Last Day At The San. Complete. Shortish. Miserable(ish)!
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#1: Last Day At The San. Complete. Shortish. Miserable(ish)! Author: LisaLocation: South Coast of England PostPosted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 2:09 pm
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'Inspired' by incredible self pity at my asthma attacks at the moment, then this took on a life of its own as I thought about Jack's 'other life' dealing with death and sickness at the San.

It's kind of thrown together so apologies for the overly sentimental and cliched bits! I thought originally I was going to put 'very short, very complete, very miserable' in the title - but actually it has, I think, a kind of hopefulness to it.

Anyhoo, enough self-indulgent rambling. It took my mind off my own problems for a while ... Wink


Edited to make it fit the screen - KathrynW with mod hat on

****************************************************


Last Day at the San.

As she woke up, she knew that by the end of the day the fight would be over. The pain felt a long way distant; the heaviness on her chest familiar – almost comforting. A strange sense of calm pervaded her being.

So.

It had come to this.

She lay motionless, reflecting on the peace she felt. It wasn’t giving up, to submit to such a strong enemy, but rather to recognise that there were other ways of being a victor. The early sun rays probed at her closed eyelids, warming the thin skin, easing them open until a crack of strong light appeared in her vision, chasing away the pink veins.

Blinking, she tried to focus on the panorama revealed through the large window. As always, it stretched away into the mist: a still lake of ice-crystal blue, the forbidding grey patriarchs that ringed it fringed with snow, the iridescent palette of greens comprising trees, fields and scrubland. The view outside the San seemed to her to be like a tantalising glimpse of heaven – she could see it as through a glass darkly but had never experienced or explored it for herself. It lay beyond her reach, unconquered and elusive.

Relaxing her guard for a moment, she made a tiny movement of her head and the consequences of her mistake swept over her as she was seized by a relentless explosion of coughing from deep within her chest. Struggling to turn on her side, she could only lay there, desperate for breath as she was lost in the spasm. Her body – so pale on the outside, but so bruised within, bucked in pain as sides, stomach, throat and chest seemed to tear with the violent onslaught of Tuberculosis.

It ended, as it often did, with humiliation. Tears misted her vision, her nose streamed, bloody vomit lay around her on the once snowy coverlet, and the unremitting strain on her stomach had caused her bladder to lose control again without warning. Dimly, she became aware of a gentle heat on her back. Rising up from the depths of semi-consciousness, she felt herself sucking at the air. Her fingers twitched ineffectually and she heard a strange animal-like whimper echoing through the room.

Things settled into their proper place.

The noise was made by her. The heat was from a human touch - the hand of the Doctor who was always there when she struggled from a fit like this. Deftly and discreetly, nurses appeared and changed the sheets of the bed around her without moving her too much. The Doctor himself adjusted the pillows and laid her back on them – still in a mostly upright position – with fatherly care.

She looked up at him. She could see how handsome he must be when he wasn’t tired and anxious. When he had been a bit younger, perhaps. But the piercing blue eyes indicated the spirit within him as he looked at her from beneath his greying sandy hair. He stroked her face.

“That was a tough one, hey?” he said softly, his English accent modulated by empathy.

She blinked, knowing that if she tried to speak, the coughing would return. Her eyes spoke to him of her new found peace and clarity. He sat up straight.

“You know.” He continued, not really surprised but always fascinated by the way people faced up to their own mortality. “Not for much longer,” he whispered, encouragingly. She smiled at him, a slow expression that spread over her face. The attack had left her face suffused with a pseudo-healthy glow, and looking at her, the Doctor could see a child the age of his eldest daughters – all now at university – facing the biggest battle of all. How he suddenly missed them.

Her eyes had closed and a long wheezing rattle emerged from her chest. The Doctor settled in his chair and lay his warm hand again on the girl’s arm. Human contact. That was all he could give now. When the phone call had come at 4 o’clock, he had struggled from the warmth of his protesting wife’s side to dress and make his way up to the San with a feeling of defeat. He knew that this was the last leg of the journey his young patient would make, and he needed to be there for her.

He mused on the inevitable feeling of helplessness that he felt at times such as this. How did a Doctor continue to hope, help and heal in the face of such unrelenting pain? As if she knew what was going through his mind, the girl’s eyes opened and looked straight at him.

“Thank you,” she croaked in a barely audible whisper. Then, “look!” Her eyes had focused again on the view outside the window, beyond him. He turned his head slightly to see what she was looking at. The mist was clearing as the warmth of the sun burnt it away and the landscape was vivid and beautiful. As he looked at it, his memories of his children growing up in this place stole into his mind. He could see them now, all different ages, giggling, shrieking, stumbling, exploring, playing. Pigtails coming out as heads bobbed up and down playing hide and seek between the trees. Faces flushed with the exertion of climbing. He had seen a world of things from this window. It was beautiful. And so peaceful.

It was the silence in the room that brought him back to reality. Without looking, he knew his young patient had slipped away. The cruel rasping breathing had just … faded.

He placed her small still-warm hand over her chest and held it there as he prayed wordlessly – seeking his strength as he always did from his God that somehow enabled him to face these times. The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away.

The girl’s face was relaxed now, no longer contorted with pain and struggle. The sunlight illuminated the almost translucent skin. She felt the warmth on her face and opened her eyes. She felt light, full of boundless energy. Drawing a delicious deep breath she sprang from the bed, leaving the Doctor sitting silently in his chair. She kissed the top of his head.

