Problems

Hi all,

this week we’re off to the hospital for a check up. I hope everything’s okay…

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If only there was an on/off switch for life. Reset the system when there’s a problem, or switch off until the bad is over.
A life-support system or something is beeping from one of the other rooms, nurses’ chatter, footsteps. Otherwise the hospital is as silent as the grave.
That’s not an appropriate metaphor.

I’d love to pull some of these tubes out of Henry, without the staff interfering, or Beth and Kyle noticing.

They’re both asleep, one in each arm. Kyle’s foot twitches as he dreams. I like to think he’s dreaming about soccer, but who knows? It would scare them if mummy unplugged daddy’s life support machine. They’re scarred enough already, and I can’t get near any of those buttons without waking them. There should be an app for my phone, that’s what I need.

“He’ll be fine, don’t worry,” says a nurse behind me. I didn’t hear her coming, although her shoes squeak when she walks out again. I must’ve fallen asleep. Beth and Kyle are awake now, too and look terrified.
“She was just trying to be nice,” I say. “The nurse is wrong.”

I need to do it before the next nurse checks.
“Go on,” I tell the children. “Hug daddy goodbye.” His breath is laboured as I put my four-year-old and six-year-old on his chest. They automatically put their hands around his neck, like he likes to be hugged. “That’s it. Harder, so he can feel it before he slips away.”
The machine starts to beep and flash.
“Harder.”

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This one was supposed to be funny when I started writing it. Weird.