Til Morning Comes

by Lisa Ann Harper

  She walked slowly back along the dimly lit corridor so quiet now, to the discretely down-lit nurses’ station. At the desk she wrote her report and added the suggestion that her hair should be allowed to grow, explaining she was used to long hair and would not feel right when she finally saw herself in the mirror. If they ignored her plea, she vowed she would look after this herself. It would be important to the re-emerging persona that the resemblance to the original be as close as possible. It was also time for some physical rehabilitation. She included an addendum to that effect: out of the chair and onto a stationary bike. With this kind of progress they could be allowed outside. The grounds here at the Queen Elizabeth reminded her of the Park. A walk through the garden would help to identify with old times. She knew walking outdoors was commonly used to help patients regain a sense of rhythm. For Nigella it would be the start of a reintegration with the outside world. All this was uncharted territory. Nigella would need all the help she could get.

  Alone in her room Mallory thought over the last hours as she brought together items for the close of this day and prepared for the next. What was her perspective on these events after all this time? It was as though all her prayers had been answered, yet she did not feel she deserved so much elation. No matter, she beamed as her head filled with thoughts of the future. She and Nigella would be together again. When she was better and back to her normal self, they could take up where they had left off. They had a pure affinity. At last she had found her soul-mate, the one person on Earth who would see the world through the same prismatic perspective as she. There could be no truer bond or more noble union.

  She remembered all Nigella had wanted at that time was to be with her. All she had wanted was to have Nigella by her side. This time would be even better. She would be earning good money. Nigella would take up her teaching studies. They could live wherever they chose. She could take her to Australia; introduce her to her folks, show her the beauties of far north Queensland. She could learn to dive the Coral Reef and they would go riding together. When Mallory finally slipped between the sheets, she was so – so happy. Life would be wonderful.

  * * *

  There was no time for Art Therapy as the physiotherapist was scheduled for that afternoon. It was good she could be fitted in so promptly, but Mallory was left to think of something else. A Eureka moment, she believed she had been inspired. It happened at the library. She was packing away her books when she linked the thoughts of Nigella and reading. She crossed to the lending section and browsed the novels. There was nothing of the right vintage. She continued to stroll between the stacks and arrived at the drama section. Oh cool, they could do a play-reading, something Edwardians had done all the time. She found the perfect answer: An Ideal Husband by Oscar Wilde. She remembered Lady Patchford had vetoed Wilde, but she was sure Nigella would identify with the people and the language. If she were not up to reading a part, she could take on the characters herself. Now she had the thought, she must start immediately.

  Mallory stepped back in time for this visit. She dragged out her old brown cords and although the shirt was long gone, was able to find the same style in faded denim which for her purpose, would do. As she slicked back her hair she laughed to herself at the Shtick the others had given her over the hair cut. She looked critically at her reflection. The consensus had been that short and free was ‘her’. Kylie had remained stony-faced of course, making no comment. What would they think if they saw me now? She arrived during visiting hours to fit in with hospital routine and knew she could continue like this on a regular basis.

  There was no need tonight to tease out responses. Nigella burst forth: “I couldn’t wait to finish dinner because then I was sure you would come.”

  Yesterday’s experiences had not only been cathartic, but had renewed her faith in the world. With Mason – Mallory, back with her she could let go her fears and trust again. At last she had a sense of connection. Her life up ’til now had been so insecure, all alliances gone with no safe protectors. Without trust how could she thrive and build confidence? He had changed all that. She felt optimistic everything would return to normal and it would not be long before she saw Mama and Ramona again. They would be the first to visit she was sure of that: perhaps Papa too, if he isn’t too busy?

  “Hello Jellie. How are you today?” She held both her hands, took a pace back and regarded her. Nigella held her head on an angle giving her cheek for him to peck. Mallory obliged then took a seat.

  “Mallory, I went to the gymnasium this afternoon.”

  She’s remembered my name.

  “I asked about painting, but they told me I had to start exercising.” She smiled mischievously. “I was a good girl, I didn’t stamp my foot. I sent Miss Cross-Patch home as Nanny would tell me to do.”

  “Everything from here on is to help you get better Jellie. All these people, they’re only trying to do what’s best for you.” Mallory’s lips curved at the girl’s change in manner. She was improving so fast. Of course, with others she could be different, but at the moment this was all good. Later, a more discerning perspective might develop, when her brain started to register the true state of her circumstances. This could prove to be a serious hurdle, but for now.…

  She pulled the trolley table between them and set out two books. “I’ve brought us a play to read. I thought this might be fun in the evening when it’s quiet. See which one I’ve found.”

  Nigella turned the book toward her. “Oh, it’s an Oscar Wilde. Will Mama let us?” She looked up dubiously, frowning. “I don’t want to get into trouble.”

  “No. You won’t Jellie. Her Ladyship won’t mind. Anyway, she isn’t here now is she?” She held her breath, waiting for the response. She had no idea which way the girl would jump.

