Piece.

Something I'd actually forgotten about. I wrote it a little while ago. It was meant for Ben. Something for him to read if he ever felt like he needed out. I've been reading it over and over today. I'm posting it, because it feels like a waste not to. It represents my love. It represents something that will live with me for the rest of my life. Most of all. It represents my love.

My Nightmare.

Late night had turned into early morning which turned into dusk which had now turned into a full blown late summer’s morning. I had been drifting in and out of consciousness for hours now, all the time feeling nauseous and battling the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
GMTV was on. Although I can’t really recall what the news was that day, I know I was staring intently at the screen, taking nothing in. I was watching the clock in the bottom corner of the screen. I’d decided that I wouldn’t go to your house until 9. After all, I didn’t want to wake your parents up again. And you’d probably be cross when you heard me at the front door. So 9 it was. But I was so restless. I’d gotten dressed. Just pulled on a dress and a hoodie. Hadn’t bothered with deodorant. Or even trying to make myself look nice. You wouldn’t want to see me anyway. It’d be a quick trip. Fag on the way. Your mum shoo-ing me away. Fag on the way home. And back to bed. Job done.
It was about half eight. I’d been sat on the end of my bed for ages now. Scabby shoes on my feet. Fags and phone in pocket – no need for a handbag. “Fuck it!”, I thought. “Might as well just go and get this out of the way”. I was so worried about how your mum was going to make me feel that I grabbed my diazepam and I headed for the door. I locked up. Got into the car and sparked up, after all, nobody was home to see me. And I set off. I could feel my stomach literally eating itself, and my head was so dizzy. There were cars everywhere by the church and the school. Dithery mum’s stalling and manoeuvring in 9 point turns. “Ridiculous”, I thought, trying to use anything as a distraction.
I put on the indicator to turn into Brookside, and as I did, the view ahead became very clear. I could feel the colour draining from my face and my heart pounding through my rib cage. There were two ambulances blocking your driveway. I got out the car, leaving the doors open, threw my cigarette to the floor, and ran to your front door. I couldn’t control my breathing, or stop saying, “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god”. As I approached the front door, I rang the bell, because despite everything, I was still petrified of your parents, and couldn’t muster up the courage to break in. Your mum answered. She was very matter of fact, very stern, and I don’t think at all pleased to see me. She said to me, “Look, there’s no point getting worked up. You won’t help anything.” And she led the way through to the conservatory. I could hear everything before I could see it.
You were lying there. On the conservatory floor. Lifeless. Pale. Tubes down your throat. Three paramedics dressed in their green coveralls being very calm and going about their business, talking medical jargon to one another. They didn’t even notice me. I froze like a statue. Were you dead? Were you alive? Were you okay? I pulled my hands over my mouth to hide the fact that it was completely open, not knowing how to react. I couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t speak. I silently wept, watching everything with my eyes wide open. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. Your mum put her arms round me and we stood watching everything together. Your Dad was in the conservatory in the far corner. One of the paramedics came into us and said, “We’ve done what we can. But you must understand that what Ben has done is very, very serious, and we can’t say for certain what the outcome will be”. I was horrified. What the hell did that mean?
I went to the kitchen to get some water and downed three diazepam. I stood in the middle room and two of the paramedics were now walking about getting things ready to move you. Your mum asked me if I’d like to come to the hospital with her, and I nodded. She told me to go and move my car. I stood, thinking about it. Your dad was trying to help the paramedics in the best way he could, and he was walking about. As he went past me, he rubbed my shoulder, and I just looked at him. I could barely see through my cloudy tears. He carried on. I grabbed my keys and ran out to my car. The quicker we got you to hospital, I thought, the quicker they could save you. Bring you back to life.
I reversed my car out of Brookside without any due care and was very promptly beeped at by a car travelling which I nearly hit. “Fuck you!” I cried out, momentarily thinking about how fucking normal their day was and how much of a fucking nightmare this was. I parked, a bit skew whiff, and ran back to your house. Nothing had happened yet. I was getting so restless. But then, I can’t remember how exactly, but they got you outside on a stretcher and loaded you into the back of one of the ambulances. One of the paramedics told your mum, “We’ll follow behind the first ambulance; they’ll be blues and twos”. You pulled away, and we left your house to walk down to the second ambulance behind the lady driver. “I text Sabrina,” I stuttered. “You stupid girl!” Your mum snapped at me, “She’s on holiday!”. “I know,” I replied pathetically, “I just, I didn’t know what else to do.” We got into the ambulance and took up the two awkwardly placed seats and the door closed us in.
There weren’t any windows. We didn’t have a clue where we were, how far away we were from the hospital for the whole trip. I couldn’t speak to your mum. I knew she was angry with me, but I just didn’t know what to say. We sat facing each other, silently. She began to cry to herself, and as much as I wanted to reach across and comfort her, I knew that I had to selfishly contain any strength I had left for myself. I text all of my friends. I didn’t say much. I just asked them, begged them to pray for you. And I started crying too. I managed to text Sabrina telling her that I’d been round to your house and you were fine. I think your mum asked me, “Why you did it?”, and I couldn’t answer. And we sat in silence, thinking, for the whole journey. I wondered if when we got there, I’d find out that you’d slipped away in the ambulance, and there was nothing more they could do.
