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Below are three versions of the same story.

VERSION 1

FICTION

SILENT WITNESS – THIRD PERSON LIMITED OMNISCIENT

Sometimes Steve felt he couldn’t breathe with the weight of responsibility.  He just wanted the nightmare to be over, to resume his normal life, but that was impossible.  He strode along the concrete pavement, head bowed, deep in thought.  Outside the fish and chip shop he sidestepped a group of youngsters.  The aroma of fat and vinegar filled the air, reminding him he hadn’t eaten properly for days.

The weak autumn sunlight refused to lighten his burden as he walked up Bird’s Hill Road.  As usual the steepness of the last few metres caught him by surprise and by the time he had reached the top, he was breathing heavily.   

The hospital loomed ahead, like an indelible stain on the landscape, radiating sadness.  Outside the entrance the usual patients puffed furiously on cigarettes;  inside, posters urged you to sterilise your hands.  Reaching for the green bottle he obeyed, wincing as the liquid stung the tips of his fingers where he had chewed his fingernails to the quick.

He made his way to the respiratory ward his footsteps echoing as he navigated the warren of corridors.    As he approached room 15 he saw a nurse coming towards him.  She was dumpy with a mop of unruly flame red hair.     

‘Hi. Fancy seeing you here again?’  Brenda laughed.   

‘I can’t stay away.’  Steve smiled weakly.  He was pleased Brenda was the Sister on duty.  She was sympathetic, but not in a cloying way.

‘She was asleep when I last looked in.  Anyway, I know you’ll bring a smile to her face.  I’ll be along in a moment as I need to change her bedding,’ she called over her shoulder as she hurried by.

He pushed open the door to room 15, his second home. 

It was a small soulless square room.  Light flowed in from the window opposite the door.  In the middle of the room stood a functional hospital bed, upon which Maggie lay in a crumpled heap, her emaciated body dwarfed by the huge bed.  Her face was grey against the white pillow.   A mask ventilator system hung limply like a handless glove puppet above the bed. 

Steve bent down, his nose wrinkled at the smell, as gently he stroked Maggie’s lank hair.  Her forehead was creased in pain.  Hesitantly he touched her arm, reluctant to disturb her sleep. 

‘Hi, how are you feeling today?’ he said in a falsely cheery tone.

            ‘Steve is that you?’ Maggie replied, groggily. 

She tried to look at him, but her head lolled uselessly to one side.

            ‘Shh, it’s okay.  Try not to move,’ he winced at his choice of words.

‘I just want to close my eyes and never wake up.  I can’t feel my legs.’      

Steve closed his eyes.  He hadn’t yet explained to Maggie that she would never be able to feel her legs again, that her muscles had dissolved.   

Instead he said as positively as he could,

‘They’ve started to give you Riluzole.  I’ve read up about it on the internet and it sounds promising.’

‘Oh Steve, I’m exhausted,’

‘I’ve brought you a clean nightdress and some of that M&S apple juice you like so much.  I’ll put them over here,’ Steve said, ignoring her remark and making his way to the cupboard by the bed.

He opened the cupboard door and placed them inside.  As he straightened up he  glanced at the framed photo on top of the cupboard.  He picked it up, his fingertips tracing the outline of their smiling young faces.  It had been taken in the Pyrenees where they had gone climbing on their honeymoon twenty years ago.  Maggie was always stronger than him, always challenging him to push himself further.  Maybe it had been the wrong photo to bring.  Steve put it back. 

‘I’ve brought today’s newspaper.  I thought you might like to hear what’s happening in the world, although it’s the usual depressing stuff.’

‘I’m just pleased you’re here,’ Maggie said, a shadow of a smile playing on her lips.

He picked up the spare pillow, which had been placed in the chair by the bed and settled down.   Idly his hands brushed the cool cotton fabric as he chatted. 

‘You know I still don’t know how to operate that washing machine of ours.  Terrible really, I thought I was a modern man.’ 

‘Oh Steve, how many times have I told you?’ Maggie gave a weak laugh.

Opening The Times he read Maggie the headlines.  Eventually her eyelids became heavy and he was left with the sound of her shallow rhythmic breathing as she fell into a drug induced sleep.  The door opened.    

‘How are we doing in here?’  Brenda enquired as she entered the room. 

Her light blue uniform rustled as she walked and Steve caught a whiff of her perfume, it smelt exotic in the sterile room.

‘I don’t think she’s any better.’  Steve mumbled.

‘And what about you, how are you doing?’

‘Oh you know I’m OK it’s just….’  Steve took a deep breath and hurriedly brushed away the tears that had started. 

