This is an instalment of an autobiographical series. For more information and a list of instalments so far, see right.
It
was a few days after New Year. Our little potted Christmas tree with its ropes
of white and coloured lights was still twinkling in the sitting-room. Christmas
cards still looped around the house on pieces of red string.
We’d spent the festive season just the two of us, as we usually did these days. My siblings’ houses filled up with their children and in-laws and, with my parents gone, there was nowhere else for us to stay. As for Frog’s family . . . well, that was another story.
I’d found the time a little sad – Christmas was always a tricky time for me, remembering my estrangement from my parents. At least it had been normal however, unlike the year before when Christmas had been ‘cancelled’ because of Covid and there’d been an all-pervading air of gloom.
We were now into 2022, and a new start for all of us, I hoped.
Frog
watched as I prepared to take Ellie out, zipping myself in my ancient quilted
coat and lacing my feet into walking boots.
‘I might come with you today,’ he said.
‘That would be lovely,’ I said. ‘I can show you the new route I’ve found.’
I meant it, but I was puzzled. What had prompted that? He never normally came out with me on my daily walks round home.
But then everything about him was strange these days.
As we set off, the sun shone but a cold wind was blowing and I was glad of my hat, gloves and scarf – red this morning in honour of the season. Choosing the different colours of my hat, gloves and scarf each morning gave a lift to wintry days.
The start of the walk was a steep climb up the lane behind the house, and as Frog fell behind I grew impatient. Why was he walking so slowly?
At one stage he’d been using the hill as an aerobic training track, charging up it daily in an effort to bring his blood pressure down. It hadn’t worked however, and nor had the Chinese herbs, and he was now on conventional medication. So his health should have been under control. Had he simply become unfit instead?
His mother of course had died of a stroke at fifty-nine, so he’d approached that milestone with trepidation, but it was now ten years behind him.
I charged on ahead and stopped at a gate halfway up the hill to wait for him. There was a view eastward over fields and hills, and I breathed in the space and the silence and the fresh air. Even at this time of year, nature restored me.
But where was Frog? He’d been ages. I looked back.
At last he appeared around a corner below, and I was shocked. He was hardly moving. Each footstep appeared to be an effort. He looked old - and I'd never thought that before.
When he reached the gateway I shifted to one side to give him space, but as I did so he gave a small cry of surprise and fell to the ground.
His eyes closed and his breathing became intermittent and I knew something was seriously wrong. I rang 999, my hands shaking.
On autopilot, I explained in detail exactly where I was, which wasn’t easy as we were far from civilisation. Luckily, as I’d been walking the area for over forty years I could name every farm and crossroads in the vicinity. It took some time doing so.
When I described Frog’s symptoms, the person on the phone suggested I try and resuscitate him. I didn’t understand that. How could you bring someone back from unconsciousness?
A neighbour had been resuscitated by his son and ever since he’d been in a wheelchair.
They wanted me to put my phone on ‘speaker’ so that they could give me instructions, but my phone was too old for that, and then in my flurry I dropped it and lost it in the undergrowth.
I tried to resuscitate Frog anyway as I’d had some training in first aid a long time ago, but he was sprawled awkwardly against a bank, difficult to get at and far too heavy for me to move.
As if by a miracle – by my reckoning it had only been a few minutes since Frog had collapsed - two ambulances and a medical car arrived, and an Air Ambulance helicopter landed in the field the other side of the gate.
The farmer sped up on a quad bike from his yard below and unlocked the gate.
With packs on their backs and cases in their hands, medics leapt out. They lifted Frog into the field and started attaching equipment to him.
We’d spent the festive season just the two of us, as we usually did these days. My siblings’ houses filled up with their children and in-laws and, with my parents gone, there was nowhere else for us to stay. As for Frog’s family . . . well, that was another story.
I’d found the time a little sad – Christmas was always a tricky time for me, remembering my estrangement from my parents. At least it had been normal however, unlike the year before when Christmas had been ‘cancelled’ because of Covid and there’d been an all-pervading air of gloom.
We were now into 2022, and a new start for all of us, I hoped.
‘I might come with you today,’ he said.
‘That would be lovely,’ I said. ‘I can show you the new route I’ve found.’
I meant it, but I was puzzled. What had prompted that? He never normally came out with me on my daily walks round home.
But then everything about him was strange these days.
As we set off, the sun shone but a cold wind was blowing and I was glad of my hat, gloves and scarf – red this morning in honour of the season. Choosing the different colours of my hat, gloves and scarf each morning gave a lift to wintry days.
The start of the walk was a steep climb up the lane behind the house, and as Frog fell behind I grew impatient. Why was he walking so slowly?
At one stage he’d been using the hill as an aerobic training track, charging up it daily in an effort to bring his blood pressure down. It hadn’t worked however, and nor had the Chinese herbs, and he was now on conventional medication. So his health should have been under control. Had he simply become unfit instead?
