As Above, So Below

by Richard Lawther

  Music fades...

  Burns: That were Eartha Kitt and ‘Let’s Do It’, written by Cole Porter.

  Music starts...

  Burns: The Ward Brothers and ‘We’ll Cross That Bridge When We Come To It’.

  Music starts...

  A few minutes later... the sound of rustling paper:

  Burns: Now we did have two beauty consultants goin’ to come in this mornin’, but they’re not very well – this is absolutely true – two beauty consultants were coming in to give advice to males – and females – of the... ugly variety, who wish to improve themselves. Anyway, we’ll now be running this feature next week.

  Music starts...

  Burns: Hmm, some people need to do more than others, of course.

  Music starts again...

  Burns: What you lookin’ at, Higgis? – I just need a haircut!

  Several minutes of chart songs follow...

  Burns: Just a quick reminder: Higgis, Jack Dawes and “yours truly” will be down at the Ribbleside Centre tonight, raising money for good causes – after expenses, of course. Come along! If you don’t know where the Ribbleside Centre is, it’s that new gaudy place that used to be the Elephant & Castle pub.

  News after these. Ta Ta!! ...

  Cut to commercials:

  Higgis: Preston Bus Lines is celebrating its twenty-year anniversary. To mark this auspicious event, all bus fares exceeding two pounds will be halved in price!

  – Yes! – halved in price! Preston Bus Lines – we’ll get you there in good time.

  Professional Announcer: Anders Stores proudly announces a spring sale on all men’s and women’s fashions. Unbeatable bargains. Come now, to Anders stores: Fishergate, Poulton and Houndshill Shopping Centre, Blackpool.

  Higgis: Preston Fish Emporium announces an unusually large haul of haddock. Stocks must shift. Discounts of 30% for purchases over one tonne.

  A news bulletin follows...

  I suppose it’s a gentle way to wake up, especially if you’re dealing with a hangover, but, my god, local radio!?

  I cast my mind back to the events of what I assumed was the previous night: Blackpool would be fun... I still couldn’t remember her name... I couldn’t remember leaving her flat either... but I did remember the terrible headache. Funny how I don’t seem to have one now, I thought.

  A newsreader droned away in the background.

  Why was the radio on? – I never listened to local radio, I didn’t even have a radio! I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn’t. I tried to move, but I couldn’t do that either. By this time I was fully alert – what the hell was going on!?

  There was a click, and the radio fell silent. I shouted for it to be turned back on, but no sound emerged from my mouth. At this point I realized that I had no sensation of breathing. The ultimate hangover? ... or something worse!?

  Again, I tried to open my eyes; I tried to move – nothing, zip. I couldn’t even feel anything.

  I tried to calm myself by concentrating on the one sense that still functioned – my hearing. Thank God something worked.

  I listened to the faint, unidirectional sound of air-conditioning: a quiet hiss of air accompanied by the gentle throbbing of distant pumps. There was no AC in my flat, was there? Could I hear snoring? Maybe it was mine? No, it came from my right, steady and even, not really snoring, just the heavy breathing of a deep sleeper. I concentrated harder but failed to hear much more. But then, a burst of noise:

  The scraping of a wooden chair; a loud thud and a crack as a heavy door swung open; finally a thwack, as the door smashed back to the closed position.

  Voices!

  ‘Nurse!, have you looked at Christie’s EEG?’

  Nurse?

  ‘No, not in the last half hour,’ said a slightly defensive female voice, ‘I’ve been tied up with this.’ The sound of footsteps. ‘Goodness! he’s giving a strong trace.’

  ‘Yes, alpha and beta waves. Mr Christie might be about to wake up.’

  ‘I am awake!’ I silently screamed.

  I could hear that someone hovered very close: noisy nasal breathing.

  ‘Mr Christie,’ said the man. ‘Mr Christie,’ said the woman.

  ‘MR CHRISTIE!!’ – that was both of them. What followed was a shouted combination of Mr Christies, Geoffs and Geoffreys as the medical staff – I’d worked out that I was in a hospital by this stage – tried desperately to rouse me. All to no avail of course, since I was already awake.

  ‘Where’s his mother!?’ asked the excitable doctor.

  ‘She’s still here, I think,’ replied the nurse.