Jack felt a caress on his hair. He felt it as an answered prayer, in some indefinable way giving him hope and perspective. He stirred and sat up, reluctantly letting go of the girl’s hand and positioning it modestly. He arranged the sheets with care and stroked the half-open eyes closed. She had died with her eyes fixed on that beloved view of hers. Smiling through unshed tears he rose to leave the room and make the necessary arrangements.

The girl watched him leave then turned to the window. Pushing it open, her face radiant with delight, she stepped out into the sunshine, an explorer in a new land that was hers; a victor after all.

#2:  Author: MirandaLocation: Perth, Western Australia PostPosted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 2:24 pm
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That was lovely Lisa - it did have a definite hopefulness at the end...

I was completely shocked at the point when it turned out she was so young Shocked It just seemed like she'd been through so much...

Thank you - hope you are feeling better now Smile

#3:  Author: LexiLocation: Liverpool PostPosted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 2:25 pm
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Crying or Very sad

Lisa, that was beautiful. Thank you.

#4:  Author: TanLocation: London via Newcastle Australia PostPosted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 2:26 pm
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A beautiful story, very evocative.

#5:  Author: LissLocation: Richmond PostPosted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 2:32 pm
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That was really lovely, Lisa, thanks. I loved, "He had seen a world of things from this window. It was beautiful."

#6:  Author: KathrynWLocation: London PostPosted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 2:38 pm
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That was really beautiful, thank you Lisa.

#7:  Author: Alison HLocation: Manchester PostPosted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 2:48 pm
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That was sad but beautiful - thank you Lisa.

Hope you feel better soon.

#8:  Author: LisaLocation: South Coast of England PostPosted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 2:55 pm
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Gee thanks Embarassed

Just suddenly thought about how Jack had to balance that side of things at the san with the life of his family at home and the school. Maybe he could be forgiven for his occasional bad tempers with the children and protectiveness over Joey ...

I am feeling a *bit* better, incidentally - this is my best time of day. SLOC was already to bundle me off to hosp last night (steroids and nebulisers not having much effect) but I think the inflammation is slowly calming down ... Have to go back to the doc for the antibiotics he threatened yesterday. Shame my doc, though nice, isn't Dr Jack ...
Wink

#9:  Author: FatimaLocation: Sunny Qatar PostPosted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 3:18 pm
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That was lovely, thanks Lisa.

I'm glad to hear that you are feeling a little better.

#10:  Author: ElbeeLocation: Surrey PostPosted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 8:20 pm
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Very moving. Thanks Lisa

#11:  Author: Elder in OntarioLocation: Ontario, Canada PostPosted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 8:36 pm
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Thanks, Lisa - that was extremely evocative, and those last lines definitely spoke of hope.

Also glad to hear you are feeling better yourself.

#12:  Author: Fiona McLocation: Bendigo, Australia PostPosted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 10:46 pm
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That was wonderful Lisa.

#13:  Author: TaraLocation: Malvern, Worcestershire PostPosted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 11:18 pm
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Lovely, Lisa, moving, not sentimental, and full of hope and life - this one isn't the only one, after all. Touching insight into Jack, too.

Hope you continue to improve.

#14:  Author: Cath V-PLocation: Newcastle NSW PostPosted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 11:19 pm
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Thank you Lisa, that was very moving, and so hopeful.

Glad to hear you are better and I hope things continue to improve.

#15:  Author: DawnLocation: Leeds, West Yorks PostPosted: Thu Mar 29, 2007 2:48 pm
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Thankyou - that was very moving and very beautiful

and I hope that the antibiotics work for you

#16:  Author: SquirrelLocation: St-Andrews or Dunfermline PostPosted: Thu Mar 29, 2007 3:43 pm
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That was wonderful, one wonders how often Jack had to deal with such deaths - the price he has to pay for the joys of those who pull through.

Yet, when the end has come, we can see that it is merely the beginning, the start of something new and afresh - a child, able to enjoy life more than she has been able to do so for a long time.

Thanks Lisa - hope that you do indeed feel much better with the anti-b's.

#17:  Author: MaryRLocation: Cheshire PostPosted: Thu Mar 29, 2007 7:47 pm
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Free at last from pain and suffering into new and radiant life - a chrysalis become a butterfly.

Thanks, Lisa - very poignant.

#18:  Author: Mrs RedbootsLocation: London, UK PostPosted: Thu Mar 29, 2007 8:12 pm
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Thank you, Lisa.

#19:  Author: calicoLocation: Wellington, New Zealand PostPosted: Tue Apr 03, 2007 2:54 am
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That was beautiful.
Thanks Lisa

#20:  Author: RonaraLocation: London PostPosted: Thu Apr 05, 2007 12:43 am
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Bravo.

That was genuinely moving - it made me cry, and it isn't often that words will do that.

Very well-written; I can't quite express particularly well what I wanted to say but - for me - it's the last paragraph in particular, and the last line, that really "get" you.

#21:  Author: WoofterLocation: Location? What's a location? PostPosted: Thu Apr 05, 2007 1:00 pm
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Beautiful, thanks Lisa.

#22:  Author: ElleLocation: Peterborough PostPosted: Tue Apr 10, 2007 5:51 pm
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That was amazing. Thank you.



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