In the Midst of Life

treating pressure areas. We removed the naso-gastric tube, cleaned her mouth, and raised her into a semi-recumbent posture. We spoon-fed her with semi-solid feeds, but she found swallowing difficult, and the food frequently trickled out of her mouth. If any fluid went into her trachea, she started choking, and it had to be sucked out. The physiotherapist came daily, treating the paralysed limbs. The stitches and drainage tubes were removed from her scalp, and we put a little white cap on her head, which made her look more feminine.
    Maggie informed her clients that she would be taking a breakand would be living in her mother’s house for an indefinite period. She had become reconciled to her mother’s condition, and came in daily, sitting with her for long periods of time, talking to her about her life, her boyfriends, her plans for the future. Should she give up freelancing? But what would she do instead? Her mother could make no response.
    Maggie chatted on, and she discovered what many people learn – that a hemiplegic, speechless person loves to be talked to as though nothing is wrong, and no verbal response is expected. Maggie talked about her father, and days in the old house when they were all little, about the tree house in the garden, and picnics in the summer by the stream, and ‘Do you remember, Mummy, when we thought a bull was coming for us, but it was only a cow which had strayed?’ She chatted endlessly, and the happiness it gave to both of them was beyond measure.
    One day she said: ‘Priscilla is coming tomorrow to see you. She won’t stay with Jamie or me – she insists on staying in a hotel. I’m scared of Priscilla, Mummy, aren’t you? She’s so cold and stiff and correct and I’m sure she disapproves of me. But every time she looks at me in that way I think of when she was a little girl and we went to a birthday party and she put on roller skates and was wobbling and slipping all over the place. She wet her knickers, and when we sat down for tea she left a big wet patch on the cushion of the lady’s nice chair. That makes me feel better and I think, “Well, you weren’t always perfect, Miss Perfect”.’
    They both laughed, and saliva trickled from the side of her mother’s mouth. Maggie tenderly wiped it away, and kissed her mother. She whispered, ‘We’ve had such fun, haven’t we, Mummy darling, and we’ll have fun again when you come out of hospital. I’ll always be there to look after you.’
    Priscilla arrived the following day. She was tall, slim and dignified. Her features were composed as though nothing could ruffle her, and her nostrils were very close and narrow, which made her appear to be sniffing slightly all the time, an effect intensified when she pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows.
    In spite of her apparent composure, Priscilla was very tense andill at ease. A hospital was quite outside her experience; she was no longer in control. Before she had even seen her mother, she asked to speak with the consultant. I said that Miss Jenner was in theatre all morning, and had a clinic in the afternoon, and that I did not expect to see her on the ward that day. Her nostrils contracted and she said in a clipped, precise voice, ‘Please inform Miss Jenner that I am residing in London for a limited period and that I request an interview at her earliest convenience.’ I said that I would do so, and did she wish to see her mother? She replied, ‘Yes, of course.’
    I led her to the side ward. Two nurses were there. They had washed Mrs Doherty and changed her nightie and managed to get her out of bed to sit her in a chair. One of them was on her knees on the floor, adjusting Mrs Doherty’s feet to rest on a footstool; the other was tying a bib round her neck to catch the saliva as and when it dripped. Her body slumped to the right, in spite of the pillows they had placed to try to keep her upright, and she looked up as best she could by moving her head and raising her left eye a fraction. She obviously recognised her daughter, because a gurgling sound came from her throat and she moved her left arm in greeting.
    Priscilla did not say a word. I opened the window a little, and one of the nurses looked at me questioningly. Should they attempt to give Mrs Doherty her morning drink? We understood each other without a word being said – this woman was undoubtedly intimidating, and would probably be critical. To attempt to give a drink to her mother, even from a feeding