fat fingers turning the quilted pages, the smell of his thick mousy hair. When my arms circled him to keep him safe, I felt the tiny rise-and-fall breathing of his chest, and the comforting prickle of his jumper on the palms of my hands.
I can still feel the weight of his little bottom on my lap. This time the pain is a reminder of my time with him, so I embrace it.
I would have been a good mother.
I don’t drive home. Even in my desperate state, when I turn the key and pull out of my parking space, I don’t drive home. Just like when I went to the pub with Niall, my body is taking me on an adventure and my mind is tagging along for a ride.
I find myself in the multi-storey car park belonging to the hospital, driving round and round to get up to the roof. Not to get treatment, of course. What I have is beyond the abilities of anything Casualty can give me.
This is where I had my ‘accident’.
Monica
I reach the top of the multi-storey, and the world explodes with light. Gravel crunches under the weight of my driving shoes as I walk from the middle to the tarmac around the edge.
I gaze out over Kensington High Street, and beyond. You can see the whole of west London from here; so many cranes in the air, building the future. It’s cold and blustery. The wind plucks at my clothing. This kind of view deserves a poem. Perhaps I should try to write one. The sky is glorious, a beautiful pale blue, so very pale blue, almost white, like…
Like the colour of my amitriptyline pills.
No, it’s like a sparrow’s egg. Like the paint job on my first car. Like our bathroom. Like the romper suit I bought for Jesse’s little boy…
Like the colour of my amitriptyline pills.
Shit!
My mind struggles to kid itself that it thought of all those glorious things first, but it’s fooling nobody. I know the first thing that popped into my head.
( amitriptyline pills )
Shit!
Shit shit shit!
My Angry Friend has robbed me of my body, my career, my friends, my hopes for motherhood, and he’s bloody near taken my sanity. And now he’s poisoned my imagination. Some hope for me becoming a poet.
I turn round and look at the stairwell from where I emerged. This is where my Angry Friend took all those things from me.
This time, I count the steps. There were twenty-two. Of course. There had to be twenty-two .
Thud thud thud.
This is where I fell, just there, and everyone was so relieved that it had not been worse, that I had not broken my spine.
( Ha ha ha )
Minor surgery, nothing more.
When the pain stayed, they said it was just residual effects from the surgery. When the pain got worse they said it was a side effect of the injury healing itself. When it got unbearable, they admitted that my acute neuropathic pain had been replaced by chronic neuropathic pain, and that it might be here to stay…
That whole first year I can’t remember, but I was dimly aware of a blur of plot twists, each one bringing fresh hell into my life. I felt like a teenager in a horror film; where every revelation took me deeper and deeper into a nightmare. I often think, if those luckless teenagers were blessed with self-awareness, they would review their situation. An hour ago, they were packing for a nice summer vacation, now their friends are dead and a zombie with a chainsaw is chasing them in the wood.
And they would ask themselves, ‘How exactly did I get from there to here?’
Because I can’t quite work it out. My mind can’t fit it all in my head. I try to work it out but I can’t, and no one can quite explain the whole thing to me.
I knew I was at the hospital because Dominic and I had been trying for a baby. He told me that. We’d been trying to conceive for some time. We had both been getting tested to see if the problem was at my end, or his, and that had also been another long period of discovery, full of twists and shocks, but finally, success. Wouldn’t you know it, my lady parts were perfectly functional,
I can still feel the weight of his little bottom on my lap. This time the pain is a reminder of my time with him, so I embrace it.
I would have been a good mother.
I don’t drive home. Even in my desperate state, when I turn the key and pull out of my parking space, I don’t drive home. Just like when I went to the pub with Niall, my body is taking me on an adventure and my mind is tagging along for a ride.
I find myself in the multi-storey car park belonging to the hospital, driving round and round to get up to the roof. Not to get treatment, of course. What I have is beyond the abilities of anything Casualty can give me.
This is where I had my ‘accident’.
Monica
I reach the top of the multi-storey, and the world explodes with light. Gravel crunches under the weight of my driving shoes as I walk from the middle to the tarmac around the edge.
I gaze out over Kensington High Street, and beyond. You can see the whole of west London from here; so many cranes in the air, building the future. It’s cold and blustery. The wind plucks at my clothing. This kind of view deserves a poem. Perhaps I should try to write one. The sky is glorious, a beautiful pale blue, so very pale blue, almost white, like…
Like the colour of my amitriptyline pills.
No, it’s like a sparrow’s egg. Like the paint job on my first car. Like our bathroom. Like the romper suit I bought for Jesse’s little boy…
Like the colour of my amitriptyline pills.
Shit!
My mind struggles to kid itself that it thought of all those glorious things first, but it’s fooling nobody. I know the first thing that popped into my head.
( amitriptyline pills )
Shit!
Shit shit shit!
My Angry Friend has robbed me of my body, my career, my friends, my hopes for motherhood, and he’s bloody near taken my sanity. And now he’s poisoned my imagination. Some hope for me becoming a poet.
I turn round and look at the stairwell from where I emerged. This is where my Angry Friend took all those things from me.
This time, I count the steps. There were twenty-two. Of course. There had to be twenty-two .
Thud thud thud.
This is where I fell, just there, and everyone was so relieved that it had not been worse, that I had not broken my spine.
( Ha ha ha )
Minor surgery, nothing more.
When the pain stayed, they said it was just residual effects from the surgery. When the pain got worse they said it was a side effect of the injury healing itself. When it got unbearable, they admitted that my acute neuropathic pain had been replaced by chronic neuropathic pain, and that it might be here to stay…
That whole first year I can’t remember, but I was dimly aware of a blur of plot twists, each one bringing fresh hell into my life. I felt like a teenager in a horror film; where every revelation took me deeper and deeper into a nightmare. I often think, if those luckless teenagers were blessed with self-awareness, they would review their situation. An hour ago, they were packing for a nice summer vacation, now their friends are dead and a zombie with a chainsaw is chasing them in the wood.
And they would ask themselves, ‘How exactly did I get from there to here?’
Because I can’t quite work it out. My mind can’t fit it all in my head. I try to work it out but I can’t, and no one can quite explain the whole thing to me.
I knew I was at the hospital because Dominic and I had been trying for a baby. He told me that. We’d been trying to conceive for some time. We had both been getting tested to see if the problem was at my end, or his, and that had also been another long period of discovery, full of twists and shocks, but finally, success. Wouldn’t you know it, my lady parts were perfectly functional,
Similar Books
