That Elusive Cure 47

Wendy met me in the lobby area at the front of the hospital. She approached looking grey with worry and indicated that we sit on one of the bench seats just behind the large circular welcome desk.

“I thought before you saw her I should warn you what’s going on.”

I nodded, terrified of what I was about to hear.

“They think Sally got a hold of around forty paracetemol tablets and took them either yesterday morning or Wednesday evening. The first they knew anything was wrong was when she started vomiting. They put it down to a virus and sent her to bed. The doctor looked her over, but apparently it’s really difficult to diagnose paracetmol overdose in the first day or two.”

“So how is she now, did they pump her stomach?”

Wendy shook her head. “It was too late for that. They’ve got her on a drip with a drug that’s supposed to counteract the paracetemol, but it’s only really effective in the first few hours.”

“So what else are they going to do?”

Wendy looked like she might be about to cry. I reached out and took her hands between my own.

“Nothing,” she finally said. “It’s up to her whether she survives or not.”

“What do you mean, nothing?”

Wendy waited while a surge of chattering people came through the lobby. The place emptied enough for her to be heard again, and she continued, “The damage to her liver is already done. All we can hope is that she’s one of the few who makes it through. The doctor said if she makes it to day five, then chances are she’ll live.”

I sat back, stunned by what Wendy said. “Surely there’s something else they can do?”

Wendy shook her head.

“But… waiting, that’s it? We just have to wait and see?”

“Once the damage is done all they can do is keep her alive and hope she heals.”

“Jesus.”

“She’s waiting for you,” Wendy said as she dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

I drew in a deep breath, wondering how I’d cope. Sally wouldn’t be pleased with me if I broke down at her bedside. I needed to put my strong face on. Wendy led me down the main corridor to the lifts and then up to the second floor where the High Dependency Unit was located.

“Prepare yourself. She seems very… different.”

Deciding not to question Wendy on what she meant, I followed her to a room where there were three beds. Sally was in the middle one. There was some kind of air mattress under her and it seemed to swallow her up. Sally was only tiny, but she seemed even smaller now, like child. She caught my attention with a weak smile, her eyes wide and adding to her child-like appearance.

Sal raised her hand and I sat next to her, taking her hand, surprised at how cold her fingers were.

“Oh, you silly woman. How did you end up here?”

Sally shrugged, a tiny movement that I barely noticed. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice a mere breath with faint words.

“No, don’t you dare apologise.”

From what Wendy told me as we walked through the hospital corridors, I knew Sally’s liver was failing. I’d seen enough medical dramas on the telly to know what to look out for, and although her skin was merely pale, I still wasn’t prepared for the horrible mustardy yellow of her eyes. The lovely healthy whites were gone, her blue irises standing out in the sickly shade.

Wendy leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her sister’s forehead. “Is it okay if I go find something to eat, Sally? It’ll give you two a chance to talk.”

Sally nodded, again, the movement barely perceptible.

I stroked Sally’s hand and watched as Wendy left the room. There were two other beds in the room, one was empty and the other had an elderly person hooked up to all kinds of machines. A mask on her face wheezed out oxygen every time the woman inhaled. A bag with what I assumed was urine was hooked up to the bottom of her bed, a tube disappearing under the sheets. Two drips fed into her, one on either side. As far as I could tell, the woman was unconscious. Was that how Sally would end up in a couple of days’ time? Wendy said her organs would start failing one by one until eventually life could no longer be sustained.   

The sod of all was, I could have stopped all this. If only the machine hadn’t been broken. If I’d thought of taking her there, right at the beginning. If Sal had taken her overdose five days later, giving the machine a chance to start working again. Then I could steal her from the hospital and fix her forever. So many ifs. I brushed aside a tear and tried to smile for Sally.

“Hey chick. Can I do anything for you?”

“It hurts,” Sally said, and hovered her other hand above her liver. “It hurts all the time, no matter what they give me for the pain.”

“Are they treating you right, I’ve heard…” I didn’t have the courage to finish my thought. But as always, Sal knew what I meant.

“Because I attempted suicide, you think they’d treat me badly? Well don’t worry. They’re being lovely.”

The nurses were off in their station just beyond the door to Sal’s room. I could hear their quiet chatter. The other patient in the room still seemed to be out for the count. Leaning in close, I spoke in a whisper. “I need to break you out of here, I can mend you.”

Sal managed to laugh. “And how do you think you’re going to do that?”

“You noticed how well I looked before you went into the psych ward. There’s a reason. I’ve been using a machine that fixes people. You get in and it figures out what’s wrong. I’m almost cancer-free.”

Sal laughed again. “And they say I’m the crazy one.”

“I’m being serious. You need to hang on for a few days, it’s broken right now. But it’ll be fixed in four days. Then I can make you better.”

“Kath, you know you sound totally bonkers, right?”

I did. I sounded insane. What if Sal said something, and they thought she was having another psychotic break? “You’re right. It would be wonderful, though, wouldn’t it? A machine that fixed everything? No more needles, no more medicines. Just lie down and zap, you’re mended.”

“I’m very tired now.” Sal closed her eyes. “I do like the sound of your machine. You should get someone to invent it.” She chuckled quietly.

I sat there, holding her hand and staring out the window at the park beyond the hospital as Sal’s breathing settled into a sleeping rhythm. Occasionally she’d squirm a little and moan, her other hand fluttering over her tummy. Then she’d quieten again.

“Hold on, Sal. Four more days. That’s all. You just need to hold on for four more days.” I kissed the back of her hand and finally allowed the tears to fall.