  Nigella considered a moment. “I haven’t seen her today. Is she waiting for nurse to say it’s all right? I remember when I had chicken pox; Nanny wouldn’t let her into the sick room until I was better. It was when Mama was going to have her last baby … but she lost it … it made her very unhappy, even though I got well again.”

  She did not know what to make of this. Perhaps back to the present was the safest course. “Jellie, would you like to read the ladies’ parts and I’ll read the gentlemen’s?”

  “Oh, what a romp!” she looked over the dramatis personae. “There are parts here that would suit Mona and one is perfect for Patchy.”

  “We’ll have to manage with just us today. Let’s make a start and see how we go.” She filled her water glass; the heavy medication caused a bothersome dry mouth, and urged her to take frequent sips. Quickly, she covered stage directions to set the scene and happily time sped by. Each relished the witty dialogue, changing her voice with every personality. Nigella was good. There must have been much reading out loud in her formative years she was so accomplished. Mallory felt rather inadequate, but soldiered on.

  They enjoyed themselves enormously, laughing and talking about the play, the characters and their reactions. The hour flew by. At eight o’clock nurse popped her head in to tell them it was bedtime. Mallory put the books away in the locker then had to break her news: “I can’t come tomorrow Jellie, but I’m going to see if we can take a stroll in the park. If you work hard in the gym, your legs will be strong enough for us to go outside. Would you like that?”

  Nigella had looked crestfallen at this information, but the thought of going outdoors displaced any melancholy and she clapped her hands in delight.

  She’s so child-like, but it’s good to see her responding whichever way it is.

  “I want you to continue reading the play and when we meet again, you can fill me in on what I’ve missed. Will you do that for me?”

  “Oh, like prep. you mean?” Her green eyes, so clear and bright now, looked back at her as if with insight.

  “Not home-work exactly, this is a diversion for when you’re on your own; something for you to enjoy. You like reading don’t you?”

  “I do, but I would really l
ike to hear the music again. Can I do that?” The emerald eyes grew large and round with entreaty.

  “Of course, I’ll bring it for you tomorrow. I’ll come by at lunch-time. I won’t be able to stay,” she added hastily: “But I can set you up, no problem.”

  “Oh thank you Mallory. It was so enchanting that evening. You know I love music.” The smile when she gazed at her was sweet with the memory of a heavenly interlude.

  “Yes Jellie I know that,” she responded softly and suddenly felt, deep in her heart: And I love you.

  * * *

  Mallory found Nigella sitting in an upright chair at a table in the day room. There were few others present and those who were sat quietly, lost in their own world, whether it be drug induced or from boredom it was hard to tell. The TV, situated high on its perch was on without sound. Nigella seemed unaware of it, but the time would surely come when the reality of the Twenty-first Century would intrude unquestionably into her world. She was playing solitaire, the only really alive being in the room. How out of place! She stood in the doorway for a moment, observing her intense concentration. She was beginning to look like the girl she remembered, her zest for life returning with full force. How astounding this was, when she thought back to that first encounter, so much had changed. There were more developments to come, but the process was well under way.

  She frowned as she watched. Regardless, the problem remained: how to disclose the truth? If not careful, these revelations could ravage her mind. Dear God not yet, she needs more time. She must regain her faculties before facing the shocking details, she argued, let alone my particulars. I must be sure the time is right; that she is properly ready. This decision was like a heavy stone, immovably lodged; the burden on her back.

  “Well, look at you.” She pushed her perturbing thoughts away and stepped forward to plant a light kiss on the waiting cheek.

  “I played it out,” Nigella peeled as she looked up. “But this is my fifth try and I haven’t been able to do it since then.”

  “You can give it a go later,” she responded looking around for the wheelchair. “Did you walk here?”

  “Yes! I held onto nurse’s arm and didn’t feel tired at all.” The pride was obvious.

  “Well done Jellie, that’s the way. Come with me now and I’ll organize the music for you.”

  Back in the room Mallory gave her two more CDs. “This is some new music.” Her aim was slowly, to bring her forward in time, at least as far as music was concerned.

  She looked at them with interest, her eyes now remarkably direct and clear. “I recognise the names: Ernest Bloch and Ottorino Respighi, but I don’t think I know the music.”

  “No, you won’t have heard these pieces before. Bloch found inspiration in Jewish liturgical music. I’ve chosen two symphonies for you, his Israel first and America, second.” She handed the CD across and picked up the other one. “These are two Italian suites written by Respighi: The Fountains of Rome and The Pines of Rome. They’ll be different from what you’re used to Jellie, but try to keep an open mind. They may take a few listenings before your ear is attuned.” She handed it over. “Now I’ll show you how all this works.” She watched in awe as this miraculous box was positioned on her table and the function of the buttons demonstrated. Fascinated, she had to try it immediately.

  “Don’t change anything at the wall,” Mallory admonished sternly: “It’s important you only touch these knobs, understand?”

  She nodded, putting on her serious face. “I do. Nanny told me that if I disobeyed important instructions I would ‘sup sorrow from a spoon from the cradle to the grave’.”

