Heat

Electric Shocks

ELECTRIC SHOCKS

I'm up before the sun rises properly in the sky. We all are. But not for my much-missed morning run.

The hospital has rung and dad has taken a turn and has been rushed to surgery again.

 A new day, a new year and yet we're all back here in the hospital, another day in limbo. It's another day waiting to see if he will leave us. I know it's horrible and I love him so much but in the back of my mind I wonder if it just wouldn't be better to let him go. It's what he wanted after all.

 And yet while there is life there's hope and he's my dad and I'm not ready to say goodbye. But then are you ever?

How much quality of life will he have with one leg, the onset of dementia and god knows what brain damage?

Is there a point where we just say goodbye. It's not something I'm game to say to my family. Not because they'll think I'm a monster but because I think they might agree.

So we wait.

My mum looks more rested but the strain is showing on her face as she sits between Di and Scott and Dave and I pace the floor for an hour until the doctor arrives with an up-date. There was a problem with fluid on his brain and he flatlined on the table but he's back in recovery. For someone who wanted to die two days ago, he seems to be fighting hard.

Dave asks the $65,000 question – will there be brain damage? We're all thinking it, we all want to ask it but we all know the answer – they don't know.

Eventually he comes back to intensive care and we can see him – I'm sure he looks smaller every-time they bring him in here, somehow diminished and yet this time his colour looks better. Dave and Di have to get back to their families and farms and responsibilities and eventually Scott leaves for an hour or two but mum and I stay. Various other extended family members come and go, but we stay.

And then my aunt arrives and I can't stay. 

"Kat says it's all over the internet about that Tom and young Megan here," she tells my mother.

"Where is the boy I thought he'd be here?" she asks not waiting for an answer. She twitters on, hardly letting my mother get a word in edgewise for a while before my mother tells her that he was worried about turning this into a media circus and he's left the area but he's in constant contact with me. I try not to smile. It's a total lie. I haven't heard from him. I don't know where he is or even if he is still in the country but my mother has decided that my aunt needs to know none of this and I'm kind of grateful. So the gossip turns to some other poor unfortunate.

Dad has stabilised and, believe it or not, by 5pm he's breathing on his own without the machines. He finally looks like he's sleeping

I'm over the waiting, I'm over the gossip and I need to get away from the hospital. It's claustrophobic and my brain is full of background noise. I just need to drive or run or paint – god how long since I painted?

I'm watching another storm threatening to break. It's coming in from across the ocean and I'm wondering if we will finally get some rain to break this heat.

Lightning is flashing and thunder is rolling. The clouds are black and the sky looks like the apocalypse is rolling in on us. But this isn't unusual in recent times – it threatens, and then at the last moment it ducks away from us and we get nothing. I'll need to water my fruit trees soon if it doesn't break – my vegies are on a timer but not my trees down the back near my mango, our mango. I try not to think of Tom and I under that mango tree.

I'm still staring out the window not thinking about eating mangoes with some Britboy when Dave arrives.

Actually he scares the absolute crap out of me I'm so pre-occupied fruity tropical moments in my head.

"What the fuck!" I say as he taps me on the shoulder.

He laughs.

"Bit stir crazy Megsy??" he says and I turn round to see he's brought Trish and the boys.

"Nah I'm all good!" I smile at him. I'm not and he knows it. But I don't want to leave yet.

We catch up on the news of the afternoon and then more lightening hits – it's close to the hospital.

"Holy crap!" Dave says.

"I think it might just finally bloody rain. Bout bloody time. This is supposed to be the wet season – cane isn't liking all this dry weather and neither are my vegies."

He looks back behind us and motions to Trish, who has some books and things for mum and is keeping her occupied.

"Hey darl did you or the boys get the washing in this arvo? Think it's finally actually going to rain."

Trish shakes her head.

"Well we could ring........" she starts but Dave interrupts her midsentence like she's about to say something wrong.

"The neighbours? Nah Trish – Megsy wouldn't mind a trip up home to take the washing in- she's probably got windows to close anyway!"

She gives him a strange look but I thank them both quickly before anyone changes any minds and hightail it out of there ahead of the storm.

The weather seems to have driven the news crews to ground and I manage to get to my car unmolested or hassled which is just as well because those clouds do look like Armageddon is descending on the Tweed (after the events of the past few days I thought it already had to be honest).

I drive as fast as I can – preferring the traffic of South Tweed to the roadworks of Kennedy Drive. However with the storm rolling in on New Years day – there is hardly another driver stupid enough to be on the road.  The music on the radio is fast and modern and I sing along with it. And despite being out as dangerous weather drifts in (and lightning strikes closer and closer) I finally feel a bit of a burden off my shoulder. My dad isn't out of the woods but there's a little more hope, I try not to think of the other part of my life which is still DOA and just enjoy the clear air and the dropping temperatures.

I tear up the highway and up the back way to the ridge. The storm is coming in quickly and I try to think if I've left any windows open but none come to mind so I'm straight up the ridge to rescue Dave and Trish's washing. I screech the car to a halt out side the house and rush down the side to the hills hoist which is turning like a demented windmill in the rising breeze.

A fat drop of rain lands on my hand and I know more of it's friends will join it momentarily so I run around quickly gathering the washing before it, and I, looks like drowned rats.

A huge flash of lightning illuminates the sky and I look up to see if there are more coming and there on the verandah I see a long slender figure in tight shorts and an even tighter T shirt.

"Would you like a hand with that?"

For the second time in the past hour I pretty much jump a foot in the air at the shock.

I'm completely taken aback for a moment and lost for words (yeah not normal for me) and then I nod – my mouth still wide open.

Tom isn't in Byron or London, he's standing on the back porch of my family home.