Brenda patted his back.    

‘Don’t worry.  Look I know what you’re going through.  Really I do.  I nursed my father.  He suffered from a similar illness,’  Her usual cheery smile was gone.   ‘It was a harrowing time, but if there was one thing I learnt it was this, as a carer it’s important that you look after yourself too.’

‘Thanks.  It’s just that I feel so helpless.’

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself.  You’re here every day and that makes a difference.  Now let me change the bed and then I’ll go and find you a cup of tea,’ Brenda smiled. 

‘Here, let me help you,’ Steve said. 

Together they rolled Maggie on to her side, although really one person could have done the job, she was so light.  Steve tried to ignore the whimpers, but each one pierced him to the core.  When Steve saw the weeping pressure sores on her scrawny legs he quickly averted his eyes. 

‘We’ll soon have you comfy again,’ Brenda said patting Maggie’s arm.    ‘She’s so brave.  She had a good night last night though without the need for any oxygen.’

Gently they laid her back on the pillows. 

‘Now, you remember what I said,’ Brenda wagged, her finger at Steve.

‘Thanks,’ he called out after her.

Brenda closed the door on his grief.  The poor man had aged ten years since his wife had been admitted to the ward, she thought.  She remembered how difficult the last months had been for her father.  She shook her head trying to dispel the image of her father’s haggard face.  It had been tough caring for him, but it is what had made Brenda continue with her nursing career.  She wanted to make a difference and to ease the pain and other peoples’ suffering.  It was a rewarding job, but at times like this it was immensely sad.  Brenda knew, and the occupants of room 15 knew, that there was no cure for Motor Neurone disease.     

Steve sat for a while with his head in his hands, the tears flowing freely down his cheeks and landing in the pillow on his lap.  Room 15 was almost like a prison cell, he thought.  Maggie continued her agitated sleep.  Quietly Steve stood up, the pillow slipped to the floor.  He walked over to the window.  The view over Poole Park and the sea was the room’s one saving grace.  The sun had now sunk behind a bank of clouds that hovered over the lake and the silver ribbon of sea beyond.  The lake was a favourite jogging circuit for Maggie.  It was here she had first fallen over.  After that, diagnosis had been swift and the nightmare had begun.    

Maggie called out.  He turned from the window and studied his wife’s vulnerable face.  Her once lustrous chestnut hair was now dull.  Her blue eyes that had once sparkled with such vitality were now sunken, the lids loosely shut.  He went over and took her hand in his, willing the suffering to stop.  Her wedding ring turned loosely over her finger.  Idly he fiddled with the ring as he held her hand and remembered the day he had placed it there.   A line of spittle dribbled down Maggie’s chin and tenderly he wiped it away with the corner of his crumpled handkerchief.  He kissed her dry cracked lips.  He picked the pillow off the floor.  It was still damp from his tears.  His hands brushed the smooth cotton cover, white in its innocence.  He hovered for just an instant before leaning forward, pressing down firmly on the pillow.  Maggie’s hollow breathing slowed.  Then she was still.  He didn’t hear the door open or Brenda’s soft footsteps as she tiptoed away.  Stomach churning, he removed the pillow and hurried from the room. 

Ten minutes later Brenda re-entered the silent room.  She knew what she would find.  The cause of death would be respiratory failure, just like that for her father.    

1,511 words

THE END

                                                                                               

                                                                                               

VERSION 2

FICTION

SILENT WITNESS – STEVE’S STORY (FIRST PERSON POINT OF VIEW)

Sometimes I feel I can’t breathe with the weight of responsibility pressing down on me.   I stride along the gum pocked concrete pavement knowing that my life will never be the same.  I keep my head bowed, but I know I’m level with the fish and chip shop as the smell of fat and vinegar makes my stomach rumble, reminding me I haven’t eaten properly in days.   With a quick look to the right and left I hurry across the road avoiding the paper-shop and Mr Wang’s cheery wave and his usual ‘how is she today?’

Autumn is my favourite season.   I like the calm days, but even the sight of the russet leaves on the trees refuse to lift my spirits.  I trudge up Bird’s Hill Road and, as usual, the steepness of the last few metres catches me by surprise and I am breathing heavily by the time I reach the top.   

The hospital looms ahead, an ugly indelible stain on the landscape.  Outside the entrance the usual patients puff furiously on cigarettes; inside, posters scream their messages from the walls, one urges you to sterilise your hands.  I duly oblige wincing as the liquid soaks into the tips of my nail bitten fingers. 

