Annie
There’s a part of us, no matter our age, the condition of the relationship, or the damage done to it, that always wants Mum in a crisis. Waking up in hospital after being hit by a motorbike is one of those moments. Do I wish that wasn’t the case? Absolutely. But I wanted her at my graduation, wanted her there the day I had my first stall at a market, and wanted to phone her when it was a success. I also wanted her when I got bronchopneumonia last year, and at the dinner I had for my twenty-first birthday, even though she never acknowledged the twenty birthdays before that one. And now as I look around the foreign room filled with beeping machines, barely able to move, I want her again.
This time I even admit it aloud.
‘Mum,’ I say to the middle-aged woman in scrubs who’s scribbling on a chart.
She looks up from her notes and smiles at me. ‘Awake at last. Your mum’s in the waiting room with the rest of the fam, love.’
‘She is?’ I blink and feel tears run down into my hair.
Mum’s here.
With the rest of the family.
It must be more serious than I realise.
‘Let me just check a few things here, and then we’ll sit you up a bit. You gave everyone a bit of a scare.’
‘I did?’
‘Dr Singh will come speak with you shortly.’ She’s flitting around the room, pressing buttons and checking readings.
I move my arms and legs to make sure they’re still attached. My body is numb and heavy. ‘Did a motorbike hit me?’
She glances in my direction. ‘Yes, sweetheart. Going at around fifty kilometres per hour. Dr Singh will talk to you about your injuries. He did a wonderful job stitching your spleen back together.’
I swallow. My mouth is so dry. ‘It ruptured?’
‘You’re very fortunate that’s all that ruptured.’ She looks to the door as a man walks in. ‘Here he is.’
‘Ah, she wakes,’ the doctor says, giving me a smile. He takes the chart from the nurse and comes to stand beside the bed while he looks it over. ‘My name’s Dr Singh. If you’re feeling up to it, let’s have a little chat about the past twenty-four hours.’
‘Okay.’
He gives me all the details he knows about the accident, then goes through my injuries one at a time. The ruptured spleen, a fractured rib, and a number of superficial wounds. He talks about the surgery, the blood loss, and the decision made by my family to give me the transfusion.
I’m silent a moment. I don’t know why I still carry the card, but I know it has little to do with not wanting a transfusion. ‘Mum… agreed?’
‘You can probably thank your boyfriend for that,’ Dr Singh says with a tight smile. ‘He was quite insistent.’
‘My boyfriend?’ How hard did I hit my head?
‘Hayden is it? No, Hunter.’
Hunter’s here.
Of course he is.
‘She asked for Mum when she woke,’ the nurse tells him, ‘so we’ll send her in first.’
There’s some guilt on my part, because Mum gave up the right to be first in the room. But I don’t object. I watch the door, waiting for her to appear.
She looks like any other anxious mother as she steps into the room. There’s comfort in that. Despite everything that’s transpired over the past few years, every belief she holds so dearly, she can’t shake her instincts. I’m triumphant in that moment—and deeply sad.
The nurse drags a chair over to the bed, then leaves us. I’m relieved, because I don’t want anyone else to witness our discomfort.
‘How are you feeling?’ Mum asks, finally meeting my eyes.