Carolie's voice enters the fray:
Awakening
“The cradle rocks
above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief
crack of light between two eternities of darkness.”
(Vladimir Nabakov,
Speak, Memory, An autobiography revisited, Penguin Books, 1969 p.17)
The familiar sound of curtains pulled quickly across metal rail,
awakened me from sleep and I opened my eyes to a bare white clinical world, bright,
fluorescent light, antiseptic chloroform smell. Toes wiggled, legs stretched out, touching cool
cotton sheets, feet pushed against metal.
Sentient, awareness of being in a single hospital bed and for some
reason I turned my head and there he was smiling at me, with his sparkling
hazel eyes, my friend, companion, and comrade since first meeting at Sydney
University, my loving husband Mark. It
was as though I knew he would be there.
At that moment I had no idea of why I
was in hospital. The reasons were explained, eventually, over time by Mark and
others. I had no memory of what happened; there was no initial shock when the
events were revealed, by Mark as they would be over time. The sheer enormity of
it all did not dawn on me during those first awakening days. I was lucky to be alive and I celebrated, as
I did each day when I woke up.
I do remember Mark’s telephone call on the night
of the event, asking me to pick up some items on the way home from school. I
had some more work to complete so I sent some documents from my computer to the
printer in the staffroom. I walked from my office to the staffroom, made myself
a cup of coffee, placed it down gently on the bench next to the printer, and
that is my last memory. I am so grateful
that I did not get into the car and drive that night as I may have had an
accident or injured someone. Who knows what might have happened?
What follows are memories from the time I spent in hospital in Canberra and beyond. I
will endeavour to be as honest and accurate with these as I can. The major initial
discomfort I recall, after that initial awakening, was due to the tracheostomy
in my throat and the tubes attached to it. When I breathed, there was a
rattling sound. This rattle was caused by the build up of fluid in the circular
tube.
There were other fine tubes
containing fluid which provided sustenance. I longed for the removal of the tracheostomy
thing so that I could eat real food, and talk to people. There was a wound on the scalp above my right
eye. I learned that it was residual from the operation. The wound was cleaned
and dressed each day by a nurse. This wound was not painful and did not cause
any discomfort.
Gradually I adjusted to the routines of the ward, the regular
taking of my temperature, and pulse by a variety of nurses. One morning I heard the soft putter of a
helicopter outside - one of the nurses asked would I like to have a look as she
said that was how I had traveled to Sydney.
Thinking that it would be such a fuss to try to get me over to the window, as I
could not walk, I said no. I now regret that decision, all I could do at that
stage was imagine.
To be continued...
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