was. It had seemed like an emergency at the time, but the 999 operator had given me short shrift.
This was a different story I was taken very seriously, told to put Mam in the recovery position (whatever that is) and promised that an ambulance was on its way. While we waited, I held Mam's hand and begged her not to die.
'I've a good mind to,' she gasped, 'That'd teach your father.'
The awful thing was I didn't even have a phone number for Dad. I should have insisted on getting hard-faced Colette's number, in case of emergency, but I'd been too proud to ask.
Mam was wheezing and fighting for breath - it was absolutely terrifying, I can't tell you - and I couldn't get over my bad luck. Imagine! Losing two parents in one week. It had never said that in last Sunday's horoscope.
This was the time that I wished that the autumnal evening classes you and I used to sign up for (but never go to after week three) had been in first aid, instead of yoga or Spanish conversation. I might have learned something that made the difference between my mother living and dying.
I half-remembered something about aspirin - weren't you meant to do something with that for heart-attack victims? Either you were definitely supposed to give it to them, or you were definitely not supposed to…
In the distance came the sound of sirens, getting closer, then through the bedroom curtains the blue light flashed. I ran down to open the front door and ten minutes later when I'd undone all the chains and locks, two fine hefty young men (you'd have liked them) burst in, pounded up the stairs with a stretcher, strapped Mam on, then pounded backdown again, me scampering to keep up. They slid her into the ambulance, I hopped in after her, then they were attaching Mam to all kinds of monitors.
We wee-wah'ed through the streets as the men checked Mam's readings and I can't say how I knew but very shortly the atmosphere changed from efficiency to something less pleasant. The two men were giving each other funny looks and the knot in my stomach got worse.
'Will she die?' I asked.
'Nope.'
'Um…?'
Then one of the lads said, 'There's nothing wrong with her. No heart attack. No stroke. All her vital signs are fine.'
'But she was gasping,' I said. 'And she'd gone grey.'
'Probably a panic attack. See your GP about it, get some Valium.'
Can you imagine! The siren switched off. The ambulance was doing a u-turn and, at a much slower speed, Mam and I were returned home and deposited outside our front gate. Mortified. The lads were quite nice about it. When I clambered out I apologized for wasting their time and they just said, 'No bother.'
I went back to bed and I swear to God I was burning with shame, in flames from it. Every time I was just drifting off I'd remember again and go Aaaagh! and have to sit up. It took hours to get to sleep and when I woke up it was Saturday morning and time to read the rave review of Lily's book in the Irish Times . (Copy attached from the Irish Times website.)
I hate my life.
Although I'm glad it's cheering you up - but soon you'll make friends and you won't be lonely any more.
I have to go now because Dr Bailey is here (again). Please write and tell me nice things about Seattle.
Love
Gemma
PS I shouldn't even humour you on this, but if you really need to know, I thought the coffee flavour was too concentrated and I'd much prefer it with milk chocolate instead of dark.
I was allowed out to collect Mam's prescription from the chemist. Dr Bailey had prescribed stronger tranquillizers. Then he'd scribbled on his pad and said, 'Perhaps some anti-depressants too.'
Mam said, 'The only anti-depressant I want is for my husband to come home.'
'That's not on the market yet,' Dr Bailey said, already edging down the stairs and back to the golf course.
I went to the same chemist I'd gone to the other night. Not only had they been nice to me, but it was the nearest.
The door pinged and someone said, 'Hello again.' It was the same man
This was a different story I was taken very seriously, told to put Mam in the recovery position (whatever that is) and promised that an ambulance was on its way. While we waited, I held Mam's hand and begged her not to die.
'I've a good mind to,' she gasped, 'That'd teach your father.'
The awful thing was I didn't even have a phone number for Dad. I should have insisted on getting hard-faced Colette's number, in case of emergency, but I'd been too proud to ask.
Mam was wheezing and fighting for breath - it was absolutely terrifying, I can't tell you - and I couldn't get over my bad luck. Imagine! Losing two parents in one week. It had never said that in last Sunday's horoscope.
This was the time that I wished that the autumnal evening classes you and I used to sign up for (but never go to after week three) had been in first aid, instead of yoga or Spanish conversation. I might have learned something that made the difference between my mother living and dying.
I half-remembered something about aspirin - weren't you meant to do something with that for heart-attack victims? Either you were definitely supposed to give it to them, or you were definitely not supposed to…
In the distance came the sound of sirens, getting closer, then through the bedroom curtains the blue light flashed. I ran down to open the front door and ten minutes later when I'd undone all the chains and locks, two fine hefty young men (you'd have liked them) burst in, pounded up the stairs with a stretcher, strapped Mam on, then pounded backdown again, me scampering to keep up. They slid her into the ambulance, I hopped in after her, then they were attaching Mam to all kinds of monitors.
We wee-wah'ed through the streets as the men checked Mam's readings and I can't say how I knew but very shortly the atmosphere changed from efficiency to something less pleasant. The two men were giving each other funny looks and the knot in my stomach got worse.
'Will she die?' I asked.
'Nope.'
'Um…?'
Then one of the lads said, 'There's nothing wrong with her. No heart attack. No stroke. All her vital signs are fine.'
'But she was gasping,' I said. 'And she'd gone grey.'
'Probably a panic attack. See your GP about it, get some Valium.'
Can you imagine! The siren switched off. The ambulance was doing a u-turn and, at a much slower speed, Mam and I were returned home and deposited outside our front gate. Mortified. The lads were quite nice about it. When I clambered out I apologized for wasting their time and they just said, 'No bother.'
I went back to bed and I swear to God I was burning with shame, in flames from it. Every time I was just drifting off I'd remember again and go Aaaagh! and have to sit up. It took hours to get to sleep and when I woke up it was Saturday morning and time to read the rave review of Lily's book in the Irish Times . (Copy attached from the Irish Times website.)
I hate my life.
Although I'm glad it's cheering you up - but soon you'll make friends and you won't be lonely any more.
I have to go now because Dr Bailey is here (again). Please write and tell me nice things about Seattle.
Love
Gemma
PS I shouldn't even humour you on this, but if you really need to know, I thought the coffee flavour was too concentrated and I'd much prefer it with milk chocolate instead of dark.
I was allowed out to collect Mam's prescription from the chemist. Dr Bailey had prescribed stronger tranquillizers. Then he'd scribbled on his pad and said, 'Perhaps some anti-depressants too.'
Mam said, 'The only anti-depressant I want is for my husband to come home.'
'That's not on the market yet,' Dr Bailey said, already edging down the stairs and back to the golf course.
I went to the same chemist I'd gone to the other night. Not only had they been nice to me, but it was the nearest.
The door pinged and someone said, 'Hello again.' It was the same man
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