Just Another Minute

We’re up the Castle Street end ay the Royal Infirmary; a crumblin Victorian relic ay a hoaspital. The stuff ay nightmares, the place; encrusted as it is wae two hunner years worth ay the thick black soot ay heavy industry, it stauns proud, alangside Glasgow Cathedral, dark imposin silhouettes oan even the clearest ay days, dominatin the skyline.

A statue ay Queen Victoria, sittin oan her throne, aw stern faced lookin, sits above the door surveyin aw who enter an leave.

Inside is a tall atrium that passes through balconies at each flair, The curved balconies, rest oan huge oak beams spannin the room, leavin a vertical, oval cylinder ay space aw the waiy up tae the domed, gless roof.

The thick slabs ay granite that comprise the stairs meet us through the open doors tae the rear at the hall, worn doon in the middle tae a polished sheen fae the sheer numbers ay feet that have passed oer them.

Ubiquitous florescent strip lights emit a migraine inducin light that seems tae compliment the sickly yella paint that’s been slathered oan everythin fae the ceilin, tae the huge cast iron radiators that cling precariously tae the waws.

The smell ay disinfectant hings in the air, the only sensory reminder ay the buildin’s purpose.

Pearcey’s been up every day this week awready. His granny’s no farin well. Her lung cancer’s re-emerged efter her gettin the all clear a few months back.

Just the other week when ah wis roon his gaff, she’d looked much better; oan the mend man - nae danger. 

She’d been back tae her auld self he sais, makin jokes wan minute an gien him an earful the next.

Sais he’s no been sleepin since she’s been back in, just lyin night efter night, thinkin. 

That’s where the valium had come in. Benzodiazepine. Wee blue pills that anaesthetise the despair. Somethin tae distract him fae his, or anybody’s inability tae alter her fatalistic journey tae death. 

Normally ah’d go through the daft cunt fur batterin the vallies but noo’s no the time, ah don’t like seein him like this.

He takes us intae a private room aff the main ward, noddin at the nurse who’s sittin at the desk further alang the waiy.

His wee granny’s goat fuckin tubes comin oot her nose an throat hooked up tae oxygen. The purpley yella bruise oan the inside ay her airm where the drip is inserted under her skin draws yer eyes tae it. Her skin’s near translucent; her veins an bones’ definition protrudin through like covered furniture, upsetting the clear, crisp lines ay a sheet flung oer it. A liberty man, so it is.

 She lies motionless, just her shallow breath an the intermittent beep fae the machine diplayin her vital signs, the only indication that she’s still here at aw.

The wee man sits in silent contemplation, fleetin between gazin doon oer her sleepin an glancin oot oer the Gothic grandeur ay the Necropolis ootside wae the drizzled rooftops ay the city beyond.

Ah nod ma heid tae the doactor who’s entered the room but Pearcey’s elsewhere, loast in his thoughts. ‘Mr Pearce. . . Mr Pearce, could I speak to you for a moment out in the ward?’

‘Pearcey.’ ah sais. ‘The doactor’s wantin ye.’

Gesturin fur me tae come wae him, ah foallie him oot the room, glancin back tae the frail auld ghost ay a wummin lyin there as ah close the door. The dank air seems tae accompany the sense ay forbodin at whit’s tae come. The wee man’s eyes fill wae salt watter an ah imagine the doactor as he must appear tae him; blurred and hazy as the tear ducts flood his eyes, causing a cruel kaleidoscope ay colour afore him until it’s gone, wiped away in a single motion, bringin him back tae the impending reality. ‘Mr Pearce, as I’m sure you are aware, your grandmother is now at an advanced stage of the illness.’ the doactor sais.

‘Aye ah know but she’ll pick up again, she’s a fighter, ye should’ve seen her the other week at hame. . .’ Pearcey replies, hopefully.

‘The cancer has spread at an aggressive rate Mr. Pearce. It has reached the stage where increasing the dosage of chemotherapy would be further detrimental to her. She’s very frail, I know it’s difficult but perhaps you should now be considering whether she should be at home where she would feel more. . . comfortable in the coming weeks.’

‘Weeks? Whit dae ye mean weeks? How long has she goat, Doc?’

‘It really is difficult to say. . . In some cases maybe a month, two isn’t unheard of.’

‘Isnae unheard ay?’ Pearcey repeats, angrily. ‘Right Doc. She’ll be better aff wae me anywaiy, Ah’ll look efter her.’

‘Listen, I really am sorry. If there’s anyone you feel you need to talk to. . . there are counsellors available.’

‘She’s no fuckin deid yet, man.’ Pearcey sais, wellin up again.

‘Of course. I’ll leave you with Nurse Callaghan over there. She’ll help make the necessary arrangements with you to take your gran home.’

‘Just another minute then, ah want tae be wae her again fur a minute.’ he replies an goes back intae the room closin the door quietly behind him.