this blanket of fatigue and how it holds you down. I’d forgotten the sweats and shivers and endlessness. Nurses offer to play
Call of Duty
but I can’t manage it. I’m not interested in TV or the internet.
This is a good thing, Nina insists, keeping a hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s better your white blood cells get a thumping in here than out there.’
Come on, Helga. Show some spine and fight back.
Later, when I can’t be bothered sleeping, I drag the iPad towards me and switch it on. The brightness dazzles me. It’s just past 3 a.m.
My Facebook profile has been stormed by well-wishers.
It’s just a cold
, I want to inform everyone.
Don’t stress
. But I don’t have the energy.
Mia: Helga?
I see her name rise into chat. I hadn’t realised she was there.
Zac: Zac
Mia: U ok?
I don’t need to lie to her. It is what it is. She only wants the truth.
Zac: ordinary
Mia: U said ud be home by now.
Zac: Caught a cold. Beat the crap out of me.
Mia: :-(
Zac: drugs starting to kick in.
Hows yr 3rd round?
Mia: its my 4th
Shit. How long have I been sick?
Zac: u in Room 2?
Mia: yeah.
Zac: hi
Mia: hi. Happy fucking christmas.
Zac: Today?
Mia: 4 days ago.
Zac: Oh. Happy Christmas
Mia: I feel like shit
Zac: me too
Mia: like I’m sucking poison
Zac: it’s normal.
Mia: yeah?
Zac: it’ll pass. it all does.
I remind us both.
Mia: I don’t want to die
The cursor blinks, waiting for me. Without my mum sleeping beside me, I don’t have to rush this. No typos, no cliches.
Zac: U won’t
Mia: I’m only 17
Zac: U won’t
Mia: a woman died today
Zac: Who?
Mia: dunno. Room 9
Zac: What cancer?
Mia: dunno. She was old
I’ve never known anyone to die here. Death usually takes place in the comfort of a patient’s home after the hospital has handed them over to family or palliative care or God, or whoever else will listen. They’re supposed to sort out their wills and choose the songs for their funerals, say their goodbyes and go out in their own beds surrounded by loved ones. It must have been unexpected.
Mia: Lots of people were in there.
Zac: you saw?
Mia: through her window.
The nurses stood in the hall.
It must’ve been just after …
She was skinny. ppl were crying.
I let her keep going. It’s the most she’s ever typed. I think I hear her fingers on her keyboard.
Mia: have you ever seen a dead body?
Zac: not a human. You? Before?
Mia: My nan at her funeral.
I laughed cos they used the wrong makeup.
The lipstick was pink gloss and I kept thinking about how long it would stay on.
Longer than her lips?
How long would it take for pearl earrings to drop from her ears?
Zac: you laughed?
Mia: I was 8.
All the relatives I’ve known are still alive: four grandparents, two uncles, an aunt, a great-aunt, four cousins, one brother and a sister. I’ve never even been to a real funeral.
Zac: In kindergarten, a boy drowned in a dam.
The teacher said he’d gone to a better place.
I thought she meant McDonalds.
Mia: :-)
I wonder what Mia looks like with a smile. Not a posed one, like in her Facebook photos, but a lazy real one, slumped against a pillow in the middle of the night.
Mia: pick it up quick
Zac: pick wh
The shrill sound punctures the silence, twice, three times, before I can knock the handset from the wall. I’ve never heard the internal phone—everyone else calls me on my mobile. I hold the bulky receiver, forgetting what to do with it.
‘Helga?’
I swallow. ‘Zac.’
‘Are you okay … to talk?’
‘Yeah,’ I tell her, though my throat’s thick and husky. ‘I’m okay.’
‘Do you believe in ghosts?’
How come she asks the kinds of things everyone else avoids? Is it because we’re still, technically, strangers? Or because it’s 3.33 a.m. and the normal rules don’t apply? My breath whistles through the holes.
‘Um … I don’t know.’
‘Yes or no?’
‘No.’
