Sarah sat motionless in her wheelchair, the expression draining away from her face. This man was responsible for the death of her child. Yet this man was dying.
Sarah pushed hard on the edges of the wheels of her wheelchair. Slowly, forcing herself to come to grips with image lying in front of her, she rolled to the side of the bed held onto the bedside table to keep herself from moving. His body was completely stationary and even though his eyes remained shut his face was anything but the image of peacefulness. Sarah was reminded of a corpse about to be placed in a coffin. Wires were snaking out here and there from underneath a sheet and what looked like an expensive piece of drip equipment was sitting next to her.
Then it hit her in one solid thought, everything that had happened. She could have been home right now, relaxing after her meal, sprawled in front of the “idiot box”, watching entertaining one and a half star films. But now she was sitting somewhere different. She was in a wheelchair, and she no longer had the responsibility of carrying a child. She threw her head back, and let out an ear-splitting scream.
****************
“Where the hell is he!”
“Excuse me ma’am, are you looking for someone?”
Beverly Kirkpatrick turned to the receptionist calling down the corridor to her. How did she manage to keep so calm in a hospital like this?
“I need to see my son. He was omitted this afternoon. Chris Kirkpatrick”, she replied a little less aggressively this time. The woman searched for the name into her vast database computer.
“I sorry ma’am, he’s currently in intensive care. I won’t be allowed to let you up.”
“But he’s my son!”
“Yes, but I’m afraid visitors are only allowed to the unit with doctors permission. Ah, one second, this man might be able to help.”
The woman behind the reception motioned over to the approaching man. “Er, Doctor Smith, we have a woman here inquiring about a patient in intensive care.”
The doctor turned and immediately recognised the anxiety reflected in the woman’s eyes. “Mrs Kirkpatrick.”
“Is there any news? What about the operation? Can I see him?” she fired the questions at him repeatedly, hoping to speed up his answers.
“Mrs Kirkpatrick please follow me. This way.”
He led her up to the elevator at the end of the corridor and began breathing deeply. “Yes, you have my permission to be in the ward now but I have to inform you of the operation…”
***********
The surgeon who had just left Chris’s room, turned on his heels at the sound level being produced from inside. Breaking into a short sprint, he skidded at the door and burst in, unsure what to expect. He gasped loudly at the sight before him.
Sarah was spread across the floor, her wheelchair tipped on its side. The wheels were still furiously spinning despite its motionless state and Sarah was lying about a metre from the bed. She was violently beating the ground as her legs shuffled around. She looked like a small child having an extreme tantrum. Every now and then she would lift her head up to wail and the surgeon managed to catch a glimpse of her face. Her cheeks were shocking red, tears streaming uncontrollably down, across the loosened bandage and her eyes looked dangerously bloodshot. The surgeon jumped forward, reaching out for her shoulders. Hopefully the situation would change quickly. He had dealt with worse patients than this.
“Sarah! Sarah are you with me?”
Sarah ceased the racket she was causing for a second and stared wistfully up at him. She knew he was trying to help her, and her mind was telling her he was only going to benefit her. Yet there was still a voice somewhere inside her, sending a direct message to her brain. She had the sudden desire to hit this man. She remained unclear as to the reasoning, but it thought it was as though he was to blame for the situation of the patient in the room beside them. She didn’t even know the man on the bed, but a wave of protectiveness has swept over her. Sarah conjured up enough energy to push herself out of the position and lean up on the floor.
For a second she reconsidered what she was about to do, but her mind told her otherwise. Mustering strength in her arm she leaned forward and watching a confused expression form on the surgeons face, she hit him directly in the jaw, causing him to topple backwards onto the floor and slide across to the wall. Sarah had surprised herself with the punch. That had been a little unexpected, but all she knew was she didn’t want any doctor or surgeon near the patient on the bed. They had performed the operation and from what she knew his condition had worsened. Therefore she didn’t want them to treat him and deteriorate his state. Sarah crawled to the end of the patient’s bed, still unable to find strength to stand up. Her stomach was still killing her insides.
She scanned the form attached to the clipboard at the end of the bed and looked for a name. Christopher A. Kirkpatrick. Sarah tried to recall the name somewhere in her memory. It had a familiar ring to it. Remaining like this for a few minutes, she finally began the painstakingly small journey to the edge of the bed. Every inch she crawled forward, her body would scream in pain from the amount of movement it was enduring. Coming to the level of Chris’ head, she elevated herself up by leaning on the edge of the bed and leaned in towards him. The heart machine beside her was beeping slightly steadier now and for a few fleeting seconds, her hopes rose. There was still a little chance he could pull. She took a look behind her at the surgeon who was lying rather dazed on the floor, still contemplating what had happened.
Turning back to Chris, she lay her head on top of his chest, careful to avoid a sufficient amount of bandaging, and listened to the heartbeat from deep inside.
This was the scene Beverly Kirkpatrick was greeted with, as she entered the room in tail of Doctor Smith.
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