Home for the Holidays

Fifty per cent chance they said.
Well put up a drip then, increase the odds.
It's not my job - take it up with the nurses.

She lay like featherdown, tiny frame vanishing against the starch-ridden pillows. Hardly making a dent. Eyes unfocused but voice still strong.
Questioning. What's happened.

Bruises fading now, pin pricks in every crease and crevice. Fluids in, fluids out. Blue-y purple in the crooks of the elbows, turning yellow-green on the backs of hands. An October-fest of colours.

Finally able to sit out, balance, sway, stand. Now put one foot in front of the other. Walking reed-thin from one end of the polished ward to the other. Only one or two slips. You'll soon get there love. No more tears, keep going.

Now a new bed, new ward, new procedure. Arteries scraped out..mustn't lose a leg. Soon have you standing on your own two feet. Dreaming of your own bed. Eyes wide open, wakeful nights, desperate to leave.

Opening the door now to a familiar room. The smell of a flat unoccupied. Darkened windows, no Christmas cheer twinkling - no time, no need.

Tears of worry..can she stay? Hustle and bustle then closing the door. The quietest its been for weeks. Elation floods the room then tension..what if, what if it happens again...

Family rally - company kept, watchers watchful. Breaths still held. Cups of tea endlessly made and thankfully drunk by parched throats, rubbed raw with emotion.

She's done well hasn't she - remarkable. Considering.

Unspoken thoughts and relief all round.

Tucking her in at night, stick-thin. Mother turned child, vehicle of love needing respite.

Thank God she's home.