Page 49 of Life After Me

It started off with the feeling of being watched.

For a few days, everywhere I went I felt like there were eyes on me, even when I was alone.

But the really strange thing was that it didn’t frighten me, even though it should have.

Whatever it was didn’t make me feel afraid, or threatened, but I knew I wasn’t alone.

At first I thought I’d imagined it, that I was being paranoid and had just spent too much time by myself lately.

At this time of year most of my friends are busy with their families, so it’s harder to meet up.

I started to wonder if it was something I’d created out of my own loneliness, then something happened that I can’t explain away.

I got an emergency call from work. One of my patients had taken a turn for the worse. I’d been dreading this call.

He’s a really special case. I wouldn’t usually be involved with someone suffering from chronic lung disease, but Billy is very unusual.

He’s only nineteen, barely past being a child, and his family have seen a lot of tragedy in the last few years, which is how I came to know them.

It’s also how they knew to ask for me when the specialists told them there wasn’t much else they could do for Billy.

He isn’t terminal, or at least I’d hoped that he wasn’t.

He’d been on the transplant list for months, but his blood type isn’t a common one.

Sometimes the worst things seem to happen to the nicest people.

When I got to his house, he was in a lot of pain.

Even with oxygen his lips were turning blue with hypoxia.

His saturation levels were dropping even as his heart rate was climbing into ragged peaks, and his fingers were ice cold.

His battered lungs just couldn’t pull in enough oxygen to keep him alive anymore.

The best I could do for him, and his family, was keep them all as comfortable as possible.

‘This . . . it?’ Billy rasped the words out between painful breaths. ‘No . . . lies.’

‘You know I never would.’ I squeezed his fingers gently around the pulse and oxygen monitors. ‘I think it might be. Your oxygen levels are pretty low. If they get any lower the only thing left that might be able to help is a ventilator. Are you still sure about not wanting that?’

Billy nodded firmly, his mouth set, and my heart went out to him again. He was an incredibly smart young man, and he understood exactly what his chances of ever making it off a ventilator alive were. I had to admire his bravery.

‘Shame... asked... Santa for... new... lungs.’ He grinned in silent laughter. I lifted him gently forward and rearranged his pillows into a better position. It might sound silly, but even the smallest things can be a comfort at a time like this.

‘Stay?’ His eyes were filled with pleading as I rested him back into his pillows.

‘As long as you need me to and longer,’ I promised.

And I did. I stayed with Billy and his distraught parents for the whole night, watching and comforting them as best I could as his vital signs dropped lower and his breathing became more and more ragged.

He drifted in and out of consciousness as the darkness faded slowly into morning.

His parents sat by his side, holding his hands and talking to him even after he stopped answering.

We’d talked about this often enough that words weren’t needed.

They both knew that their little boy was slipping away from them, and there was nothing I, or any other person in the world, could do to prevent that.

That was when it happened. The presence I’d been feeling for the last few days intensified and grew until it filled the whole room with peace and warmth so intense that it made it hard for me to breathe.

Sweet, fresh fragrance filled the air. For a moment my eyes drifted shut, and I was caught in a swirl of light and warmth that I never wanted to leave.

Clanging alarms snatched me back into reality, and I whirled on the machines angrily. I’d turned those alarms off to make sure they didn’t disturb Billy and his family in their final private moments. The figures that were flashing were impossible — the bloody things must be malfunctioning.

‘I’m so sorry. I thought I’d shut these off.’ I yanked the power cable out of the machine quickly, and its alarms faded back into silence. It wasn’t as if they could tell us anything useful now anyway.

‘Is all right... am used... to them.’ Billy’s eyes drifted shut as a small smile played around his lips and he exhaled slowly.

His mother looked over at me, tears in her eyes as I felt her son’s wrist. ‘Is he...?’

I adjusted my fingers, not quite able to believe what I was feeling. I shook my head and grabbed my stethoscope from the end of the bed. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I closed my eyes, listening more carefully as I moved it across his chest.

His mum’s hand on my arm made me jump. ‘He’s asleep.’ I half-laughed. ‘I don’t understand how, but his breathing’s evening out and his pulse is returning to normal.’

I clipped the pulse and oxygen monitors back on his finger, already knowing what I was going to find. After an excruciatingly long thirty seconds I flipped the screen over to his parents to show a steady seventy per cent and slowly rising. Somehow Billy was improving.

I stayed with them for another hour, taking vitals and watching Billy closely.

