

  As soon as the priest uttered the last words, I was out of the bed. ‘Thank you, Father!’ I gasped, whipping back the curtain and peeling my eyes around the ward, looking around for Sarah. She must be down in the television room.

  I grabbed my dressing gown off the bed. I keep it handy because I’m always on the mooch, visiting other patients, making new friends, helping out, rushing to help the bedridden. There are not enough nurses, and it keeps me busy but drives the consultant crazy. ‘You have to get bed rest! Your condition is deteriorating! We have nothing else to treat you with.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Doctor! You are absolutely right! I understand perfectly!’

  ‘And no more smoking!’ he barks, red in the face, fed up with me.

  ‘No! Definitely not!’ Then I vanish again. I never did have any sense. Besides! I don’t believe it is possible for me to die. I have too many lives!

  Where is she? I stopped at the entrance to the sitting room, looking around for her.

  ‘Mummy!’

  My head whirled around, following the voice. She came bounding over to me, giving me a hug.

  ‘Let me see you!’ I gasped, my heart going like the clappers, my skin coming out in a cold sweat.

  She stood back, beaming down at me. She’s grown, and her blonde hair is even lighter, and she’s cut it to her shoulders. No more waist length. I grabbed her again, burying my face in her neck. ‘Oh, Sarah! You’ve come home! I really have missed you! This last year has been hell on earth without you,’ I said, looking into her face. ‘God! You are all grown up. You are what? Seventeen now!’ I had to sit down, dragging her down with me, and reached for my tobacco, taking it out of my pocket, starting to roll a cigarette.

  ‘Tell me what’s been happening? How was your new school? Pity you missed out the year at home! You could have been studying for your Leaving Cert instead of taking on A levels. It’s a totally different subject, course, Sarah!’

  ‘Mummy, the doctor wants to speak with you,’ she said, pulling the sleeve of my dressing gown, interrupting my babble.

  I whirled around to find myself staring at a man in a suit holding a chart in his hand.

  ‘May I have a word with you, please?’ he said, waving his hand at me.

  I stood up, walking over to him.

  ‘I’m the consultant anaesthetist who has done some work with the professor,’ he said, giving me a piercing stare. ‘He has asked me to be your anaesthetist. I have examined your case,’ and he waved the thick volume of my chart towards me, then hesitated. ‘But before I make my decision, I wanted to take a look at you.’

  Then he hesitated and said, ‘OK! We will go ahead with the operation on Wednesday.’

  I stared at him. ‘But that’s my birthday!’

  ‘Well, that will be your birthday present,’ he said, beaming at me.

  I stared, thinking. Then beamed back. ‘The gift of my life,’ I said. ‘Thank you very much, Doctor. You are a gentleman and a scholar!’

  He flipped the chart at me then marched off very smartly.

  I looked around, and Sarah was enjoying herself talking to a young fella who was the colour of beetroot. He couldn’t get over his good fortune at being noticed by a fine young one! He had spots and wore his long greasy locks down over the collar of his Blackrock College rugby shirt.

  ‘Mummy!’ she glanced up, noticing me, and bounced over. ‘Listen, Mummy! I have to go. Grandad is waiting outside in the car park. He’s driving me to the airport.’

  ‘What? But, darling! What do you mean? You only just got here.’

  ‘Oh, no, Mummy. I arrived over on Friday night. Our friend Jack phoned me and told me to come and see you. So Daddy bought my ticket, and I stayed the weekend with my cousins, at Daddy’s sister’s. So I called in to see you on the way back to the airport!’

  I sat down heavily, with the wind knocked out of me. Everything was flying past me at the rate of knots. Not staying? I thought she was home for good! Ah, but she’s going back to study. She has a new life now. I kept staring at her, seeing her laughing and joking with the young fella. Well, I can’t complain. She’s looking lovely, and she seems to have settled well over in England. Oh, well! We only have them for a short time.

  ‘I better go, Mummy,’ she said, wrapping her arms around me, giving me a tight hug. ‘Grandad is waiting to take me to the airport. I better hurry. Goodbye, Mummy,’ she said, waving as she took off. Then she was back, giving me another hug. But before I could really respond and give her a tight hug back, she was gone! Walking out the door, blowing me kisses and waving me goodbye.

  I watched her disappear down the passage, and it was over! Sh
e’s gone as quickly as she appeared. We never even got to talk. Why did she not come here first to see me? Why did she leave me until the last minute? It doesn’t make any sense. I sighed. Kids! They never think. Then wandered back into the ward, thinking, Well! That was better than a kick up the arse. It was good of her father to send her over. Wonder does he know she blew his money having a good time for herself? Visiting the invalids was definitely not on her list of things to do! Jaysus! But still, I can’t fault her. She is a good kid, she always was – one of the best, really.