His mother of course had died of a stroke at fifty-nine, so he’d approached that milestone with trepidation, but it was now ten years behind him.
I charged on ahead and stopped at a gate halfway up the hill to wait for him. There was a view eastward over fields and hills, and I breathed in the space and the silence and the fresh air. Even at this time of year, nature restored me.
But where was Frog? He’d been ages. I looked back.
At last he appeared around a corner below, and I was shocked. He was hardly moving. Each footstep appeared to be an effort. He looked old - and I'd never thought that before.
When he reached the gateway I shifted to one side to give him space, but as I did so he gave a small cry of surprise and fell to the ground.
His eyes closed and his breathing became intermittent and I knew something was seriously wrong. I rang 999, my hands shaking.
On autopilot, I explained in detail exactly where I was, which wasn’t easy as we were far from civilisation. Luckily, as I’d been walking the area for over forty years I could name every farm and crossroads in the vicinity. It took some time doing so.
When I described Frog’s symptoms, the person on the phone suggested I try and resuscitate him. I didn’t understand that. How could you bring someone back from unconsciousness?
A neighbour had been resuscitated by his son and ever since he’d been in a wheelchair.
They wanted me to put my phone on ‘speaker’ so that they could give me instructions, but my phone was too old for that, and then in my flurry I dropped it and lost it in the undergrowth.
I tried to resuscitate Frog anyway as I’d had some training in first aid a long time ago, but he was sprawled awkwardly against a bank, difficult to get at and far too heavy for me to move.
As if by a miracle – by my reckoning it had only been a few minutes since Frog had collapsed - two ambulances and a medical car arrived, and an Air Ambulance helicopter landed in the field the other side of the gate.
The farmer sped up on a quad bike from his yard below and unlocked the gate.
With packs on their backs and cases in their hands, medics leapt out. They lifted Frog into the field and started attaching equipment to him.
I stood out of the way in the road and put Ellie on her lead. She was barking
loudly. What was going on? Why were all these people here? Why was Frog the
centre of attention and not her?
Tim, a neighbour from further up the road appeared at my side.
‘Can I help?’ he asked.
‘Could you take Ellie,’ I said, proffering the lead.
‘Of course,’ he answered, taking the lead and walking back up the lane.
Ellie trotted after him without a backward glance.
A medic with a clipboard came up to me and took some details.
‘Would John want to be resuscitated,’ she asked, ‘if there was a chance he would be a vegetable?’
‘Absolutely not,’ I said, wondering why she even had to ask.
In any case, I had the conviction that somehow, in the bigger scheme of things, this was his time to go. He’d made his choice and we needed to respect that. Not that I could possibly have said that to anyone.
Tim, a neighbour from further up the road appeared at my side.
‘Can I help?’ he asked.
‘Could you take Ellie,’ I said, proffering the lead.
‘Of course,’ he answered, taking the lead and walking back up the lane.
Ellie trotted after him without a backward glance.
‘Would John want to be resuscitated,’ she asked, ‘if there was a chance he would be a vegetable?’
‘Absolutely not,’ I said, wondering why she even had to ask.
In any case, I had the conviction that somehow, in the bigger scheme of things, this was his time to go. He’d made his choice and we needed to respect that. Not that I could possibly have said that to anyone.
I tried not to look as they injected him and gave him electric shocks. His body
shook like a jelly, but there was no sign of life.
The helicopter departed, and the two ambulances set off in convoy for the
hospital in Exeter, Frog in the first, attached to life-support machinery, and me
in the second with two paramedics.
At the hospital they left me in a small empty room, saying they were going to continue trying to resuscitate him. I perched on the edge of a seat, struggling to breathe. Still in my dog-walking clothes, I felt hot and frumpy.
A new person appeared and told me they’d stopped trying. Did I want to see him?
I nodded.
It took them some time to find the key for the room but at last they let me in and shut the door behind me.
At the hospital they left me in a small empty room, saying they were going to continue trying to resuscitate him. I perched on the edge of a seat, struggling to breathe. Still in my dog-walking clothes, I felt hot and frumpy.
A new person appeared and told me they’d stopped trying. Did I want to see him?
I nodded.
It took them some time to find the key for the room but at last they let me in and shut the door behind me.
I touched Frog’s hand. It was cold. His clothed body lay like a straw man
without stuffing. I wondered whether his spirit was still around but I didn’t
sense it.
Thank you, I whispered to him. Thank you for our life together. Thank you. Thank you.
I couldn’t stop saying thank you.
Thank you, I whispered to him. Thank you for our life together. Thank you. Thank you.
I couldn’t stop saying thank you.
To be continued
No comments:
Post a Comment
Your comment won't be visible immediately. It comes to me first (via email) so that I can check it's not spam. I try to reply to every comment but please be assured that, even if I don't, every genuine comment is read with interest and greatly appreciated. Thank you!