  ‘Find her, get her in here NOW!!’ The nurse charged out of the room. ‘Geoff, I think you can hear me – can you hear me, Geoff? Com’on, Geoff, open your eyes!’

  Christ, what had happened to me?

  The door cracked open and the distinctive flap of my mother entered the room. What was she doing here?

  ‘Oh, Geoffrey, can you hear me, darling, wake up, Geoff, please wake up!’ Here we go again.

  My mother’s expensive perfume filled my nostrils taking the sense count up to two. And then there was light! No details, but definitely some fuzzy shapes. Was I emerging from this nightmare? No, my world returned to darkness and despite my best efforts I was unable to summon back the light.

  ‘I got a pupil movement!’ shouted the doctor.

  There followed a sudden quiet as my mother and the doctor, talking quickly and quietly in the distance, discussed my situation ‘out of ear-shot’; but my hearing was becoming acute and I picked up much of what was said:

  ‘Mrs Christie–’ started the doctor.

  ‘This is a good sign, isn’t it?’ flustered my mother.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Christie, your son is showing indications that he’s returning to full consciousness, but he’s not with us, is he? I don’t know what’s wrong; we’ll have to run several tests ... Mrs Christie, there is a chance that your son may be ... paralyzed–’

  ‘Oh God!’ My mother burst into tears.

  The next few hours were torment. I picked up snippets of information about my condition as its true nature gradually revealed itself to the medical staff. I wanted to ask questions; I wanted to challenge the diagnosis; I wanted to scream with rage.

  But I couldn’t.

  I couldn’t even ‘sense’ my own frustration: no sense of raised blood pressure, no sense of a palpitating heart.

  No sense of anything!!

  Nightmare? This was so much more than that. And it just wouldn’t end...

  My mother had been instructed to remain in the ward while the medical staff went about their various tasks. She’d been encouraged to talk to me, boost my moral, but she just made things worse.

  ‘You’re going to be fine, Geoff, just hang in there, the doctors are very good here, they know what’s to be done ... Please God, try and be strong...’

  More tears.

  It wasn’t that I held any particular aversion to her heartfelt and tear-filled efforts, indeed I appreciated the love that lay behind them. But I couldn’t react. I couldn’t say: “it’s okay; I’ll be fine; I love you too”.

  And, of course, I couldn’t cry.

  My mother changed tack and attempted some small talk: I learned that I’d passed my exams and that my requirement to do work-placement had been waived by the university. Great. I now had until September: plenty of time to languish in this hospital bed, relax, and gently spiral down towards full-on lunacy, free of any fear of compromising my degree.

  But I wasn’t insane yet, in fact my mind felt particularly sharp. Or maybe that was just my hearing. I realized that I could direct that sense with amazing dexterity, as though I were ‘looking’ at the various sounds around me. Beyond my mother’s increasingly delirious monologue, I heard a nurse chatting to another patient:

  ‘What’s up with the kid then?’

  ‘Shh, ... trust me, Mike, you don’t want to know.’

  ‘But I do! Go on, Sandy, tell me what’s u
p? There must be a dozen staff buzzing around him.’

  ‘Keep your voice down, they reckon he’s awake ... it’s something called locked-in syndrome – a kind of total paralysis. And he’s probably going to be stuck like this for the rest of his life.’

  ‘Christ!’

  Christ indeed! Maybe this newfound hearing acuity wasn’t such a godsend after all. My mind went numb, no longer focusing on any outside sounds.

  I’m not sure when, but at some point I became aware that my mother had faded into the background. Once again the doctors had come to the fore. They began talking to me:

  ‘Think of the colour red, Geoff, red,’ said one guy. He was the senior doctor, I thought.

  ‘There, on LVC – and sixty percent on RVC,’ said another very sober voice.

  ‘That’s good, Geoff, now do it again – think of red.’

  The doctors were attempting to develop a simple vocabulary using colours and images to represent words. For example, red became ‘yes’, and since all colours produced similar responses on their monitoring equipment, ‘the Matterhorn’ became ‘no’, apparently it gave a very distinctive trace.

  After a few hours of this I became tired and the staff seemed to know.

  ‘Alright, we’ll leave it for now, Geoff.’

  There followed an aggravating sound of scraping chairs as my medical team departed from the ward. They finally left me in peace; my only companion: the air-conditioning.

  They might have given me a sedative because I started to doze.

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