As we pulled up outside A+E at Kettering, I knew we were there, just because the ambulance had slowed down quite a bit. This is when I started panicking. I’d managed to calm myself a little for those past twenty minutes, just knowing that there was nothing I could do right now on the journey. But as soon as the door slid open on its rollers, it was like a shot of adrenaline straight into my heart. I saw that your ambulance had already arrived. I recognised the paramedic which I had managed to relate to Tom, I suppose to give me some comfort. Somebody led us inside. Round some corridors. Into a room. THE room. We were told to just wait there, and someone would come and tell us when there was more information. The door was closed.
The room was windowless. It had a little kitchenette, with a fridge and sandwiches. There were chairs on either side of the tiny room. And a table at the end with a phone that you could use, and a big box of tissues. I think I commented to your mum about how this was ‘THE’ room. She gave me some gum, which I was so thankful for because my mouth had no saliva left. We talked. I think we were showing each other pictures on our phones. And talking about things in the room. Neither of us dared even mention what was on both of our minds. I think we even managed a giggle. It didn’t seem real. Although, every time I could hear footsteps on their way down the corridor, my heart would stop until I knew they’d passed the door. A few nurses opened the door to come in but as soon as they saw us they were extremely apologetic and disappeared. We found this funny. I think, I’m sure, it was more than half an hour we were sat there. Your mum sent a few texts. I didn’t have the heart to. And then a doctor came in. I have no idea what he said. My head was full of cotton wool. I know I breathed a sigh of relief when he said that you were okay. You were alive. He said they’d administered a whole load of drugs to counteract what you’d taken, but with the amount of temazepam you’d taken, you were just going to have to sleep it off. You were being transferred to the ICU.
So, we moved on again. I think a nurse led us up stairs and lifts and through corridors and then into a little waiting room. This one had windows. Leaflets. A toilet. Nothing more. It was freezing. We were told we’d wait here for about twenty minutes while you were set up, then a doctor would come and explain things in more detail to us, then we’d get to go and see you. Then she disappeared. So, we began talking again. I told your mum that I wasn’t going to go back to Uni this year, because I wanted to see that you were okay first. She said it wasn’t a good idea. My Dad called, and I got so cross because I was trying to talk quietly and he just kept ‘whatting’ me. Your mum told me off for getting angry with him and then I felt terribly guilty. Adam kept calling me. I tried to explain to him through several texts that I just couldn’t talk, but he never got the picture. There was a poster on the wall. How to act around the patient. Things to stimulate them. It just didn’t seem real. Another lady came in and sat with us. I wondered who she was here to see. Your mum gave me a book from her bag to read, one that you had bought her for her birthday. Something about a guy abroad or something? I remember, sitting there, looking at the pages. Reading each word, but not taking anything in. Every word I read was forgotten by the time I got to the next word. I was getting too frustrated. Maybe something had happened to you?
I think we were in that room for about two hours before a nurse came to see us. She explained to us that the doctor on call was very busy today, but we could come and sit with you anyway and he’d talk to us when he had time. She led us out of that room and into the ICU unit. We had to gel our hands. I could hear the beep beep of heart monitors.
And there you were. In the first bed by the door. There was a very small space with two chairs for us next to your bed. I just stood over you. And tears ran from my eyes. It wasn’t happening. It wasn’t real. I was shaking. The nurse who’d led us in who was now checking you over smiled at me and said it was okay to cry. I sat down. Your mum spoke to you so calmly. “Benjamin! Benjamin. Mum’s here. And Kim. You’re still with us darling. You’re still with us”. I sat crying for a very long time. My teeth biting into my trembling bottom lip. I took your hand. Cold, lifeless, canulared hand. You had a huge tube down your throat where you’d been intubated. You were attached to a machine that was breathing for you. You had a tube going into your nose with food dripping into you. You had a catheter. As I put my hand on your chest, I felt a hickman line. You had another canular in the hand on the other side of the bed. Your hands were so, so cold. They were like ice. I cradled the hand close to me in both of my hands. I kept resting my head on the tiny piece of shoulder that I could get to and just crying. It was a while before I had the courage to speak to you. I spoke to you about everything. We took turns to sit next to you and talk to you.
A little later, the German doctor in crocs was ready to speak to us. We went to a private room with a nurse too, who pre-warned us that this doctor spoke very fast, so she’d translate anything we were unsure about afterwards. He came in. Very jolly. Very matter of fact. He told us that there was a good chance that you would be brain damaged if you came round. This broke me. He carried on despite my blubbering. I began to instantly imagine life with you as a ‘retard’. He said something about you being responsive and your retinas not responding to light would be a sign. He left us and the nurse sat with us, trying to comfort us. Your mum spoke to her, and they both tried to convince me to stay in the room to sleep, but I refused. I didn’t want to be away for a second.
As we went back in to see you. The nurses were fussing around you, and we saw you open your eyes. Just a tiny bit, for a split second, but we smiled to one another. Your mum kept assuring you that you were still with us. Sometimes, when I was talking to you, you’d smile, just a tiny, tiny bit, like a baby. You squeezed my hand too as I spoke to you. I was convinced that you knew it was me, and you were trying to tell me that you were still there. Your mum needed some time to gather her thoughts and update people so she disappeared. I sat with you. Talking to you. I even sang to you. Ever so quietly so that nobody thought I was stupid. Through tears, and a very shaky ending, I sang,

‘You are my sunshine. My only sunshine.
You make me happy, when skies are grey.
You’ll never know dear, how much I love you.
So please don’t take, my sunshine, away.’
Before I left, I put my ring on your finger, hoping that when you woke up, it would give you some comfort to know that I was there, with you. For the whole 12 hours that I could be.