Maggie's Five ...the first in a LOVE story

by Sandra Fitzgerald

  Worried that he might hurt her, I’m about to tell him to be more gentle with my baby girl when I notice Mattie out of the corner of my eye.

  I dart over to her, but can’t get close enough because there are more people blocking my way. Her eyes are wide open and her jaw is slack. A man has his ear pressed to her chest, and then starts pounding far too roughly over her ribs, causing a horrific snapping noise to echo in the mayhem.

  “Mattie baby, Mummy’s here,” I hoarsely whisper with a painful throat. “You need to stop that. Sir, please, stop, you’re going to hurt her.”

  Jon takes hold of me again and drags me, stumbling in the wrong direction, talking to the faceless people coming towards us, telling them to get out of the way.

  At one point he stops and starts yelling at someone, “I don’t know what we fucking need, just give us a fucking minute okay?” He turns to the side, “Luke, please,” ending his rant by squeezing me so tightly it feels like my spine is going to crack.

  “Let me go Jon” How can he not understand that I need to be with my family? I need to take care of my family. I’m Mummy, it’s what I do; it’s my job to take care of them.

  He’s so much stronger than I am and continues on. When he gets sick of my struggles, he lifts me off the ground and heads towards the footpath.

  That’s when I see him. The anchor to my whole world lying bloody and broken, his neck bent all wrong, eyes wide, staring out blankly. My frantic heart jolts as I dart unbelieving eyes over Brendan’s disjointed form, desperately willing a response, any response. A twitch of a finger, his beautiful mouth quirking at the edge like it does when he’s playing a practical joke. I could only pray that this is a joke. My gaze takes in as much of him as it can through the gaps in the surrounding people. I notice his lower leg’s jutting out at a right angle from his knee and blood – so much blood, seeping into the furrows of the uneven black surface beneath him.

  A large man in a dark blue uniform rests his hands on his thighs and slowly rocks from his knees onto his heels into a squatting position, rising from Brendan’s side. He arches his back then starts speaking to another man in a matching uniform, shaking his head in the negative.

  “No.” My brain screams painfully, rebounding over and over again against the inner surface of my skull. “No, you don’t get to do that,” I hear myself cry. “Don’t you dare do that.” My unashamed anguish is on display for all to witness.

  I try to pry myself from Jon again. With a cripplingly thumping heart, I tug and jerk and yank my body, ignoring my elbow when it pops out of place, but I’m still held captive.

  Frustrated, I spontaneously push myself forwards into Jon’s front and bite his upper arm as hard as I can and tasting a warm metallic liquid seeping into my mouth, see the discolouration spread over his shirt when I look to the place I’ve sunken my teeth into.

  His grip falters from the shock; I shove his chest with all the strength I can muster, then leap around him and sprint towards my husband’s unmoving body, stumble and skid to a stop on my knees, ignoring the jagged edges of the road tearing into my flesh as my dress rips beneath me.

  My hands hover uselessly above his lifeless body. I don’t know what to do, where to touch.

  “You need to - you have to… do something,” I say, not knowing if my words carry in the air. They need to, someone needs to… I don’t know what to do.

  I cup Brendan’s face, feeling the still warm, tacky blood stick to my skin. I move his head into a more natural position and press my forehead to his, begging with every ounce of love I have, “Wake up baby, please, just wake up for me,” my tears pouring down my cheeks and dripping onto my husband’s unblinking, lifeless, beautiful face.

  I press kiss after kiss to his mouth, pleading him to kiss me back, just kiss me back, please baby, kiss me, just one, please… I know if he kisses me back just one time then… then…

  “Maggie, honey -”

  “No, no, Jonny, please no.” Don’t take me away from him. “Please, not him. I’ll do anything. Please not my… not him, Jon.” Please don’t take him away from me. Jon lifts me off the gritty, blood soaked ground and carries me away from my life, my partner. I make a weak attempt to get away, knowing it won’t work, I’m so physically spent.

  “I’m so sorry Maggie.” The thick rasp comes from my side and has me turning automatically. I’m struck mercilessly again and again, as the scene before me sharpen into one frightening frame and my denial takes and back seat to my morbid reality.

