Status: Completed. :)
Life Support
One.
I pushed my hand against her neck, tightly but gently, to feel her pulse. What pounded under her flesh was only a slow, faint beat, but a beat nonetheless. I cautiously relaxed my hand on her cheek. Her eyes were closed, and she was taking in deep, strained breaths, her muscles and joints painstakingly stiff. Her light skin was dangerously cold, and I rubbed it lightly, asking myself in desperation what it was I could do.
Scleroderma. Only months ago I had not heard the word, not known the pain of the disease. And now our entire lives were shaped around it: Norah being taken to the hospital whenever she felt the symptoms, being given the right medicine and the proper treatment, me driving her back home, only to have the same cycle repeat within two day’s time. It wasn’t the life I wanted for my daughter. There was still so much she could do, but ever since the doctors announced that she had the disease of Scleroderma, her home, her life, had been nothing but this hospital. The plain, ordinary white walls, the immaculate marble floor, the warm hospital blankets and the hard chairs of the waiting room, they were all a part of us now, stuck to us and strikingly haunting.
I fixed my eyes on her and saw how grown up she was, thirteen years old, but at the same time, she looked so small and helpless. Stuck with a disease that no doctor could seem to make right again. All the same, I held her hand with determination, afraid that if I let go for even a second, I would lose her. Norah’s face bore so much resemblance to the face of my wife, the way her nose curved, the warm glow in her cheeks, and her blue eyes, captivating, mesmerizing. My wife died eight years ago in this same hospital.
My gaze lingered to the hospital clock, which ticked softly, filling the silent room with the sound of the second-hand. It was nearly midnight. My trip with Norah to the beach, just this afternoon, seemed so long ago. I reached into my mind, struggling to remember each detail of this afternoon, not really knowing why.
The soft sand glittered under the anemic sun, and felt like hot but refreshing coals beneath my feet. Every few seconds a soft, rumbling wave would crash against the shore, and as it would rush back into the cold sea, it would pull along with it the rocks that had scattered along the beach. Simonstown was absolutely beautiful. The bright sky cast gold and silver hues along the calm waters, allowing it to boast with a gleaming sparkle. Everything looked so calm and serene, so much so, in fact, that it almost made you afraid to enter the water. It was as if that by doing so, you'd ruin the perfectly beautiful, untouched image it painted. Norah closed her eyes, welcoming the sun's warm rays on her face. She took it all in, inhaling the crisp sea air, letting her hands brush across the light sand. “Dad, what was mommy like?”
“Your mother was beautiful. Every night she would sing to you until you fell asleep in her warm arms, and even as you were sleeping, she wouldn’t leave until she was sure you would be fine,” I stroked her hair, dirty blonde, the one thing on her head that she had in common with me. “She loved you in ways I can’t explain.”
She stood up hesitantly. “I want to go for a walk.” Hand in hand, we walked along the beach, as afternoon quickly faded away from the sky. We walked in silence for the first few minutes, looking around us, taking each little detail in. “I can never get to sleep anymore. I spend every night waiting for the sudden bursts of pain and the sounds of the ambulance; both of them never fail to come,” she paused. “I’m never going to get better, am I?” I had no reply to this.
I looked at her and knew I couldn’t love anyone on this earth more than I did her. She was from my own flesh, and she had the same blood running through her veins, even after all these years, the thought that I had a daughter always startled me. The sun had already reached the area where water met sky, and the world was filled with hues of red, orange and yellow. “I know how much you sacrifice for me, coming to the hospital a million times, waiting for who knows how many days.” She was staring straight at me now. “I love you, dad.”
It was only shortly after that that her heart started beating at rapid speeds, her head throbbing, and her face going pale. Here she was now in the emergency room, with the tubes sticking in and out of her body, the only things keeping her alive. Life Support, is what they were called. Without them, she’d be long gone. “Mr. Henry, you need to leave the room now, it’s time for the operation.” Norah opened her eyes, flashed me a weary smile, and I exited the room. Thirty minutes later, the doctor came back, his face a mask, unreadable and impassive. “I’m sorry.” The whole world seemed a sudden blur. “She wanted me to give you this,” said the doctor, handing me a small paper. I opened it, and in Norah’s delicate, fragile, handwriting was a note, addressed to me. I’m sorry. Just because my life is on hold, doesn’t mean yours has to stop entirely, which is what my disease has done to you. I’m never going to leave this hospital. Dad, I’ve thought about it a long time, and I’m going to ask them to remove life support.
