INTRODUCING KATJA

Introducing Katja, my fiery, strong willed beautiful niece. She is also a talented writer and when I read what she had written for a school assignment, it gave me chills. It's based on her cousin Ashton but written from my perspective. I will let you make up your own minds.

PLAN B

Plan B. It is simply the plan before C, and after A. But how many more plans can be left after C? Do we simply continue on until we reach the final letter, Z? And if so, how does one get to Z and still bear some resemblance of sanity? But here we are, plan B. We were promised that this plan would work, but I’m sure that is exactly what he said when we discussed plan A. The thought that maybe I should question trusting him again flashes through my mind, but in reality, who else can we trust? This is the drastic alternative decision that I, we, had to make to save our baby’s life. 

 Approaching the decaying hospital with my husband’s hand in my right and my girl’s hand in my left all I can think is, here we are again. The familiarity of the Dettol clean hospital that never fills me with the warmth and certainty I desire enters my field of vision. This place, although, overflowing with heavenly blessed nurses and doctors, still will forever remain sterile, cold and uninviting. As we sit and wait for her name to be called, I stare at the stained yellow wallpaper covering the wall in front of me, and I fade out of reality wondering what each stain means and how it got there. Each one telling a different story of what these halls have witnessed, whether that be of pain or happiness is beyond me. 

After waiting for what feels like two hours but in reality is only ten minutes, her name is called. My internal organs start to twist and knot themselves as we embrace her one last time before she leaves us. I hold her with my arms surrounding her in a protective mothers cocoon, hoping and praying that this won’t be goodbye. The only seven letter and two syllable word that can bring me to my knees. As they call for her again, my husband pulls me off her, and reminds me, “she will come back to us, she is a fighter.” She walks away from us entering the guarded hallway and our ability to see her is lost as the doctor shuts the heavy door behind her. I talk to her in my mind, hoping she can hear me, begging her to never give in and that I’ll be here, waiting, on the other side. 

As the clock continues to tick, tick, tick, tick my head slowly begins to become too heavy for my shoulders to bear. How much longer can I wait before the tears start marring my crumpled face and the fear that I might lose my daughter consumes me again? The realisation that I just gave permission for a random man to violate my daughter in such a way that  can either save her or kill her sinks in. It’s like tempting fate isn’t enough for me anymore, and I am offering my daughter on a silver platter as a sacrifice to the gods, asking for them to take her away. Did we make the right decision? Please tell me my angel child will cradle into my protective warmth again. The memory of her floral smelling soft brown hair fills my mind and unconsciously, I move to accommodate her imaginary head in my lap. As the thought of being able to hold my child again relaxes me, exhaustion takes over and I fade out into my fantasy world in my husband’s arms. 

I hear her laughing, and in my head I can see her gleaming smile, ear to ear, brightening the halls of our small family home. Gliding around in her fathers arms she dances and giggles over how awful of a dancer he is. My face softens at the beautiful scene in front. The sun bright, but she brighter, and the soft tones of her dress complimenting her pale skin highlighting the beauty that she has to offer the world. Her green eyes shimmering with mischief and his with adoration. My perfect little family. Love fills my lungs as I breathe in the air of my fantasy world, where all is quiet and still, and no harm can come to my loved ones.

Soft shakes wake me as my husband whispers, “they are done.” I look at the once annoying clock, it reads 10pm, ten hours have passed. I see a nurse out of the corner of my eye glance my way. Our eyes lock and her eyes liven slightly, she raises her thumbs and whispers, “success”. That is all I needed, and the barriers that I have built up protecting the river of tears from overflowing, break down and all I can do is weep. We made the right decision. A trolley is rolled out from behind the barred doors and I can see her angelic body laying silent in its hold. They wheel her past us into a private room and as they did before, they lock us out, shattering my hope that I could possibly just touch her and feel her life force for just a second, so that I know, that my baby is safe. 

As time passes, minute by minute, second by second, frustration begins to seep in mixing with the ever present exhaustion. Breathing heavily, rage swirls with in. Why can we not see her yet? Ten hours of not knowing, ten hours of waiting, ten hours of excruciating pain and they can’t have the decency to tell us how she is, and what they achieved. The only thing keeping me from screaming is the memory of the nurses’ words, ‘success’. I grasp onto this memory, knowing that I just have to trust them. 

A single nurse finally walks out of her ward and approaches us. She invites us in to see her, but warns us, that although strong, my angel is tired and is hanging on to her life with the help of modern medical machinery. I slowly stand after sitting down for what feels like days and the blood rushes to my oxygen deprived legs. Pins and needles begin to burn down my thigh but the thought of seeing my baby, allows me to push through the pain. I think to myself, place one foot in front of the other, that is all you have to do. Steadily I sway down the never ending hallway towards her cold room where she lies waiting for me. Nurses buzz past me at a million miles an hour fluttering like little angels, but all I can focus on is my destination.

As I turn the corner into her ward, I have to stop myself for a minute. My hand reflexively covers my mouth as I start to tremble seeing her there under all the tubes and wires, so fragile. No matter how many times I see her like this, it is always a shock that I can never prepare for. My husband holds me tighter as my legs start to give out on me. He looks down at me and entwines our fingers, “We do this together.” He gives me the strength that I need to continue to walk towards her bed. The nurse walks along beside us and begins to ask her questions;

“Where are you? What is your name? What is the date? When were you born?”

Knowing that she grows bored of these stupid questions, I ask my daughter one I know that she will enjoy, “Who is going to win the grand final this year?”

She whispers, “West Coast.” Relief sweeps through me as the tears begin to travel down my gleaming face. She is still in there. She is still the girl we raised. She looks up at her father and I knowing that she is now in a safe place, and her eyes flutter shut. I slowly hear the heart monitor slow down as sleep consumes her and her recovery begins.

My body relaxes knowing she is in good hands and that it was a ‘success’. After a few minutes of standing over our daughter in a loving bubble, we are interrupted by a slight cough. Turning, I see the doctor in his pristine white coat holding his clipboard which contains all my daughter’s information. He takes in a deep breathe as he slowly approaches us and I am torn between my knowledge of the brain surgery being a ‘success’ and my dreaded gut feeling that something is not right. It was at that point in time in which the thought that maybe everything is not as good as I was previously informed rattles me. The Doctor turns to us with an apologetic glance and I suddenly knew instinctively from the doctors face, although it was the ending of plan B, there would still need to be a plan C. It wasn't over yet.