When My Life Changed

Chapter Thirteen

Eventually I’m Carol and mum are taken to the hospital – another ambulance has come. I sit in the back with mum. I want to be with Carol, but I need mum more. I need to be there when she wakes up. I don’t even let myself think about her not waking up. I can’t bear to think about her not waking up.

As soon as we arrive at the hospital, mum and Carol are taken away. One of the doctors tells me where they are going, but I can’t make out any of the words. I’m ushered away into a room with lots of people on beds. I’m told to lie down and wait for my doctor, who’ll be here any minute. I close my eyes and allow myself to black out…

…Until I feel a face mask being put over my mouth and nose. Insantly I feel groggy, more so than I already am. My bed starts getting rolled out and away from my room. The last thing I notice are the large swinging doors that I’m sure lead to the operating theatre.

…

Two whole days I’ve been trapped in my private room. No matter how much I ask and beg, no one will tell me anything about how mum and Carol are. I hardly see anyone, except the nurses and doctors that come to check on me.

I have five stitches in my head, and my ankle is broken. I’ve been told that I’ll be leaving soon. I’ll probably be going to live with one of my grandmothers. I’m sick with worry for mum. And Carol. I know we’ve had our differences, but I still wish that I knew how she was. I might hate her guts – even now – but she’s still my flesh and blood.

“Lavina Stephens,” a middle-aged nurse calls out as she walks into my room.

Unwilling to break my vow of silence that I’ve given to myself, I just stare at her. I feel a small pang of guilt at my childish behaviour. Here the staff is, taking care of me, and I give them the cold shoulder.

“You may see your mother if you wish,” she says.

I toss away the blankets and haul my legs over the side of the bed. The nurse hurriedly reaches for my crutches, afraid that I might hurt myself. For once I don’t snap at her and tell her that I’m a big girl and can take care of myself. I’ve only been here a couple of days and already I’ve perfected the art of walking on crutches.

I follow the lady down the corridor and into another walkway. We melt into the wall as a patient in a bed gets rolled away. I don’t see their face. We walk into a room and I scan every curtained cubicle for her familiar face. For a moment I think that I’m in the wrong room, but then I see her. She has some stiches on her cheek and her left arm is in a cast.   

“MUM!” I shout. Tears stream down my face for the first time in two days as I race towards her bed. Her eyes are open and yet she doesn’t seem to see me. I want her to hug me, to draw me in and tell me that everything will be alright, but she doesn’t. She can’t. Instead I reach over and take her hand. At the contact she instantly loses that faraway look and focuses on me.

“Lavina,” she whispers. A tear streams down her face as she looks at me. She’s in far worse condition than I am, and she seems to feel it. Her leg is enclosed in a sling being suspended in the air. She has some stiches on her neck and arms. Her face, which was so full of life before, has wrinkled, making her look much older than she really is. Her entire left arm is in a white cast.

“Mum,” I whisper. Fearing that she may have a broken rib, I gently stroke her face instead of hugging her.

“Sit down, sweetie,” she says softly. I don’t want to be any further away from her than I already am so I sit down on the end of her bed instead of the chair. All my life I’ve told myself that I have a sixth sense. I can tell when something’s wrong.

“Mum, what’s wrong?” I ask. I can’t be bothered skirting the question. Mum takes a few short breaths before she answers.

“We were lucky, dear,” she said slowly. Oh no. Carol must be really bad.

“Is Carol okay, mum?” I ask, fear rising in my voice. Mum sighs.

“Carol was a lot worse than us Pumpkin. She’s…she won’t be coming back…back home with us.,” she whimpers.

“No,” I whisper. I wipe away my tears with my hand.

“I am so sorry, Lavina…” she begins.

“You have nothing to be sorry for…” I begin to console her.

“No! I have every need to be,” she raises her voice like she always does to get her point across. “I should’ve seen the truck. This wouldn’t have happened if I had paid more attention to the road!”

The heart monitor next to the bed starts to go berserk.

“I should’ve seen it!” she starts to rant. I’m quickly hurried out of the room by a nurse while a doctor starts adjusting the pumps on mum’s fluids. The last I see of her makes me cry. She’s being given a needle with sedative.

I ask the nurse for some sleeping tablets so that I can actually fall asleep. She gives me one, then waits for me to swallow it before she turns out the light and leaves. My head instantly feels heavy. I fall back onto my bed, the springs squeaking loudly. I’m still crying as my world turns to darkness.