  My girls are surrounded by uniformed figures pounding on limp, unresponsive bodies. Strangers are barking instructions as they lift my little Mattie onto a trolley and roll her into the back of a waiting ambulance. The blaring siren screeches to life, the rear doors slam with brutal force. My eyes dart right to see a similar action playing out with Ella, a limp arm flaying off the side of her rolling bed as it jostles over the course surface and takes her behind banging doors.

  When my line of sight reluctantly returns to my husband, my body gains too much weight for my legs to carry. Thankfully Jon’s clutches me to stop me from falling. My husband’s surrounded by a number of people in various uniforms; a female dressed in navy gently covers his body with a white blanket. Starting at his feet she methodically unfolds it, pausing for a moment before covering Brendan’s face, hiding it from the gathering crowd.

  Hiding it from me.

  Painful cries sear through my chest, my heart burning to ash as the reality of what my life has become encases me. My soul wisps lifelessly through my very being because it knows. He’s gone.

  Oh God. I’ve lost him.

  “Jon, we need to go.” A deep masculine voice says from behind me. I no longer have the energy or the inclination to see who’s speaking. My head feels like it’s filled with scrambled eggs.

  I need my husband. I need my girls.

  “Jon, the girls-”

  “YOU,” Jon yells abruptly. “YOU FUCKING ARSEHOLE.” He instantly drops his hold on me and takes off running down the street, screaming. “You fucking bastard, I’m going to kill you-”

  Large hands engulf my cheeks and force my attention to the two piercing blue spheres centimetres from my face.

  “Maggie, look at me. Just focus on me and breathe, that’s all you need to worry about. Breathe for me Maggie Mae.” I notice his chest rise and fall in exaggerated motions and find myself mimicking his action. “Good, you’ve got this Maggie, just keep breathing, we’re going to get you to your girls okay?” He nods, so I nod, he breathes, I breathe.

  I don’t think he’s right, though. I don’t think I’ve got any of this.

  His hands are tacky as they leave my face and fold around my frame, his shoulders twisting with him when he looks over his shoulder.

  “Jon, we don’t have time. We’ve got to get going,” he calls, securing his hold and leading me away.

  “Luke Andrews?”

  I haven’t seen Luke in years. There was that last weekend we all went down to his parents’ beach house when… then they moved away.

  “Did you see that son of a b-” Jon barks. Luke interjects.

  “Not now Jon.” He shifts to look at me again. “Maggie, honey. I’m going to help you into Jon’s car, okay? We’re going to go see the girls right now.”

  “Luke here is going to sit with you while I drive,” Jon adds, lifting my chin so I look up at his tear streaked face, making sure I’m listening. I don’t know what he wants me to say so I just stare up at him. “You’re fine Maggie Mae. We’re leaving now.”

  Luke manoeuvres me gently, as though I’m the most fragile thing he has ever held, over the prickly grass to the side of Jon’s car. He settles me onto the back seat and slides in next to me without ever completely letting go.

  I’m so numb, I feel like I’m a spectator to someone else’s life that’s panning out for my morbid viewing. I do as I’m asked without question until we reverse out of my drive, Jon puts the car into gear and presses down on the accelerato
r, causing it to lurch forwards.

  “Wait. Jon, what about Brendan?” I’m all but climbing over Luke’s lap to get a better look out the tinted window. He immediately rests a placating hand on my back and presses the side of his face to the top of my head, drawing me into an embrace. I’m not sure but I think his cheek’s wet.

  Squinting through the sunshine, I’m relieved to see there are a few people lifting Brendan from the ground and onto a stretcher. I start to think maybe I’m wrong; maybe he’s going to be alright after all. The carers roll him carefully into an ambulance, but close the back doors gently. No slamming and screeching for him.

  “He’ll meet us there Maggie,” is all Jon offers while he impatiently drives through the labyrinth that is my neighbourhood.

