Eye of the storm

William Anderson

Towards the end of the nineties things in Anderson household could be classed as normal, we had a decent flat in a decent neighbourhood, and I was in full employment. With all three children married and out of the family home, the wife and I had the freedom to do what we wanted in terms of a decent social life.

Isabel my wife would meet her younger sister for regular bingo secessions in the afternoons, and on the two nights that I worked late I would meet them afterwards in the lounge bar of our local.

On Saturdays I had the day to myself, football was my passion and I would travel the length and breadth of the country, following my team to away games.

Not long before the second millennium things started to take a downward turn, in terms of my wifes health. She had started to have bouts of heavy bleeding, more so when she visited the toilet. For months she hid it from me telling me that she was fine, that it was a woman thing.

Naive I may have been in some womanly things, but even I knew that kind of blood loss was not normal.

Eventually after some argie-bargie I talked her into visiting the doctor; the pain was now so severe that I took the day off work.

Im ashamed to say that when I phoned the reception desk at the health centre to ask for a house visit by her GP, and was told by the woman on the other end of the phone that the Doctor could not see her until after surgery, I gave the poor woman a right earful.

Five minutes later she phoned me back, doctor says as things are as bad as you say, he will write out an admittance slip for your wife. An ambulance will be with you in about fifteen minutes, hand the slip in at the hospital reception.

Her visit to the hospital resulted in an internal examination, and her being given steroids to try to stem the blood loss.

Of course the use of steroids lasts only for a short time, and pretty soon she was back to square one. I did not want to think too deeply on her condition, but in the back of my mind was the thought, what if it was the big C?

Months later she confided in me that she had thought along the same lines, hence her reluctance in the first instance to visit the doctor.

In hospital she was given an internal examination; a camera on a wire shoved up her back passage looked at her internally.

A few months later they took her back in, as the pain was back worse than ever, and the bleeding as persistent.

The second evening I went up to see her she told me that they had given her a further internal, and that the following morning they were taking her down to the theatre, where they would have another look inside with the miniature camera.

I could see the strain on her face as the pain took hold of her; the nursing staff told me that they would give her something for it after visiting time.

When I phoned the ward the following morning to find out how she was I was told that she was much better, and would return home in a couple of days. I phoned around to tell my children the good news, that mum would be home for Christmas.

The house was already decked out with lights and decorations, in one corner of the living room stood the Christmas tree, underneath the imitation branches gaily wrapped boxes and parcels waited Christmas day.

I decided that the house would be spick and span for Isabels home coming, and reminded myself that there was a pile of ironing waiting to be done.

The feel of the hot iron gliding over cotton and the gentle hiss of steam had a therapeutic effect on me. In the background the voice of Buddy Holly was singing heartbeat; my own heart was beating happily; tomorrow my wife would be back home with me.

Today is December 23rd

On the wall next to me the phone rang harshly, gate crashing my private moment.

I reached for it humming in time to the music in the background, lifting the receiver from its cradle I spoke into the mouthpiece; Hello I said lightly.

Mr Anderson a voice asked quietly?

Speaking I replied in my best telephone manner, Mr William Anderson; of Northpark St?

Yes I confirmed.

My name is Sister James, Im calling from Stobhill hospital on behalf of your wife, I suddenly did not like the direction this conversation was taking.

Im sorry to have to tell you - her voice trailed off.

In the brief silence that followed only the hiss of the steam iron broke through to my consciousness, accompanied by Buddy Holly singing Raining in my Heart.

I stood in the eye of the storm, in that timeless zone, and the whirlpool in my head spun faster and faster. I knew that my world had not really ended; it only felt like it, at that precise moment in time.

I stood in front of the ironing board, like a Zombie, a mindless creature with no conscious thought, listening to the quiet sympathetic voice on the other end of the phone.

Thank you for calling I heard a distant voice in my head say, Ill come up straight away. The word stroke hammered ceaselessly inside my head like a hammer beating on an anvil.

The selfish side of me said its only two days til Christmas.

A week would pass before the rains came.