  I opened my eyes, staring out the window at the dark, still remembering. The operation was a success, though I did get a storming. It caused a cardiac arrest, with respiratory failure, just as the professor had feared. But, as they had said, the anaesthetist was the top man in the country, and the surgeon was the best. They kept me alive, filled with drugs and strapped to a machine. They knew exactly what they were doing, and I am grateful to them.

  I woke up briefly for a few minutes in Intensive Care, propped up dead straight, to keep me from suffocating, and the priest was bending down beside me. When my eyes flickered open, I took in his presence and the fact I was surrounded by machines.

  ‘You are in Intensive Care,’ he whispered, leaning over me. ‘You made it!’ he breathed, letting his shoulders drop.

  ‘Fuck off!’ I wheezed, no sound coming out of my mouth. I wanted Sarah! Where is she? My eyes darted around the room then peeled back to him. She didn’t come. I stared at him, terrified of the pain.

  My body was rigid. I was completely paralysed, unable to move, my head kept stable by a mountain of pillows that kept me dead upright. There was a jar hanging by the side filled with blood and a tube running up to my neck, draining away all the fluid.

  ‘You are going to be fine,’ he said with infinite tenderness. ‘I stayed with you the entire night, praying for you.’

  I understood he cared, but the pain was intense, and I glared at him, wanting him to stop talking and do something. Stop the pain.

  ‘Do you want the nurse?’

  I blinked.

  ‘Nurse! She needs you more than me now,’ he laughed, moving away and letting the nurse move in close.

  ‘Yes!’ the nurse said, looking straight at me. ‘I’ll get her the morphine injection.’

  That was last year, I thought, dragging my eyes from the window. It was a long aul haul, getting back on my feet. But now, so long as I take the medication daily, to replace the job of the organ, well, I’m getting there slowly.

  They say trouble comes in threes. Well, I have had the three now. First, Sarah taking wings. Then spending those months in the hospital. Now this year! It couldn’t bloody end without something happening. But nothing could have been worse than losing Harry! Oh! God almighty. I pray now that things can only get better. Also, dear God, please look after the ma. She has suffered enough. More than enough in her lifetime.

  But now, at last, Sarah’s coming home. Well, for a short visit. She has to get back to school and concentrate on her A levels. I told her I would buy her a return plane ticket, and she’s coming on Sunday! If only I had known we would be burying poor Harry the same week. Thank God I sent her that plane ticket. Now I have something to look forward to. God! I can’t wait! Things can only get better from now on. I have the operation over, and next year will be a new start. I should have the full health back by then.

  20

  * * *

  Right, I have a lot to do, I thought, looking around the kitchen. Clean the house from top to bottom! I’m feeling knackered even at the thought of all that cleaning. I’ll cook her a nice meal. Her favourite. Spaghetti bolognese and garlic bread, and for dessert, banana fritter with golden syrup and ice cream. Lovely!

  I had better get to bed. I stirred myself then stopped to listen. No sign of that dog yet! Bloody pest! I switched off the light in the kitchen and walked out to the hall, looking out through the French doors. No! Bonzo is still not back.

  I dragged myself wearily up the stairs, feeling a bit lonely. The silence of the house telling me there should be a family here. It would be lovely to hear the sound of children’s laughter again. Then I heard the haunting echo of Sarah’s voice, tinkling with laughter. A little girl sharing secrets with her friends, full of the joys of life. I thought it would last for ever, but that sound is hollow now. Just ghosts from a long dead past.

  Finished! At last, that’s the end of the cleaning. I opened the press under the stairs and humped in the Hoover, then stood up, feeling dizzy. Right! Where am I? Bedrooms cleaned, Sarah’s bed ready, everything done and dusted. Smashing! Now I can sit down in comfort and have a lovely cup of tea and a smoke. I headed into the kitchen, humming ‘Life is a bowl of cherries!’ and filled the kettle. Then I started on the dinner.

  I can make the sauce now and leave it in the fridge overnight. Years of practice have me organised to great efficiency, I thought smugly as I whipped the packet of minced steak out of the fridge. Two tins of tomatoes, one tin of purée, three onions, mixed herbs, fresh thyme – it always brings out the flavour of the meat.

