Page 60 of When You're Gone

The doctor’s shoulders round and soften. I can tell that my desperation makes him sad. I don’t envy his job. It must be the hardest thing in the world to tell a family someone they love is slipping away.

‘I think we should wait for your mother,’ he says.

‘Dr Matthews,’ my mother says, appearing behind him carrying a dull, grey paper tray cradling three takeaway coffees with steam swirling out the top.

‘Blair.’ He nods, stepping to one side so my mother can stand beside me.

The doctor waits as my mother stretches across me to pass Nate a cup, and then gives me one. Finally, she discards the paper tray on the chair behind her and offers her full attention to the doctor with a subtle nod.

He must be busy, I think, but he makes us feel as if he has all the time in the world to give us. I appreciate him offering my mother the chance to compose herself with a distraction as mundane as coffee. When he can’t put it off any longer, he inhales sharply and his expanding chest pushes his suit jacket away from his baby-blue shirt.

‘I spoke with the doctor on duty last night, and he tells me Annie was having trouble drawing her breath when the ambulance brought her in.’

My mother nods. ‘Her lips were turning blue around the edges. It was terrifying.’

‘It’s fluid gathering in her lungs,’ the doctor explains.

‘That sounds horrible,’ I blurt. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘It can be quite distressing,’ he freely admits. ‘We’ve given her some medication to help, and she’s breathing much more comfortably now. She’s not in any pain, Holly, I can assure you of that.’

‘So is there some sort of procedure you can do to reduce the pressure? Something to take the fluid away? Help her breathe?’ I ask.

‘Annie is very weak, Holly,’ the doctor says. ‘A procedure at this stage would not be in her best interests.’

‘So there’s nothing?’ Nate shakes his head.

My eyes are on my mother. She’s pale and still. I don’t think she’s breathing.

‘The most important thing now is to make sure Annie is comfortable,’ the doctor says. ‘For however long that may be.’

‘Oh, Christ.’ Mam’s shoulders sink, and I grab Nate’s hand. He looks at me, and I silently warn him to get ready to catch her.

‘I understand.’ Mam sways. ‘I understand.’

‘We have a wonderful hospice affiliated with the hospital called Carry Me Home. I can make arrangements to have Annie transferred later today or tomorrow,’ the doctor suggests.

‘No.’ I shake my head angrily. ‘We’re not shoving her into some grubby old room to die.Carry Me Home.’ I gag just saying the name of the hospice out loud. ‘What is that even supposed to mean?’

‘Holly,’ my mother snaps, horrified. ‘Shh.’

‘Holly…’ The doctor calmly takes my hand. ‘I know this is hard. Trust me, I do. I lost my mother to this god-awful disease years ago. Being angry won’t change anything. I didn’t realise that until it was too late. You still have time. Use this time to make more memories. Talk. Sing. Tell a joke. Do whatever makes your family you. But do it now. Use whatever time you have to enjoy your grandmother.’

‘We’re reading together,’ I blurt out suddenly, not really sure why I feel compelled to explain.

‘Wonderful,’ he says, clasping his hands with a solid clap that echoes in the corridor. ‘Annie is a bookworm, eh?’

‘Always has been.’ My mother smiles.

‘Carry Me Home has a small library,’ he says. ‘I don’t know if there’d be much to choose from but—’

‘We already have a book,’ I interrupt.

The doctor drops his eyes to the mound of papers Nate left on the chair. I can see curiosity twinkle in his hazel irises, but he doesn’t ask any more questions.

‘I’ll try to arrange the move for this afternoon,’ he says, ‘but we may have to wait on a bed. I’ll let you know as soon as I have confirmation.’

‘Thank you, Dr Matthews.’ My mother exhales. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done.’

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