Saturday Night Memories

A weekend that started of with all the promises of happiness and togetherness. Mellow Fridays with dvd’s and take out.
An early start on Saturday morning to go drool over cars that are worth more than our house.
A call to make a reservation at the pub for the two of us to go watch the game.
A quick snoozle before heading out to go cheer for our team.
A great vibe, laughing and joking, just the two of us. Kisses stolen across the table.
The phone call.
It all changes…

We leave. He goes out to turn the car around quickly so that we are pointing to the entrance to make a quick getaway. I pay, begging the waiter to hurry up. It's an emergency.
It's raining gently.
Drive carefully, I beg. Hazard lights. High emotion, yet all feels so calm. Another panicked call. Tears. Sobs. Helplesness. Trying so hard to reassure. We’re almost there baby …

Damn! The gate won’t open! Out in the rain. Push the gate. Take one look at someone you love. Helpless. Broken. Distraught. At the end of what she can deal with. A reassuring hug. Quickly inside. Time seems to race, but all seems in slow motion.
A box of sleeping tablets swallowed.
A cold running shower. A toothbrush down her throat. I grab under her shoulders, he grabs her legs. All of us now sopping wet. I wonder if she is still alive. The dead weight under me starts slipping. I can’t make it to the door. Swap positions. I grab her legs, he grabs under her arms.
She opens her eyes. Dazed. The look of the lost and the dead. I don’t know whether or not I feel relieved. Even in this very moment, I know that the look on your face will haunt me forever. We manage to get her in the car. On her side. She has gone so thin. As ugly as the wheezing and retching sounds, it gives me some reassurance that she is still alive. Don’t you dare die on my beat. It all comes rushing back to me.
The rain belts down.

The drive to the closest hospital. Senses on overdrive. Hyper alert. Adrenaline rushing. Find the clinic. Find the entrance. Shout at the blank faces that greet me to get a stretcher. Run back inside when I see them not moving. I want to punch them. Run in to the ward. Get a stretcher myself. Push it back outside.
The rain is falling in sheets.

We are soaked. Get her inside. See that there is a competent looking doctor there. Rush back outside. Move the cars to the parking lot. Back inside. Doctors. Drips. Questions. Tears. More questions. Fill in this form. Medical Aid details. Walk outside. The adrenaline has subsided. My body starts to ache. Hot tears burn my cheeks. I squeeze his hand a little harder. He looks at me, wipes the tears away, and squeezes my hand back. Smoking outside. Questions. How can one person feel so alone and be so sad?

The rain falls persistently.
Back to casualty. Lukewarm tea with no milk. We wait. Read some magazine left in the waiting room. My eyes going over the same sentence three times, not reading, not caring, just waiting. Stable. Transfer to ward. Sighs of relief. Time to go home.

Back home, emotions rush over me like tidal waves. Memories flood back. I’ve been there. I’ve done this before. Do I look like the damn suicide patrol? I cry. I don’t sleep. I cry more. I crawl into his arms and listen to his breathing, wishing that I could crawl under his skin and be safe there from all of these memories.
The rain falls gently still.
It gets lighter.
It’s a new day.