Sometimes I’d had patients who seemed to get better just before they passed in a final rally, but never like this.

I gave the readings to the day nurses who looked at me like I’d been drinking on duty, and left with words of thanks and miracles ringing in my ears.

When I reached my car, my hands were shaking and tears were streaming down my cheeks.

I’d gone in expecting Billy wouldn’t make it through the night.

And I’d been right. He had been dying. I’ve seen enough passings to know when the body is shutting down, but something intensely beautiful and loving had saved him, at least for now.

I didn’t notice the little white feather tucked beneath my windscreen wiper until I got home.

Even then I was too tired and shocked to think much of it. It was just a feather.

I got the call six hours later. Billy’s pager had gone off. They’d finally found him a match.

* * *

The strange things have kept happening. Nothing anywhere near as dramatic as what happened with Billy, and I think I’m glad for that.

Whatever it was I felt in Billy’s room was too intensely beautiful.

In a way, it was frightening. I’m glad I’ve not seen or felt that again, but the warm feeling of being watched hasn’t gone away, and I get the distinct feeling that it won’t, at least not for a while.

I like this feeling of being watched over. I’m getting used to this fresh, sweet smell being around me — it’s comforting and invigorating at the same time. It seems to have a positive effect on my patients, and anything that makes their lives easier and better can’t be bad.

The air seems a little warmer and brighter, and the Christmas decorations I’ve been avoiding now seem as magical and as exciting as when I was a little girl.

My dreams have been strange too. I didn’t sleep well today.

It might be partly because I’ve been on nights, and the changeover to sleeping during daylight hours can be uncomfortable, but I was kept awake by the same dream that repeated over and over again.

In the beginning it was lovely, and more real than any memory or dream I’ve ever had before.

I could feel the breeze on my skin and through my hair, and the springy, cool grass between my toes.

I was walking through a beautiful wood, filled with daffodils and late winter jasmine, and birdsong echoed through the air. It was one of those gorgeous winter days where the sun shone brightly, and the sky was crisp, clear and blue.

Then everything twisted, and the birdsong became louder and more pained until it twisted into human sobs.

I tried to follow them, to find the person who was in pain so I could help them, but the sobs bounced off the trees and came back to me distorted and twisted, and I couldn’t work out where they were coming from. Then I woke up.

The dream pulled me back into it as soon as I closed my eyes again.

And again and again. Each time I ran down what I thought was the right path and the sobbing got louder and clearer, but every time I was about to reach the source I’d wake up again.

But I knew I was getting closer, so I closed my eyes and forced myself back to sleep.

Finally I found him, curled in a ball and shaking as he sobbed helplessly.

Every sob seemed to wrack his entire body.

I knew he’d been crying for a very long time and, that without someone intervening, he’d cry for a lot, lot longer.

My hand rested on his bony shoulder, and I gasped in horror at the eyes that met mine.

They were David’s, only red-rimmed, bloodshot, and filled with pain. His skin was grey and streaked with tears, but they dried up as I pulled him to his feet.

His hand fitted into mine easily, and as we walked back together, huge, soft snowflakes that were as warm and fluffy as feathers started to fall from the clear blue sky.

* * *

Despite the broken night of sleep, I woke up feeling well rested.

I grabbed my Filofax out of my bag while the kettle was still boiling.

Lisa likes to tease me about it and call me old-fashioned, but I don’t care.

I like the feel of the paper, and the reassuring weight of it in my bag.

And I can find everything I need in seconds, and never have to worry about a battery letting me down.

I flipped through pages as I waited for the tea to steep, and gasped.

Stuck to the page with David’s details was a single, pure white feather.

It tingled between my fingers when I picked it up and studied it, wondering how on earth it had got there.

As I smoothed it out, I remembered the one that had been caught on my windscreen.

I wandered outside, convincing myself that it couldn’t possibly be there after so long, but it was waiting patiently, a perfect match for the one from my Filofax.

I had to peel it off the windscreen, my mind reeling.

It could be children playing a prank, but who would bother? No one else has access to my Filofax.

I’m not usually the type of person who pays much attention to dreams, but then again I’ve never had ones so vivid. And I’d never had things from my dreams turning up in my real life. I grabbed my keys and phone, and was dialling the number before I’d finished pulling on my shoes.

‘Hey, it’s me. I’m coming over and I’m not taking no for an answer.’ I stared at myself in the window as I snapped the phone shut. No, I’d have to change. These clothes definitely weren’t going to do.