Margaret could hear the phone ringing as if from some far-distant place. She knew it was Hilary. Hilary was the only one who rang her in the mornings. She closed her eyes again and felt herself drifting off. She was in such a peaceful place. Even her breathing was easier. If she had known it would be like this she would have stopped taking the tablets long ago. The fear of anticipation she’d endured these past few days was no more. In fact she’d never felt more empowered, Margaret realized, pleasantly surprised. She had made the choice. Not some anonymous medic, or her children. She gave a little sigh. That last time in A&E had been the turning point. How she had cried when the ambulance crew had placed her gently on the trolley, when she had collapsed at Sunday evening Mass in January. ‘I don’t want to go there, just bring me home,’ she’d pleaded. The men were kind to her. Very kind. She could not fault them. She had been in the care of Dublin Fire Brigade and Ambulance crews so many times in the past years. And always the kindness. But not even kindness could erase the dread of what awaited her beyond the doors of hell as Margaret had come to think of A&E.
This time had been even worse. There were no beds, no cubicles. The entrance hall was lined with patients on trolleys and ambulance crews waiting for their trolleys to go back out on the road.
‘Been here three hours,’ Margaret heard one crewman tell her minder. ‘That man over there has MRSA, post surgery open wound, should be in isolation. He’s been attended to behind a screen. It’s crazy!’
Crazy it was. She had eventually been transferred to a bed in a cubicle, with a drunk, yelling and puking, in the adjoining cubicle. The nurse and doctor were trying to calm him down, pacifying him with enormous patience. How she had longed to get out of her bed and go over to him and smack him hard and tell him to behave himself and leave beds for people who were ill through no fault of their own.
And then the pain of the cannula being inserted into her frail hands. It had made her cry. And the blood tests, the interminable blood tests. She was black and blue after it, her arms like pincushions from the nurses trying to find veins that would give up their red bounty.
Two days and nights she had lain in that nightmarish place, unable to sleep, or eat the slop they called food. Niall, Sue and Hilary had taken turns to be with her and she had fretted at the amount of time they had to waste, standing, without even a chair to sit on, when their own lives were so busy. Never again, Margaret had sworn when she was finally wheeled away to a hospital ward.
She had felt the effects of that last hospital stay much more than previous ones. All she was able to do on her return home was potter around, from her sitting room to her kitchen, and watch TV. Her sight was fading, even with her glasses. She could no longer see the birds feeding out in the garden. Reading was difficult. All she was doing was waiting for the inevitable. What was the point of delaying it? New medical discoveries and medications were prolonging life, but at what cost when you were existing as opposed to living? In her day pneumonia was known as the old people’s friend. Now it was treated with antibiotics and steroids. Until another dose came and the whole palaver started again. What was the point of keeping her alive with her ageing heart and aching body, when she had come to know that death was preferable? Why did she have to do this alone? Could hospice care not be extended to all? In a hospice death was given the respect it deserved. In hospital you were made well enough to be discharged. And then they were finished with you and you had to get on with it until the next time. Margaret had spent many hours pondering the ethical questions. The spiritual questions. The practical questions. Until she had made peace with her decision. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought, she decided. If she was at peace with it, and she was, then that was all that mattered. That knowledge gave her comfort and courage.
When the time came to make the decision to stop taking her tablets, she was well prepared. She had spent a delightful Sunday with Niall, Hilary and her beloved granddaughters, making the very most of it, knowing that it was her last one with them. She would miss them dreadfully, especially Millie, her favourite. Sadness crept around her weary heart. Millie and she had always been extra close. But her grandchildren were young and, though they would grieve for her, their lives were so fast-paced now
