Sunday, September 13, 2015

September

I awake to a dusting of dew on the grass, the breeze nips my skin when I step outside and trailing leaves have turned a rusty red.

September

A time to start school; buy new notebooks for another nursing course or University module.  A time for new shoes and work Conferences.

My mind drifts back to September 2007, the year before my brain tumour set me on a different path...

I frown as I bite the end of my pen trying to summarise two years of my Masters Degree research into ten PowerPoint slides. I am to present a paper on my study of The Role of Audit and Surveillance Nurses.

Almost done I say to Mr H, when he asks how much longer before we eat dinner. At the mention of food I smile as I have happily vomited my way through August, survived on toasted tea bread and water for weeks, the only things I can keep down.

Whatever I eat for dinner, I will feed to the garden outside within half an hour anyway I say!

In the evening I lie on the sofa and with a grin devour every snippet of information in the magazines on my lap. I have never seen you look so happy Mr H grins.

At night I hug my tummy.

But at work I feel unwell so book an appointment. My tummy is scanned. 

I watch frowning faces. Bloods are taken…

At home the phone rings.

The bloods show you will loose the babies the doctor gently says. I curl up in a ball and Mr H and I howl like wounded animals.

To keep our hurting bodies and minds busy, I board the train to the Conference in Brighton. Mr H sets off for a meeting in London

Nothing we can do but wait…

I present my paper to a packed room. But the bleeding has started. Later sweating and shaky I lie alone on the floor in my room. The room sways, my head is as light as dust.

I reach up for my mobile and ring the one friend who knows…

The sound of running feet. The door bursts open. She calls 999…

I wake in recovery after emergency surgery as a nurse brings Mr H through the door.

She lost a lot of blood the surgeon tells him.

Now September is about our babies.


Only we remember. 

A flower bloomed, already wilting, beginning its life with an early ending 
RJ. Gonzales Mundahlia