Human Remains

there holding her hand for what felt like a long time. My back was hurting standing like this, leaning over, and it was only when that dull ache became too much that I let go of her hand and sat on the chair next to the trolley. I tried to pull it closer but it was heavy. I found a tissue in my bag and wiped my eyes, blew my nose. I couldn’t quite believe this was happening. It felt so unreal.
    There was a clock on the wall above my head, and I twisted to look at it, watching the minutes tick past. It was nearly one. If it got to half-past one I’d go and find someone.
    At twenty past, I stood up and stretched. Then the curtain twitched aside and Jonathan Lamb was back, this time with a nurse. She gave me a warm, sympathetic smile. ‘Hello,’ she said.
    ‘Really sorry about the delay,’ Jonathan Lamb said. ‘Please have a seat.’
    I did as I was told, and the doctor disappeared again and came back a moment later with two stacked plastic chairs. He unstacked them, scraping them noisily on the linoleum. He sat down. The nurse sat down. It felt bizarrely like an interview.
    He looked at the cardboard folder, at the notes, and started talking. I heard the first words he said – ‘It’s very bad news, I’m afraid…’ – and didn’t hear very much after that at all. A stroke – although he had a different word for it – CVA? Cerebrovascular accident, that was it. It made it sound like a mistake, as if one or other of us could have done something to stop it. The reason they had kept me waiting was that they were waiting for scan results.
    ‘She’d had a chest infection recently?’
    ‘What? Oh – well, it was a while ago now. She was on antibiotics.’
    ‘It’s quite common for this to happen, I’m afraid. I’m so sorry.’
    I thought I’d missed the bit where he said what was going to happen to her. ‘She’ll get better? Is that what you’re saying?’
    ‘No, I’m afraid she won’t get better. All we can do now is make her as comfortable as possible.’
    I stared at him. Then I looked at the nurse.
    ‘Annabel, is there anyone I can phone for you? Someone to be with you?’
    ‘No,’ I said.
    The doctor was looking uncomfortable. I wondered briefly how many times he’d given bad news to a relative.
    ‘But – but – she’s breathing, isn’t she? I don’t understand.’ I looked at the trolley, at my mother on it, not moving, but with the oxygen mask over her face, unquestionably still breathing. Still very definitely alive.
    ‘She’s breathing, but I’m afraid the scan shows conclusively that there is no chance of recovery. It’s just a matter of time. I’m so very sorry.’
    It was the nurse that spoke next, her voice quiet. ‘We’re arranging to get her transferred to the Stroke Unit upstairs; hopefully you won’t need to wait much longer. It’s much more comfortable up there.’
    The doctor went. I didn’t know what to say to the nurse, so I just looked at her forlornly. I wondered if she was used to people coming in here, spaced out from having been woken by some trauma in the middle of the night.
    ‘She can probably hear you if you want to talk to her,’ she said gently.
    I stood up again, and pulled the plastic chair that Jonathan Lamb had vacated over to the trolley. I took hold of Mum’s hand. It was so warm, joints swollen with the arthritis that plagued her. ‘Mum,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.’
    It sounded so silly, talking to someone who was patently completely unconscious. And even if she could hear me, what to say? What could I possibly say to her? The nurse handed me a tissue. I blew my nose.
    I closed my eyes, listening to the rhythmic beeping of the machinery, trying to take myself away from here. I would have to ring work, I thought.
    I heard a sound and opened my eyes, thinking Mum had woken up, said something, but she remained motionless. The nurse had gone. When the sound came again I realised it was from the bed next door, separated from us only by a curtain.
     
     
    In the early hours of the morning they transferred Mum to the Stroke Unit, a complicated procedure involving a porter, the nurse, a different doctor who came and went, and finally the bed being moved, machines and all, through various corridors and into a lift, me beside her trying to keep up with the porter who seemed determined to approach each set of double doors at lightning speed.
    There was a handover procedure at the reception desk, and a different