Gift: A Son's Story (extract) - Christmas (ii)

In spite of her cold, mum had rallied over Christmas and had been much more her old self.  The warnings were never far away, though...

The rest of Christmas went much as normal, without any major problems.  Against my worst fears and expectations, her cold started to clear after Christmas Day.  The only real downer the whole time was the news, on Boxing Day, of George Michael's death.  We both liked him, but mum especially.  She had several of his CDs.

            "There had to be one more, didn't there," mum said.  "We've lost so many this year.  Only 53, too.  It's no age."

            "Younger than I am," I said.

            She shook her head.  "At least I've had a decent innings."

            "And you're still not out," I said.

            By New Year's Eve, she was much better.  Hardly a sniffle - though the cough was still hanging around.  She'd always had a bad cough.  Deep and hard.

            "It all goes back to that pneumonia when I was nineteen.  I never lost it."

            We had a normal enough day and in the evening sat down to watch another film.  I felt relaxed again.  Mum seemed to have pulled things together so well.  But a reminder wasn't far away.  At nine-thirty, as the film was almost over, she suddenly sat forward in her chair, gasping for breath - just like before.  I went and got her half an Oxazepam tablet, which she took.

            "Are you anxious about something?"

            "No, not really," she said.  "It just came on, out of nowhere.  It's gone off a bit now.  My heart's pounding, though."

            I checked her blood pressure.  212/98.  I called an ambulance.  She became a bit tearful then.

            "Oh, not now.  Not tonight.  I don't want to have to go to hospital."

            "Hopefully, you won't have to.  But no sense taking chances."

            The paramedics arrived pretty quickly.  They set up their equipment, ran the usual tests, asked all the usual questions.  Her sats were okay.  ECG was okay.  Blood sugar was fine.  They checked her blood pressure a couple of times over the course of the hour they were with us, and it had come back down to more normal levels.  They noted that mum had recently had a chest infection.

            "It's okay, Mrs Seagrave," the senior paramedic said.  "You don't need to go into hospital.  This appears to be consistent with your condition.  The chest infection won't have helped.  Just keep yourself comfortable, don't over-exert.  Check in with your GP as soon as you can."

            It was getting on for eleven by the time they left.  Mum was settled again. 

            "I don't think I want to stay up to see the New Year in," she said.  "I always like to, but I'm too tired."

            "I don't blame you.  I don't think I will either."

            She got into bed and seemed comfortable.  She had her medication and a glass of hot lemon.

            "I don't know what's the matter with me lately," she said.  "I just get over one thing and something else comes along."

            "It's all part of the same thing really, mum.  You're getting stronger.  But there's still a way to go."

            She settled her head back on her pillow. 

            "Well... I'll just be glad to see the back of this year, anyway."

            "We say that every year," I said.

            "I know.  But this one especially.  It's been nothing but death and illness.  I want to put it behind me."

            "And you will," I said.  "We all will.  Then tomorrow, we can start afresh."

            I kissed her cheek and we wished each other an early 'Happy New Year'.  Then I left her and went to set up my own bed.  I half-thought about sitting up until midnight - I'd never missed one, and neither had mum to my knowledge - but I was too shattered.  I turned off the light and went straight to sleep.  What seemed like hours later, I was shocked awake by a huge bang.  I jumped up, thinking something had happened.  But then I heard more bangs, and rockets whizzing.  It was midnight.

            I checked at the edge of mum's door to see if the light had come on.  But it hadn't.  I got up and listened.  I could hear her raspy breathing as she slept.

            I went back to bed.  Tinker was up on her perch, looking out between the curtains at what was going on.  The bangs didn't seem to bother her.

            Pretty soon it all quietened down again.

            "Happy New Year," I said to myself. 

            I knew it was going to be an eventful one.  Happy?  With that, I wasn't so sure.  I'd take it as it came - as I had been since I'd been with mum: a day at a time.

            With that thought, I turned over and went back to sleep.