  JON PULLS ME by my hand through the hospital’s Emergency Department. He parked his car with the front half up on the curb, leaving the tail end protruding over the road, not bothering to remove his keys or close the door. The ambulances that were once parked in the front of my home are now sitting in bays to the side of the vast building, the back doors closed; the vehicles vacant.

  Tugging rigidly on each other’s hands, Jon and I alternate in taking the lead, frantically searching for my family as we brazenly barge our way into occupied rooms and tear open curtains to the verbal berating of the occupants. I’m too distraught to express our regret, but I hope they will forgive us anyway.

  A small voice carries from behind. A young nurse is chasing after us. I’m sorry for her, but I’m sorrier for myself at the moment so continue my frantic search.

  I hear Luke’s deep timbre ask the young girl a string of questions I’m too distracted to listen to and release Jon’s hand to track down another corridor as he turns in the opposite direction.

  “Mrs Cartwright, please stop. Your children are not down there.” This gets my attention.

  I swing around sharply and glare at the nurse, striding into her personal space. I’m about to put my hands on her, to shake the information out of her if I have to, when I’m scooped into a firm embrace, one strong arm wrapping securely across my waist, the other over my shoulders. My face is forced to press into a soft black t-shirt that I remember from minutes ago, yet it feels like years.

  “Calm down Maggie Mae, we’re going to them now,” Luke says reassuringly by my ear.

  My relief is instant; I’m going to my family. We’re at the hospital, they’ll get the treatment they need and everything’s going to be fine. I’m about to see my husband and my children and everything’s going to be fine. They’ll get better and we’ll go home and laugh about ‘that Christmas when…’ one day. And everything’s going to be fine.

  “I was asked to find you,” the young woman explains, leading us back in the direction we just came from and down another sterile white corridor. “You must have entered through a side door, not the main Emergency entrance. It’s easy to get lost in this place.”

  She’s making small talk? Seriously?

  “This way,” she says politely, opening one of two heavy white doors with a restricted sign painted in red on it. We turn through another passage, entering another restricted area when I take in the pandemonium surrounding us.

  “Normally you wouldn’t be permitted in here, but given the circumstances …” the nurse trails off, assuming I understand what she is alluding to.

  We find ourselves standing in the entrance of a modest size room with a litter of empty beds save for two. Teams of organised chaos work frantically over my girls. Machines beep, instructions are directed and leads run from everywhere.

  It’s once I go to move forwards that I realise I’m still being held by the same strong arms and find my body instinctively gravitating in closer, burrowing in deeper. Jon’s by my other side pressing against me, his free hand’s running through his choppy dark hair; the same action Brendon uses when he’s caught in a stressful situation.

  Cursing coming from my left captures my attention. “Take the boot off for Christ sake. We need to find where the bleed is.”

  I attempt to step in the direction of the frustrated voice, the pink and purple roller blade teasing me as it lolls abnormally on the edge of the discoloured mattress.

  It’s Ella.

  My breath captures sharply when a lean, athletic figure in blue scrubs cuts into my vision. I’m morosely hypnotized, watching her back twist and turn while painstakingly unsnapping the buckles. She stands to one side and shimmies the boot, careful to cause as little harm as possible. I should be thanking her for taking care with my daughter, but at the same time I just want her to hurry the hell up so I can comfort my little girl.

  The instant the skate is completely removed, blood starts teeming all over the floor, pouring out of Ella’s punctured flesh like someone opened the flood gates to the Hoover Dam. A guttural sob escapes as the image burns into my pupils, permanently seared to my memory.

  Desperate to get to my child’s side, I jerk and rotate my shoulders for escape. She needs me. She needs her Mummy.

  A stream of curse words carries over the violent screeching of a machine. I can’t see clearly through tear-blurred eyes and shamefully give up my struggles because I’m not strong enough. I’m not enough.

  A piercing whine builds from my other side. I turn to see what’s creating the ear-splitting whine building until a sharp Scottish voice demands that everyone is, too: “Clear.” Then a jolt’s sent through my Mattie’s tiny body, sending her undeveloped frame rigidly leaping off the thin mattress.