  “Mm…m, that’s as maybe,” she demurred somewhat astonished. “I just don’t want you bending over at floor-level … or pulling anything apart. Nurse will do that sort of thing.” Again Nigella inclined her head. “Show me how to play the music.”

  She selected a disc and applied the ear phones then pushed Play. A startled look crossed her face. “This is the volume.” Mallory turned up the dial on the side much to Nigella’s delight, as the strains of the orchestra filled her ears. Then she pushed Stop expressing regret that she had to leave. “Don’t let yourself get too tired. You can listen any time you want, but it’s important you get lots of sleep just now. It will help you get well again.”

  Removing the earpieces, she asked when he would be back. She hated it every time he had to go away.

  “Get fit Little One and we’ll go for a walk on the weekend. How does that sound?”

  * * *

  By Grand Rounds on Friday, Mallory’s report to Dr Stubbs was highly favourable. He was impressed at the speed of the recovery and encouraged that the Hydro-bath need not be an option, but Mallory wanted to achieve more than this. Rounds had been completed and they were standing outside in the corridor, not an ideal location for her discussion with all the hospital noises and busy staff coming and going.

  “Dr. Stubbs, I believe this patient is ready for supported care.”

  “Where are you taking this Miss Mason?” He was not inclined to disagree, but his nature and experience over the years had made him naturally cautious.

  “I’m concerned that if she’s returned to Lychette St. Agnes she could regress. The nursing home environment can’t possibly provide the stimulation she needs to aid her continued recovery.” Without realising it, her speech had taken on an impassioned fervour causing the professor to regard her with surprise.

  “That’s all well and good Miss Mason,” he replied decisively, “but in the real world we deal with the problem of (a) insufficient resources and (b) under funding for progressive programmes.” He stared over the rim of his spectacles with sharp, intense eyes. “I’m afraid for this type of patient there’s nothing left but nursing care. You have to face the fact that she cannot live independently.” He knew the problems that existed for healthy, young adults with disability. Too many of them lived with the elderly and infirm in well-meaning, aged-care homes, but other alternatives were few and far between.

  “Dr. Stubbs … I am well aware of the difficulties. I’ve looked into the alternatives and believe she’s an ideal candidate for a disability support pension. This would provide the needed finances for admission to CACPS.”

  “My specialty is not Social Work Miss Mason. CACPS …?” he inquired impatiently.

  “Oh sorry, Sir – Community Aged Care Packages that is, low level care in a supported environment.”

  “Then there’s still the age problem,” he insisted.

  “Yes, but with sufficient funding, I think I can get her into HEADWAY, the ABI programme.”

  The professor looked at her severely. “Miss Mason!”

  She hastened to amend: “Acquired Brain Injury programme, Doctor.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  She was about to answer when an orderly rounded the corner, pushing an extremely noisy trolley laden with even more clinking and clanking stainless steel objects, of the personal hygiene kind. She waited.

  “The patient meets the three major criteria to be eligible. I just have to get her on the waiting list for a residency.”

  “Mm…m. Disability Services are usually pretty strict with their table of impairment points,” he temporised.

  “This is so, but she’ll get her twenty points easily with the brain damage and accompanying psych. impairment. Also, her impairment will be prohibitive of more than fifteen hours of work per week, so her ability to work is certainly low. She can’t drive and her use of public transport would be pretty dodgy.”

  “What about the status of her condition?”

  “I would need your confirmation on that Doctor. From what you have seen of her recovery, would you assess her condition as treated and stabilised?”

  “I acknowledge she is much improved, but we need more time to determine if her condition is stable.”

  “How much time do you think?”

  At this juncture the professor’s pager beeped and immediately took his attent
ion.

  “I’m sorry Miss Mason I have to go. I’ll look in on her sometime next week and let you know the result.”

  Mallory watched his retreating back, his white coat swishing importantly; nurses acknowledging his passing with a respectful nod. Had she accomplished anything here? Was she to continue? You can’t give up now Mal. She clenched her hands and squeezed her eyes as a momentary discouragement threatened to bring her down, but she had made a commitment; to herself, to Nigella. In fact it was imperative she continue with Nigella’s therapy. Any failure of the client to participate in their rehabilitation program meant automatic disqualification and access to support would be discontinued. She felt it keenly as her responsibility to steer a successful course over any menacing hurdles. Not least was the risk of a post traumatic epileptic seizure. Unexpectedly, this could come upon Nigella following any form of intense emotion. The risk of destabilisation was real.

  Last night she had been able to slip in to see her. She had been enjoying her CD’s, especially she claimed The Fountains of Rome. She had caught her up on An Ideal Husband and they had continued their readings for another hour. She was not fatiguing so easily and was taking more notice of her surroundings. The still-life painting had been hung where she could see it and Mallory thought to remark on this.

  “Yes, it reminds me of my Botany studies,” she smiled in recollection, the quiet thrill in her voice drawing forth a tender response: “How so?”

  “We had to study the form and structure of plants and my flower was the Marigold daisy. We were to pull the flower apart, petal by petal, right to its very centre, then slice it in half. Once we had revealed everything, we were to draw and label the various structures.”