‘Heaven?’
‘No.’
‘God?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘You do?’
When
Call of Duty
but I can’t manage it. I’m not interested in TV or the internet.
This is a good thing, Nina insists, keeping a hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s better your white blood cells get a thumping in here than out there.’
Come on, Helga. Show some spine and fight back.
Later, when I can’t be bothered sleeping, I drag the iPad towards me and switch it on. The brightness dazzles me. It’s just past 3 a.m.
My Facebook profile has been stormed by well-wishers.
It’s just a cold
, I want to inform everyone.
Don’t stress
. But I don’t have the energy.
Mia: Helga?
I see her name rise into chat. I hadn’t realised she was there.
Zac: Zac
Mia: U ok?
I don’t need to lie to her. It is what it is. She only wants the truth.
Zac: ordinary
Mia: U said ud be home by now.
Zac: Caught a cold. Beat the crap out of me.
Mia: :-(
Zac: drugs starting to kick in.
Hows yr 3rd round?
Mia: its my 4th
Shit. How long have I been sick?
Zac: u in Room 2?
Mia: yeah.
Zac: hi
Mia: hi. Happy fucking christmas.
Zac: Today?
Mia: 4 days ago.
Zac: Oh. Happy Christmas
Mia: I feel like shit
Zac: me too
Mia: like I’m sucking poison
Zac: it’s normal.
Mia: yeah?
Zac: it’ll pass. it all does.
I remind us both.
Mia: I don’t want to die
The cursor blinks, waiting for me. Without my mum sleeping beside me, I don’t have to rush this. No typos, no cliches.
Zac: U won’t
Mia: I’m only 17
Zac: U won’t
Mia: a woman died today
Zac: Who?
Mia: dunno. Room 9
Zac: What cancer?
Mia: dunno. She was old
I’ve never known anyone to die here. Death usually takes place in the comfort of a patient’s home after the hospital has handed them over to family or palliative care or God, or whoever else will listen. They’re supposed to sort out their wills and choose the songs for their funerals, say their goodbyes and go out in their own beds surrounded by loved ones. It must have been unexpected.
Mia: Lots of people were in there.
Zac: you saw?
Mia: through her window.
The nurses stood in the hall.
It must’ve been just after …
She was skinny. ppl were crying.
I let her keep going. It’s the most she’s ever typed. I think I hear her fingers on her keyboard.
Mia: have you ever seen a dead body?
Zac: not a human. You? Before?
Mia: My nan at her funeral.
I laughed cos they used the wrong makeup.
The lipstick was pink gloss and I kept thinking about how long it would stay on.
Longer than her lips?
How long would it take for pearl earrings to drop from her ears?
Zac: you laughed?
Mia: I was 8.
All the relatives I’ve known are still alive: four grandparents, two uncles, an aunt, a great-aunt, four cousins, one brother and a sister. I’ve never even been to a real funeral.
Zac: In kindergarten, a boy drowned in a dam.
The teacher said he’d gone to a better place.
I thought she meant McDonalds.
Mia: :-)
I wonder what Mia looks like with a smile. Not a posed one, like in her Facebook photos, but a lazy real one, slumped against a pillow in the middle of the night.
Mia: pick it up quick
Zac: pick wh
The shrill sound punctures the silence, twice, three times, before I can knock the handset from the wall. I’ve never heard the internal phone—everyone else calls me on my mobile. I hold the bulky receiver, forgetting what to do with it.
‘Helga?’
I swallow. ‘Zac.’
‘Are you okay … to talk?’
‘Yeah,’ I tell her, though my throat’s thick and husky. ‘I’m okay.’
‘Do you believe in ghosts?’
How come she asks the kinds of things everyone else avoids? Is it because we’re still, technically, strangers? Or because it’s 3.33 a.m. and the normal rules don’t apply? My breath whistles through the holes.
‘Um … I don’t know.’
‘Yes or no?’
‘No.’
‘Heaven?’
‘No.’
‘God?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘You do?’
When
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