I make my way on autopilot to the respiratory ward my footsteps echoing in the corridor.  As I approach room 15, I see a nurse hurrying towards me, her flame red hair bobbing with each purposeful step.       

‘Hi. Fancy seeing you here again?’  Brenda laughs.   

‘I can’t stay away.’  I smile weakly.  I’m pleased that Brenda is the Sister on duty today.  She is sympathetic, but not in a cloying pitying way. 

‘She was asleep when I last looked in.  Anyway, I know you’ll bring a smile to her face.  I’ll be along in a moment as I need to change her bedding,’ she calls over her shoulder as she hurries by, her uniform bustling.

I push open the door to room 15, a small square soulless box and my second home.  

Light flows in from the window opposite the door.  Behind the door stands a trolley.  In the middle of the room stands a functional hospital bed, and on it, in a crumpled heap, sleeps Maggie, my wife.  Her emaciated body is dwarfed by the huge metal bed.    Her face is ash grey against the white pillow.   A mask ventilator system hangs limply like a handless glove puppet above the bed. 

I bend down, feeling my stomach lurch at the stench and gently, ever so gently, I stroke her lank hair, trying to iron the creases of pain from her forehead.   I touch her arm, reluctant to disturb her sleep, but wanting to make my presence known.  As she begins to stir, I hear my voice ring out. 

‘Hi, how are you feeling today?’ My voice has a falsely cheery tone to it and I know that she will notice this.  She knows me so well.

            ‘Steve ?’ Maggie replies groggy with sleep and drugs.

As she tries to look up at me her head lolls to one side and I place my hand underneath it. 

            ‘Shh, it’s okay.  Try not to move,’ I wince inwardly at my choice of words.

Maggie and I both know that movement is not a thing she will ever do again.  Her muscles are dissolving one by one.  I say as positively as I can ,

‘They’ve started to give you Riluzole.  I’ve read up about it on the internet and it sounds promising.’

It’s my only hope and I want her so desperately to cling to this hope too.

‘Oh Steve, I’m exhausted, I’m not………’

I cut her off, ‘I’ve brought you a clean nightdress and some of that M&S apple juice you like so much.  I’ll put them over here,’ I say making my way to the small impersonal cupboard that stands next to the bed.

I open the door and place them neatly side by side on the top shelf.  As I straighten up my eyes fall on the framed photo on top of the cupboard.  I pick it up and my fingertips trace the outline of our smiling youthful faces.  It had been taken on our honeymoon twenty years ago.  We were dressed in climbing gear and the jagged line of the Pyrenees can be seen in the background.    Maggie had always been stronger than me, always challenging me to push myself further.  I put it back, but my hand shakes so violently that the frame slides onto the floor with a clutter.

‘Stupid clumsy idiot,’ I say under my breath.

‘Are you ok?’

I say nothing as I rescue the photo from the floor and gently replace it on top of the cupboard.  ‘I’ve brought today’s newspaper.  I thought you might like to hear what’s happening in the world, although it’s the usual depressing stuff.’

‘I’m just pleased you’re here,’ says Maggie, a shadow of a smile playing on her lips.

I pick up the spare pillow, which has been placed in the chair by the bed and settle down, placing it in my lap.   Idly my hand brushes the cool cotton fabric. 

‘You know I still don’t know how to operate that washing machine of ours.  Terrible really, I thought I was a modern man.’ 

‘Oh Steve, how many times have I told you?’ Maggie gives a weak laugh.

Opening The Times I read Maggie the headlines.  Eventually her eyelids became heavy and the silence is broken by the sound of Maggie’s shallow rhythmic breathing. I’m left with my own thoughts.   Thoughts I don’t want to be left with.    The door opens.    

‘How are we doing in here?’  Brenda says as she enters the room. 

I catch a pleasant whiff of amber mingled, with disinfectant.   

‘She’s not having a good day,’ I mumble.

‘And what about you, how are you doing?’

‘Oh you know I’m OK it’s just….’  I take a deep breath and   hurriedly brush away the tears that have started to fall. 

Brenda pats my back and I find it comforting.    

‘Don’t worry.  Look I know what you’re going through.  Really I do.  I nursed my father.  He suffered from a similar illness.’  Her usual cheery smile is gone.   ‘It was a harrowing time, but if there was one thing I learnt it was this, as a carer it’s important that you look after yourself too.’

‘Thanks.  It’s just that I feel so helpless.’

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself.  You’re here every day and that makes a difference.  Now let me change the bed and then I’ll go and find you a cup of tea,’ Brenda smiles. 