  Jon wraps my head into the nook of his elbow, folding him into me, or is it me into him, I can’t tell. Luke’s strong hold is firm as our three bodies shift for a better fit.

  “Clear.” the woman demands again. “No response, continue CPR,” pressing something onto Mattie’s chest as the high-pitched whine increases again.

  “Clear.” There’s another jolt. Mattie convulses, and then thuds limply. “Charge again… darn it, come on,” she says through clenched teeth. “Clear.”

  Another convulsion. Another limp non-response.

  “Call for an O.R. We need to take her now.” This is the male voice dictating directions over Ella. “We need to stop this bleeding yesterday people,” he growls, tearing off his gloves and letting them drop to the already littered white vinyl floor. They hurriedly snap the sides of Ella’s bed in place.

  “Just bring it all,” he barks impatiently, pulling the bed towards a set of imposing white doors with glass panels in the top quarter. “And DO NOT let go of that FOOT.” The last of his words are lost to the laborious swing of the heavy wood they took a third of my heart through.

  “Again. No. I said again.” This demand is from Mattie’s doctor. “Don’t you dare stop CPR.” The whining builds and I know what comes next. The jolt I feel from across the room piercing red hot through my heart.

  “Clear,” she calls desperately. The electrical current arcs its way through my baby’s body. She falls limp. They all stop and listen hard, as though they can all hear through the doctor’s stethoscope. “CPR. Charge.”

  “Avery it’s been-”

  “Charge.”

  A dreadful suffocating sensation fills my senses, my legs go limp and I feel my body dropping in slow motion to the floor, dragging Jon and Luke down with me.

  “Clear.”

  The jolt chips at my heart and sends my head snapping into Jon’s jaw. He doesn’t even react to the hit.

  Mattie’s limp, unresponsive.

  “Avery.” A mature voice sounds from far away.

  “No-”

  “Avery, it’s time. You need to call it.”

  The doctor hovering over my baby straightens; her posture becomes rigid for a moment, before drooping in defeat. Her back’s to me so I can’t see the expression on her face, but hear her inhale deeply. She snaps her gloves off and throws them harshly to the floor, then turns so I can see her profile. She looks upwards while taking a sidewards step away from the cot.

  She rests her hand
s on her hips and lowers her head, “Time of death…” Another deep breath. I’m silently begging her not to say it. Please don’t say those words.

  “Time of death,” she repeats in a pained whisper.

  Please don’t say them… please.

  “… Fifteen twenty hours.”

  The doctor finally turns in our direction, her dark brown doe eyes widening in surprise. I don’t think she knew we were in the room, witnessing, watching, and slowly dying on the inside. Pausing briefly before walking to us, she spares a hard stare at the nurse that brought us here.

  “The whole time?” she questions disbelievingly. Out of the corner of my eye I see the young nurse nod once in response. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  Crouching down to be at my eye level, the doctor’s coffee coloured cheeks glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights. “I am sorry for your loss,” she begins sounding almost genuine and not overly rehearsed. “We did everything in our power, but...” she sighs, then shifts her body weight so she is blocking out the scene continuing on behind her, “it just wasn’t enough today. I’m so very sorry.” Her lips press tightly and brows rise as though she is fighting back tears while studying my face. I hear Jon sob, his shoulders shaking against my side with every deep, silent gut-wrenching release and I know I should be reacting too, but the poor woman in front of me looks so shattered I’m afraid if I break, she is going to break too, and I can’t have that. I can’t deal with her pain as well.

  Luke shifts his long legs so they are straddling me and wraps me deeper within his frame, protecting me from the world outside my fragile bubble. A hand squeezes my shoulder before the doctor stands and returns to the other side of the room and draws the curtain around my baby’s bed.

  I’m left staring at pale blue drapery, shimmering under the artificial glow of the harsh lighting. Hearing the murmuring of indecipherable conversations that I know are about me coming from behind the curtain. With a man I haven’t seen since childhood comforting me, his forehead pressed gently to the side of my head, breathing deep warm breaths across my cheek and down my neck; and masculine, harrowing sobs coming from my brother-in-law.