Examine

two

ASHLEY

"Mum," I call out as I let myself inside her apartment. There's no answer. That's weird.

I walk through the dimly lit house, turning on lights as I go. Maybe she's having a sleep after throwing up, I think before I walk into her bedroom and see the queen-sized bed empty, the sheets rumpled as if she slept badly the night before.

That's when I find her passed out on the en-suite bathroom floor. The bucket of vomit beside her and her skin the colour of jaundice.

"Mum," I say furtively, falling to my knees beside her prone form, the unyielding tiles beneath my knees sending a spike of pain through them. My fingers move to her neck as I check her pulse, finding it thrumming softly beneath my finger. Before I even register what I'm doing I'm putting her into the CPR position and my hand is in hers. "Please squeeze my fingers if you can hear me," I tell her.

She's out cold and she's not responding. She doesn't respond to my voice or my fingers that are currently digging into her upper arms as I struggle to move her.

I manage to get my arms underneath her limp body and stagger to my feet, almost swaying into the shower stall in the process. As I turn, mum's head narrowly avoids colliding with the bathroom sink by a hair. 

I avoid the bucket of puke and move quickly down the corridor out of the apartment. I've never been so thankful that mum lived on the first floor of the apartment block at that moment.

I struggle mum into the backseat of my car, strapping her in before taking my own seat behind the wheel. As soon as the engine begins to rumble I floor the accelerator to get to the closest hospital.

Please let her be okay, I think as I glance at her motionless form via the rear-view mirror. My hands clench tightly around the steering wheel, my knuckles going white.

Why didn't I check on her earlier? Why didn't I agree to take her to the hospital when she called me?

I focus on the road, the lights blurring as I speed through the orange ones, before turning into Merriworth hospital. It's not the hospital that I've been working at, it's a private one that I'm sure mum's health insurance will cover.

"Asssh," Mum mumbles incoherently as I help her out of the car and into a wheelchair.

"It's okay mum," I reassure her. "I'm here."

I go up to the front desk and tell them all the necessary information.

A triage nurse comes to take mum's temperature and blood pressure.

I want to scream in frustration at how slow everything is taking even though I know the process.

Having seen mum's symptoms for myself I know that it isn't good. The triage nurse realises this too and she wheels mum into an emergency room so that the emergency physician can perform a medical screening exam. I have to stop myself from following and asserting my experience to the nurse as she wheels my mum away.

The 'I'm almost a doctor' argument probably wouldn't go down well in this situation. Especially as I brought her in almost half dead.

So rarely am I on the opposite side of this situation. I don't think I'm in any shape to help, and if I did, I'd only get in the way of this hospital and its system.

It's been a while since I've felt so useless and powerless.

I sit down in one of the plastic chairs and wait, drumming my fingers across my lap before it occurs to me to pull my phone out of my pocket and text Jack.

Me: Mum is in hospital.

It's quite late so I don't expect a reply. After a few minutes of radio silence, I do the maths and calculate that it must be roughly 2 am in Sweden now. Yeah, no way is he answering anytime soon. Jack is all about beauty sleep.

I text Emma instead.

Me: Emma, mum is in hospital.

Emma replies within a minute.

Emma: Oh no! Is she okay? What happened? Do you want me to come and sit with you? Waiting in hospitals is the worst. No offence.

I laugh despite the gravity of the situation. Emma is good like that. We became fast friends in college after I tackled her too hard in an AFL training and then had to check if she had a concussion.

Emma finished her teaching degree a few years ago and now teaches kindergarten. Sometimes after the heavy toll of a long night shift, I think about quitting and teaching instead. There's no way I'd be as good a teacher as Emma though, she has this natural warmth that draws children to her. I'm more likely to scare them away by telling them about all the horrible things kids have managed to get stuck inside their bodies.

Me: Still waiting on a prognosis. It's okay, if I can handle a twenty-hour surgery I'm sure I can handle waiting in a hospital by myself. And how dare you insult my second home.

Emma: Okay, show off. Are YOU okay?

Me: I'm dealing. I just can't believe I didn't see it when she called me.

Emma: Well... don't be too hard on yourself Ash, the whole point of calling someone is that you can't see them.

Me: I guess. But I'm a freaking doctor Em! This is what I'm meant to do. And this is my mum. You know she's the only one here for me. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to her.

Emma: Hey, one step at a time. What is it that you always tell your patients? Something about Eeyore.

Me: Haha nice to know you've been listening to me. It's not Eeyore, he's the depressing one remember.

Emma: Hey! I've never been one of your patients. And I've also never understood your obsession with Winnie the Pooh.

Me: Pffft. Winnie the Pooh is amazing. You're just jealous.

Emma: How do you think your mum is - in your expert opinion?

Me: Not good. I'm not exactly sure what is wrong as I didn't have the equipment to run tests but my gut...

My hands shake and I can't bear to type out anything more.

Emma: I'm sorry, Ash.

Me: Me too.

Me: Hey, thanks for answering, I know it's kind of late and that you're probably sitting on the couch and snuggling with Aiden.

Emma: Hahah busted. We were just watching Homeland. But don't worry about it Ash, anytime. You know I love you.

Me: <3 Go be cute and everything.

Emma: Fine. Keep me updated. Let me know if you want me to bring you food or air. Hospital air is gross.

I scoff and put my phone away, settling into the uncomfortable chair. The plastic nature of the seat is making weird crinkling sounds beneath my butt as I shift positions. Finally, I manage to stretch my long legs out and cross my arms across my chest, leaning my head back against the wall behind me.

A wave of tiredness crashes through me, and I can feel worry blossoming in my chest, this uncomfortable niggling pain that has nothing to do with my physical health but rather the guilt I feel.

You'd think I wouldn't be capable of sleep after the stress of today and my body strung tight with anxiety, but I've been on the other side of this situation many times before and I know that it will be a while until they bring her back out. Over the past few years of gruelling residency my body has become adept at catching sleep whenever an opportunity presents itself; at erratic times and in the most unusual of places.

I close my eyes and within seconds I drift off. 

  📌

a/n: Thanks for reading! I'd be so grateful for any feedback you have so feel free to vote and comment your thoughts. ♡