‘Here, let me help you,’ I say, jumping to my feet.    

Together we roll Maggie on to her side.  I try to ignore the whimpers, but each time Maggie groans it pierces me to the core.  I see the weeping pressure sores on her scrawny legs and quickly look away.      

‘We’ll put a clean dressing on that and then we’ll soon have you comfy again,’ Brenda says patting Maggie’s arm.    ‘She’s so brave.  She had a good night last night though without the need for any oxygen.’

Gently, as if she is a fragile china doll, we lay her back on the pillows. 

‘Now, you remember what I said,’ Brenda wags her finger at me.

‘Thanks,’ I call out after her departing back.

I sit for a while with my head in my hands, the tears flowing freely down my cheeks and landing on the pillow in my lap.    Room 15 is almost like a prison cell.    Maggie’s face contorts with pain in her agitated sleep.  Quietly I stand up and walk over to the window.    The view over Poole Park and the sea is the room’s one saving grace.  The sun had now sunk behind a bank of clouds that hovered over the lake and the silver ribbon of sea beyond.  The lake had always been a favourite jogging circuit for Maggie.  It was here she had first fallen over.  After that, diagnosis had been swift and the nightmare had begun.    I would give anything to ease Maggie’s pain, but life without her would be too much to bear.

Maggie calls out bringing me back to the awful present.  I turn from the window and study my wife’s hollow face.  It’s a face I no longer recognise. Her once lustrous chestnut hair is now dull and greasy.  Her blue eyes that had once sparkled with such vitality were now sunken, the lids loosely shut.  I take her hand in mine, willing the suffering to stop, but I know it won’t.  Motor Neuron is a cruel disease.  It is just a waiting game. Idly I fiddle with her wedding ring; it turns loosely over her bony finger.  I remember the day I placed it there “for better or worse,” I think.   A line of spittle slowly slides down Maggie’s chin and I wipe it away with the corner of my crumpled handkerchief.  I bend towards my wife’s face and gently kiss her dry cracked lips.  Slowly I reach for the pillow; it’s still damp from my tears.   My hands brush the smooth cotton cover, white in its innocence.  Just for an instant my hand hovers and then I am leaning forward, pressing the pillow down firmly.     Maggie’s hollow breathing slows and then she is still. A movement at the door catches my attention.  I straighten, dropping the pillow to the floor.  A cup of tea has been placed on the trolley behind me, it’s still warm.   

1,612 words

THE END

                                                                                                                          

                                                                                                                           

VERSION 3

FICTION

SILENT WITNESS – BRENDA’S STORY (FIRST PERSON POV)

I’ve been thinking about Dad a lot lately.  Who would have thought I’d still be missing him after 20 years?  Of course, one thought leads to another and there I am a frightened 18 year-old standing by his bed.   The cushion I can see it now, jade silk, a wedding present from some long ago forgotten friend. 

The bus shudders to a stop and I’m brought back to the present.  I look out and realise I’m there. Hurriedly I step off and into the day.

The hospital, a 1960’s building, looms like a concrete galleon floating on a sea of asphalt. 

I make my way to the staff room.  I’m early, as usual.

I stare at my reflection, trying to comb my unruly hair straight.  The damp weather has made it frizz as it always does. 

‘Hi Brenda, what’s the weather like?’ Sally says joining me in the box like room.

‘Awful,’

‘Just my luck.  I’m bushed, can’t wait to get home and put my feet up.  You’re on a 12 hour today?’

‘Afraid so.  How’s Mrs Jenkins?’

‘She had a comfortable night.  Poor soul.  I haven’t seen her husband today.  He’s usually in about now.  

Quite a looker don’t you think?  He certainly brightens up my day.’ Sally smiles.

‘I feel sorry for him.  They’ve only got each other.  The burden falls on his shoulders……’

‘Mmmm prognosis isn’t good.  Just a waiting game.  49 is no age is it?  Anyway, I’m off home,’

‘Don’t forget your brolley, you’ll need it,’ I call after Sally. 

As I approach the desk, the alarm rings.  I glance up and sigh when I see it’s room 12.  I grab the file and hurry along the corridor. 

‘Whoops sorry,’ I say as I run into Mr Jenkins.

‘Here let me,’ He says bending down to retrieve the file I’ve dropped.

‘Thanks.  I’ve just come on duty, but Sally who was on last night tells me your wife had a comfortable night.  Look I’ve just got to answer that call and then I’ll pop by,’ I hurry on to room 12.