Scleroderma. Only months ago I had not heard the word, not known the pain of the disease. And now our entire lives were shaped around it: Norah being taken to the hospital whenever she felt the symptoms, being given the right medicine and the proper treatment, me driving her back home, only to have the same cycle repeat within two day’s time. It wasn’t the life I wanted for my daughter. There was still so much she could do, but ever since the doctors announced that she had the disease of Scleroderma, her home, her life, had been nothing but this hospital. The plain, ordinary white walls, the immaculate marble floor, the warm hospital blankets and the hard chairs of the waiting room, they were all a part of us now, stuck to us and strikingly haunting.
I fixed my eyes on her and saw how grown up she was, thirteen years old, but at the same time, she looked so small and helpless. Stuck with a disease that no doctor could seem to make right again. All the same, I held her hand with determination, afraid that if I let go for even a second, I would lose her. Norah’s face bore so much resemblance to the face of my wife, the way her nose curved, the warm glow in her cheeks, and her blue eyes, captivating, mesmerizing. My wife died eight years ago in this same hospital.
My gaze lingered to the hospital clock, which ticked softly, filling the silent room with the sound of the second-hand. It was nearly midnight. My trip with Norah to the beach, just this afternoon, seemed so long ago. I reached into my mind, struggling to remember each detail of this afternoon, not really knowing why.
The soft sand glittered under the anemic sun, and felt like hot but refreshing coals beneath my feet. Every few seconds a soft, rumbling wave would crash against the shore, and as it would rush back into the cold sea, it would pull along with it the rocks that had scattered along the beach. Simonstown was absolutely beautiful. The bright sky cast gold and silver hues along the calm waters, allowing it to boast with a gleaming sparkle. Everything looked so calm and serene, so much so, in fact, that it almost made you afraid to enter the water. It was as if that by doing so, you'd ruin the perfectly beautiful, untouched image it painted. Norah closed her eyes, welcoming the sun's warm rays on her face. She took it all in, inhaling the crisp sea air, letting her hands brush across the light sand. “Dad, what was mommy like?”
“Your mother was beautiful. Every night she would sing to you until you fell asleep in her warm arms, and even as you were sleeping, she wouldn’t leave until she was sure you would be fine,” I stroked her hair, dirty blonde, the one thing on her head that she had in common with me. “She loved you in ways I can’t explain.”
She stood up hesitantly. “I want to go for a walk.” Hand in hand, we walked along the beach, as afternoon quickly faded away from the sky. We walked in silence for the first few minutes, looking around us, taking each little detail in. “I can never get to sleep anymore. I spend every night waiting for the sudden bursts of pain and the sounds of the ambulance; both of them never fail to come,” she paused. “I’m never going to get better, am I?” I had no reply to this.
I looked at her and knew I couldn’t love anyone on this earth more than I did her. She was from my own flesh, and she had the same blood running through her veins, even after all these years, the thought that I had a daughter always startled me. The sun had already reached the area where water met sky, and the world was filled with hues of red, orange and yellow. “I know how much you sacrifice for me, coming to the hospital a million times, waiting for who knows how many days.” She was staring straight at me now. “I love you, dad.”
It was only shortly after that that her heart started beating at rapid speeds, her head throbbing, and her face going pale. Here she was now in the emergency room, with the tubes sticking in and out of her body, the only things keeping her alive. Life Support, is what they were called. Without them, she’d be long gone. “Mr. Henry, you need to leave the room now, it’s time for the operation.” Norah opened her eyes, flashed me a weary smile, and I exited the room. Thirty minutes later, the doctor came back, his face a mask, unreadable and impassive. “I’m sorry.” The whole world seemed a sudden blur. “She wanted me to give you this,” said the doctor, handing me a small paper. I opened it, and in Norah’s delicate, fragile, handwriting was a note, addressed to me. I’m sorry. Just because my life is on hold, doesn’t mean yours has to stop entirely, which is what my disease has done to you. I’m never going to leave this hospital. Dad, I’ve thought about it a long time, and I’m going to ask them to remove life support.