Notes

6

Before I knew it I was in the back of an ambulance, hooked onto a machine that monitored my heart beat.

It was something I was used to, but today my heart was racing faster than ever before- not because I was sick, but because I wasn't. That I knew of anyway.

My body slumped into the chair in the centre of the very small 'room'. Things around me slowly rocked back and forth from it's place as we sped away from the Anonymous Piano. Mum gripped my hand so tightly that I thought I would lose circulation in my hand. But I didn't mind right now. All I wanted was to know why I was in the ambulance when I thought I was okay. A million thoughts raced like speeding cars throughout my head, exploring all the different scenarios that could explain why I was going back to hospital.

No sirens; okay that's good. The nurse next to me isn't making any noise. That has to mean it's not a major issue, or at least  I don't seem to be chronically ill. We don't seem to be speeding so whatever is wrong doesn't need to be fixed urgently. From playing at the Anonymous Piano I can tell I have a future, somewhere in this world. I wanted to play music, I just didn't want to be broken by it again.

Mum was so quiet. It was horrible doing this to her, even if I couldn't control it. I could imagine her soul, how sunken and decayed it must be from the constant stresses that came with worrying if her only child would wake up each morning, the feeling of fear each visit would bring to her stomach, looking at her child hooked up to machines that paraded his vital signs. And the worst part about it all was how helpless I felt towards her, how dependent I was on everyone else, that my mum was living the life of two people. But the way she lived to help me wasn't truly living, it was surviving. 

The ambulance smelt of sterile equipment, sickness and hospital rolled into one aroma that sent shivers down my spine. The heart monitor next to me beeped every couple of seconds, it's recognisable noise letting everyone know that I was still breathing. I didn't know what to do. What to think, say, do in general. Do you ask questions and risk getting the answer you were dreading and hoping wasn't the case; or do you keep quiet and let the questions roll in the air, stuck on the tip of your tongue until you bite it so the thought goes away. Each question that hissed in my brain stuck around, as if waiting to see my reaction to which one I thought was true. The air was almost unbreathable, thick with ideas of what was going to happen next.

The ambulance seemed to be slowly down; the twists and turns minimising as I felt the wheels jolt over a pedestrian crossing and across the speed bumps that plagued the hospitals carpark. We pulled up outside the E.R station so the ambulance could quickly access every ward in the hospital; which for me was a one way ticket straight into the chemotherapy ward.

EMT's and nurses with voices I didn't recognise spoke to each other hurryingly as they helped me out of the back, mum still holding onto my hand as if her fingers were permanently entwined in mine. I could hear them bringing a wheelchair over, the squeaking of its old, rusted wheels being forced against the concrete. I was perfectly capable of walking, but I didn't resist. Mum spoke to the nurses from behind me, pushing me while we followed the staff towards where ever we were heading in the E.R. The heart monitoring machine followed behind us, controlled by one of the nurses. My thoughts were plagued by nothing but the idea that something was horribly wrong.

The waiting area was overwhelming. The cries of children, people coughing, sneezing, dying. It was horrific. We continued passed them, their noise slowly fading away while we went deeper into the Emergency unit. I could hear mum sniffling behind me; it knotted my stomach instantly. Was this all worth it anymore? I hated it. I didn't want her to feel like this anymore. She deserved to feel happy all the time, and I was stopping that. We paused for a moment, my Cane hitting what seemed to be a wall.