She gave her head a frantic shake.
‘Okay, that’s fine. But can you call 999 and ask for an ambulance while I check if Mum’s all right?’
Mum was clearly not all right. She was breathing, just, but when I rolled her into the recovery position it felt like manoeuvring a bag of sand. I couldn’t see anything to suggest she was injured, but while Joan squeaked her answers to the emergency operator, I didn’t feel a twitch or hear the tiniest murmur to give me hope that this was anything but deadly serious.
‘Come on, Leanne, stay with us,’ I muttered, leaning close as I wiped the hair off her clammy forehead and straightened her T-shirt, my fear ramping up as I felt the bones jutting through her scant flesh.
From what I had managed to take in of Joan’s conversation, Leanne had come home early from work because she’d not been well. I knew how bad she must have felt to abandon a shift.
The woman on the end of the phone asked Joan if her mum was on any medication.
‘Just headache tablets.’ Joan looked at me for reassurance. I scanned the room but found no evidence of anything but a life drowning in wretched chaos.
I’d been twenty-one, the first time I spent the night huddled in a plastic hospital chair, waiting to hear what had happened to my mother. Aunty Irene had sat beside me, holding my hand and passing me tissues and Steph had messaged me faithfully throughout those endless, anxious hours.
I now sat here with another girl waiting to be told whether her life was about to drastically change forever. Ramrod straight, as the clock on the wall crept its way towards morning, Joan sat in silence, her face a stoic mask.
She looked so much like her mother I could have cried – only resisting because I was supposed to be here supporting Joan, rather than falling apart.
The hospital staff had taken me to one side and asked if there was any other family we should call. Did I know what Leanne’s wishes might be regarding her daughter, should she need someone to take care of her? Was I aware of any ill health, any past issues that might be useful for the doctors to know about?
Every question was like another spike jamming between my ribs.
I was so tired, so worried that it was impossible to think, to consider what the right answer should be.
That’s not quite true – I knew one answer, without a shadow of a doubt. ‘I’m Joan’s childminder. I take care of her while Leanne’s at work. Most days after school and on Saturdays. There’s no one else, as far as I know, but I’ll look after her. I have a spare room, she knows me, she knows my house, her dog lives at my house. We even share a garden! You can’t send her to strangers; I know Leanne wouldn’t want that.’
My guts ripped inside out at the thought of Joan being anywhere but with me. When they started talking about social services, I called Steph, who listened to my garbled ramblings and told me to leave it with her, to go outside, take five deep breaths and then go back and sit with Joan.
The question about past issues or illnesses – where did I start?
‘I think she had an abusive partner, but she left him two, three years ago. She’s been unwell for a few weeks, with headaches and feeling sick and exhausted, but I don’t know any more than that.’
A while later, a doctor again took me to one side. ‘Are you aware of any history of drug use?’
My stomach took a nosedive. ‘She mentioned drugs, once, in reference to her ex-partner. She said she hasn’t drunk any alcohol since she left him.’
The clock ticked on. The shadows crept across the grey floor tiles. We sat in a semi-private waiting area, cocooned in the muffled background hum of a hospital: feet tapping along the corridors, the rustle of a nurse’s uniform, faint beeps and buzzes and hushed conversations. A sudden groan of agony.
It was two in the morning when the doctor told us that Leanne was stable, and settled for the night. They had more tests to do, and should be able to tell us more the following day.
‘I want to see her,’ Joan said, her voice cracking with fatigue.
‘Visitors aren’t allowed on the wards at night, in case it disturbs the other patients,’ a nurse explained gently.
‘I won’t disturb anyone! I won’t say anything. I just want to see her!’
‘She’s resting now, as should you be—’
‘Don’t tell me I should be resting when my mum is in a bed somewhere and I don’t even know what’s going to happen to her or what’s wrong or if she’s going to die!’ Finally, the dam broke, hot tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
‘Your mum isn’t going to die any time soon. Stable and settled means that although she is quite poorly, she’s not getting any worse at the moment, so we have time to figure out what’s wrong and treat it properly. I’ve worked in this hospital for thirty-two years, and I can promise you that the best thing you can do for Mum is make sure she knows that you’re okay, so she can concentrate on getting better. If you turn up looking like you’ve not slept all night, it won’t help.’
‘Concentrating can’t make people better! If that was true we wouldn’t need hospitals!’
The nurse worked valiantly to hide her smile. ‘No, but not worrying and keeping calm is medically proven to lower blood pressure and boost the immune system along with all sorts of other benefits that can genuinely help someone recover. Okay?’
Joan swiped at one tear. ‘Okay.’ Then she narrowed her eyes, looking from the nurse to the doctor and the other person standing with us, who had yet to introduce herself. ‘I’m only going if I can stay with Ollie, though!’
Joan stayed with me. By the time we got home there was barely any of the night left, and the doctor was hopeful that soon Leanne could be consulted about her daughter’s care. After mugs of hot chocolate left to go cold, and two pieces of toast that went stiff on the plate, I made up the sofa bed in my office, scooting around to Joan’s cottage to fetch her own duvet and pillow in the hope that the familiarity would help her sleep. I would have tucked her up in her own bed and slept on the sofa, if it wasn’t for a broken shower and piles of mess and my genuine concern that the mould could have caused Leanne’s illness.
I lay in bed, watching the sunrise beyond my open window, and thought about how life can flip inside out in one faltering heartbeat.
Joan looked about as awful as I felt when she shuffled downstairs later that morning. But we gamely attempted more toast and hot tea, and put on our bravest, most optimistic masks when we drove back to the hospital for afternoon visiting hours.