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‘I’m sorry, miss.’ A hand rests on my shoulder, and I look blankly up to the paramedic who brought Theo in. ‘We did all we could.’
My head turns back to the bed as they all move away. My big man is now free from feeling hands, his body still, his face peaceful. I breathe in an unsteady breath, my lips trembling, my eyes pooling, as I tread carefully towards him, as quiet as can be, like I’m scared I might wake him. My teeth are chattering. My eyes pouring with tears. And my heart just died along with him.
My grief pours from my eyes in fast, fat drops, dripping all over his face as I lean over him, getting as close as I can, losing it completely. I cry like I’ve never cried before, in loud, body-jerking sobs. ‘Where were you?’ I weep, my breath hitching over my words. ‘Where were you all this time, Theo? Why didn’t you come back to me?’ My forehead meets his shoulder, the pain, the devastation, hitting my heart like a bullet, causing the crack to branch off like breaking glass, ensuring it’s completely broken.
Destroyed.
Dead.
I can feel grief gripping me, holding me prisoner in its clutches, and I know it will never let me go. He’s gone. I’ve lost him. I’m fast slipping into darkness, my body physically rolling in pain.
Rolling.
My body is rolling. It undulated, and it wasn’t my relentless sobbing that made it do so. I still, swallowing down my next sob, waiting for it to happen again. But it doesn’t. I pull away from Theo’s lifeless form, scrubbing at my eyes and looking across at the heart monitor. The line is still flat, and a doctor has started to disconnect the wires. ‘Wait,’ I murmur. I see him look over the bed to me out of the corner of my eye, but I keep my eyes trained on that screen, waiting, hoping, praying.
‘Miss?’
‘Just wait,’ I say, the seconds ticking by slowly. Nothing happens. No signs of life. I grit my teeth, willing movement of the line, even just a little flicker. ‘Come on,’ I breathe, grabbing Theo’s hand. He jerks, and I jump back in fright. ‘Try again,’ I shout, urgency coursing through my veins. ‘You have to try again.’
‘Miss, he’s gone,’ the nurse says gently, his hands paused on the wires.
‘He moved.’
‘That’s not unusual.’
‘He moved,’ I yell, squeezing Theo’s hand, mentally encouraging another one.
‘Miss, we know about spinal reflexes. It happens often after a passing.’
‘It wasn’t a spinal reflex,’ I yell frantically, turning to one of the nurses who was giving Theo chest compressions. ‘He moved because I touched him. All of his movements when you brought him in were because you were all touching him. He doesn’t like being touched.’ I release Theo’s hand and rush over to the nurse, grabbing the front of his uniform. I’m aware this could be considered assaulting a staff member, but I don’t care if they throw me in jail for ten years. He moved. ‘Please, try again,’ I demand, my deranged behaviour sending the room quiet. ‘Please, I beg you. He’s still got life in him.’
The nurse flicks his eyes over to his colleague, then to Theo on the bed as I wait what seems like a lifetime for him to give in to my demand. Yes or no, Theo will be getting more CPR. I’ll do it myself if I have to. Seconds tick by, and I give up waiting for him to decide whether he’s going to try. I run across to do it myself, my hands looking so small against Theo’s chest as I start pumping. I’m out of breath after a few seconds, my strength pitiful as I sob through my weak attempts.
‘Move,’ the nurse says, pushing his way past me. ‘We need some weight behind the compressions.’
So much air leaves my lungs, they hurt. He glances at the monitor as he puts his hands into position, and I can see the doubt in his eyes. But he starts pumping anyway, his jaw tight. He’s exhausted; there’s a sheen of sweat coating his face. He doesn’t ask for someone to take over. He carries on, small grunts escaping with each compression. ‘Come on,’ he whispers. The grey skin of Theo’s face and the blackness of his sockets seem to darken before my eyes as I wait, a lump that feels like a tennis ball settling in my throat. All three of us stare at the flat line, seeing no change, and I start to build my plea for another round of compressions. For more drugs. Anything. My joined hands come up to my face, praying.
And then it happens. What I’ve prayed for actually happens.
The line jumps.
My hands fall away from my face, my eyes burning, refusing to blink in case I miss it.
