Date : Thursday, February 21, 2008
Time : 8:56 PM

Title :

-part 3-


Then I was in a house with some people who must have taken me in. One of them asked me if I wanted something to eat, and although I was hungry I was too shy to accept, so I said no. Then, my mum came to fetch me, and I was so happy, so happy to see her. I ran to her when she came into the room and flung my arms around her, and I can remember smiling and smiling and smiling at her....endlessly smiling. I was so happy....and all the people in the room at the table were smiling at me, because I was so....happy to have my mum back.

Then I realized what all this is about. Once upon a time, you see, I was a person too. I was a girl called Michele. I had a mother. The woman with the black hair- you see? A father - the small man she calls Ant who smells of cigarettes who comes in with her sometimes. And who knows? Brothers...sisters and friends.

It was long ago. Then something happened. The woman, the mother, thinks that I'm still Michele. Poor woman! I wish I could tell her that Michele is gone. Once I was, but then something happened and I got turned into this instead.

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"I don't believe she's in any pain," says Dr Morris patiently.

I nod, but I can't get it out of my mind. What if she's lying there in agony, day after day, week after week, month after month? And she can't say a word.

"The real question is not if she's in any pain, but whether or not she's ever going to wake up. It's been eight months now," says Dr Morris. " Physically she's perfectly healthy, but we have no evidence of any personality at all."

My Michele...she's perfectly healthy but she has no personality. And now the hospital has had enough. There are so many patients and not enough staff, not enough beds, not enough doctors. Of course, she has a right to life, but there is an alternative. We can simply withdraw support. No drugs to kill her, but no medicines to fight off infection, and no food and drink to sustain her. She would be heavily sedated, there would be no discomfort-assuming she is capable of discomfort, which one of us believe any more anyway. She would pass quietly away without any fuss or distress within a week.

Ant squeezes my hand. We've talked about this before. We knew it was coming. Probably it's the right thing to do.

Probably is a big word.

Ant clears his throat. The doctor looks up.

" What are the chances that she might come around after so long?" he wants to know.

" Very small." The doctor shakes his head.." Brain activity is very low. I would be most suprised if there was ever any improvement. In our opinion...."

" In your opinion, she should die." My voice jars in the little consultation office. Doctor Morris purses his lips.

"In my opinion, Michele is already dead, Mrs Sams. At this stage, we're just making a recommendation. The decision is yours. I understand how painful this must be."

Ant nods. " While there's life, there's hope," he says.

The doctor bows his head. " In this case very little hope, I'm afraid."

" But there is some," I insist.

"Very little," he repeats.

Ant and I nod, like dogs in the back of the car.

We go into her room and watch her. Is that my daughter? Is there anyone here apart from us? While there's life there hope, but hope can be cruel. What about the rest of us? Our son, Simon. Poor child, he's had little enough of my attention this past year. The stain is crushing us. Michele silently ruining our lives. The coma goes on and on and on. She is not my daughter anymore. She is, to put it bluntly, a vegetable.

I sit on the bed and hold up her things. Her little tank top. Do you remember, Michele? Nana bought you this...you wore it until it got so tight it look so ridiculous and I had to hide it from you. Do you remember this Michele? Michele? Michele? Please wake up darling....

" Michele, wake up, Michele wake up! You have to wake up please, darling, it's getting very late. Michele!!!"

Ant takes my arm. I'm shouting.

" She can't hear you, Julie."

I stand up. I take a breath.

" We can't be sure."

" We can never be sure. But."

" Give her another week. One week."

He smiles. " A bit longer than that, perhaps. There's no hurry."

" We've waited this long."

" It's her birthday next month. Let's wait for that."

-to be continued-