  Ha! I laughed to myself, thinking about the time when I was only a young one and living in a bedsit. I couldn’t boil water, never mind cook! I bought myself a packet of instant mash, hoping for a bit of dinner. I read the instructions, but I’m not very good with following instructions. ‘Pour mash powder into saucepan,’ it said. I did! ‘Pour half pint of boiled water then stir.’ I ended up with runny water! No dinner! Ha, ha! Those were the days when I was as thick as two short planks! I used to torment the other poor unfortunate tenants living in the house, knocking on their door, asking them where I went wrong. Showing them the burnt pot with the charred remains of a Lancashire hotpot. ‘I followed the recipe to the last tee!’ I would sniff. ‘Look how it turned out!’ Then shove the burnt pot under their nose. Jaysus! I was an awful torment!

  Right! Concentrate. Eight cloves of garlic. Good for the lungs! Now, brown the mince, add the chopped onions, garlic, tomatoes and purée; whip it all together with wooden spoon and leave to simmer – the longer the better. Perfect!

  I eyed the kettle. I’m well overdue for that cup of tea and a smoke. I poured a drop of boiling water into the teapot, emptied it, now add the tea and the boiled water – it has to be still on the boil! – and poured myself out a lovely cup of tea. I felt a bit weak. Hmm! I haven’t had anything to eat! Ah, maybe later. I’m not hungry now.

  I don’t seem to bother much about eating any more. I don’t like shopping. Supermarkets give me the creeps! But yesterday I trotted around quite happily. I had a purpose. Shopping for Sarah! My heart somersaulted. Sarah! I can’t wait. Yeah! Definitely. It was incredibly lucky I sent her the tickets before poor Harry died. At least now I will have Sarah here.

  I drank my tea and puffed on the cigarette, feeling a sense of peace. One door closes – I buried my poor Harry yesterday – but another door always opens. Sarah is coming.

  I crushed out the cigarette butt in the ashtray and rinsed out the cup, emptying the teapot, and went in to set the dining-room table. White-linen tablecloth. Table mats with lovely Christmas scenes – horses and carriages racing through the snow. Victorian-looking. Lovely! Good cutlery, table napkins, wine glasses, and I got a bottle of Chablis. She’s eighteen now. Probably drinks, and this is a special occasion.

  Then I set the fire. Rolled-up newspapers, lots of firelighters broken up and placed strategically around the paper, then small lumps of coal placed on top. I stood back to admire the room. Yeah! The table looks lovely, and the sofa pushed against the far wall with the little antique table and the Tiffany lamp on top – lovely! It looks very cosy. I looked at the bookcases inside the alcoves each side of the fireplace and got a warm glow. Pick up one of those and you can shut out the world and travel into someone else’s horror, drama – it doesn’t matter what. You can enjoy yourself, experience whatever it is they are going through, and the beauty is it is not happening to you!

  They keep
me going these days – dogs and books. Well, one dog, and walking him in the woods. That’s it. Jaysus! That’s not much of a life. The sooner I get my strength back and get moving the better. I might rent the house out and take off to the States next year. I could get a job as a nanny for a while until I find my way around. Yeah! Good idea. I’m still young, only in my thirties. Yeah! Here I come, world.

  I drove out to the airport, putting the boot down when I passed Whitehall. Bloody Sunday drivers! They get to drive the car once a week and forget how to drive. Ah! Slowed down again. The blue Toyota in front was driving me mad. Stop, start, the driver nattering to his wife in the passenger seat. Now she points to something, ‘Ohh, lookit, George!’ and gobshite George stops, no warning, nothing! Then starts again, just as I am about to overtake him. Then he suddenly makes a left turn without indicating.

  I swerve, sitting on the horn, roaring. The wife gives me the V sign. ‘Aul hag!’ I scream, me heart thumping. Right! Control yourself. The flight comes in at ten past five. I’m nearly there now. I thought I had left enough time. Right! Forgot about the Sunday drivers heading home for their tea. Enjoy yourself.

  I whizzed up the hill, stopping outside the entrance. Should I chance it and park the car here? I don’t see anyone around. Still, I might get towed away. Sarah would have my guts for garters.

  I drove over to the car park, collecting my ticket. Robbers, the price of it! I roared to meself, looking at the ticket man. I headed off into the entrance, and here she comes. I looked. One bag thrown over her shoulder and no duty free! Where’s the tobacco? I said I would pay her the bloody money! She marched towards me, taking long strides. Men glanced at her from cars driving past. She knew this and flicked her lovely blonde hair back, straightening her back and pushing out her chest. She is extremely well developed. Huge breasts and a slim figure with long legs. Hmm! From the time she was only fourteen, I was screaming at aul fellas and young fellas in the street, ‘Stop looking at the child! Filthy perverts!’ I won’t have to do that now, I thought, smiling. She’s all grown up, a young woman of eighteen!