Mrs Macdonald is in room 12.  She has suffered a subarachnoid haemorrhage.  Really she should be on the geriatric ward, but there is no space and so she has been placed here on the respiratory ward.  I squash the impatience threatening to bubble over as I reassure her for the tenth time that her son will be here soon.  I empty her bed pan, check her charts and leave the room

I hesitate before making my way to room 15.  I feel so sorry for Mr Jenkins.  Steve as he has told me to call him.  His wife is dying and he is being forced to watch her growing weaker day by day.  It’s no wonder I’ve been thinking of my Dad.  He had suffered from a similar muscle wasting disease.  I knock before entering and then open the door.

‘How are we doing in here?’ I say, my voice loud in the soulless room.

‘She’s sleeping,’ Steve says. 

I look at him.  Dark shadows under his eyes, like bruises, tell me all I need to know.

‘And what about you. How are you doing?’

‘Oh you know I’m ok it’s just………’

Steve breaks down.

I squat down so he can see me.

‘Look I know what you’re going through.  Really I do.  I nursed my father.  One thing I learned was this, as a carer you need to look after yourself too, it’s important,’

‘Thanks.  It’s just that I feel so helpless.’

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself.  You’re here every day and that makes a difference.  Now let me change the bed,’ I say.   

‘Here, let me help you,’ he says, jumping to his feet.     

Together we roll Maggie on to her side.  Really I could do this on my own she is so light.  I notice Steve’s horror when he sees the weeping pressure sores on his wife’s scrawny legs.

‘We’ll put a clean dressing on that and then we’ll soon have you comfy again,’ Brenda says patting Maggie’s arm.    ‘She’s so brave.’

Gently, as if she is a fragile china doll, we lay her back on the pillows. 

‘It’s coming up to my break.  Do you fancy joining me for a quick cuppa in the canteen?  I think it would do you good.’

I leave Steve sat at the Formica table while I go and get our drinks.  “He looks lost,” I think.

‘There you go,’ I say sliding a tepid tea across the table towards him.

‘Thanks,’

I take a sip and grimace, ‘it’s not the best tea, I’m afraid,’

‘Tell me about yourself.  How long have you been a nurse?’

‘It feels like forever, but actually it’s been about 18 years. 

‘I don’t know how you do it, every day, all that suffering.  What made you decide to be a nurse?’

‘It was after my father died.  I felt I wanted to give something back.  I think being a carer is tougher.  Nursing is different as you’re emotionally removed from the person you’re dealing with.  It allows you to deal with the ups and downs in an objective way.  Trouble is there’s not much time for anything else in my life.  Nursing is all consuming, but it’s worth it.  What about you?  What do you do?’

‘I’m a policeman.  Well I was.  I’ve taken a career break, you know, to look after Maggie,’

“A policeman,” I think.  I had no idea.  I think back to the two police officers who had come to the house after my father had died.   Of course they had to be called over Dad’s death.  And of course they were quick to reassure me in my distress.  I shudder as I remember how frightened I had been.

‘Are you ok?’ Steve says.

‘Oh yes, sorry, I was miles away,’ I say.

‘I hate to ask you this, but in your opinion how long do you think Maggie’s got?’

‘I shouldn’t be saying this, but I know the consultant has spoken to you and really I’m just repeating what he has said.  It could be a matter of weeks or months.   There is no set time with this kind of illness.  It depends on the individual.  I’m sorry it sounds so brutal……’ I stop hoping I haven’t gone too far.

‘We had so much we wanted to do.  It’s just so bloody unfair,’ Steve says banging his hand on the table. 

I jump as I watch my tea splosh over the edge of the mug.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, mopping up the spilt tea with his crumpled serviette.

‘It’s ok, I understand.’ I say.

‘I promised her you see promised that I’d look after her.  She hates hospitals.  She wanted to stay at home, but I couldn’t cope,’

I reach for his hand and give it a squeeze.  I can feel the serviette still scrunched up in his fist. 

There is a bleep.  I peer down at my pager. 

‘Sorry, I’ve got to go.  Look Steve you’re doing your best, you really are,’ I say.

‘Thanks,’ he calls after me.

The morning passes in the usual blur and I don’t see Steve again.  I think about him though and I hope he has listened to me.  It’s 3 pm before I find myself outside room 15 again.  I hesitate.  I frown.  I can hear a man’s weeping.  Slowly I open the door.  Steve is standing over his wife. I’m about to step into the room, when I see the pillow.  He is using it to smother Maggie’s face.  Quietly I shut the door and tiptoe away.

‘Just drifted away peacefully.  A release from all that suffering,’ I say as I look at Maggie’s peaceful form.

‘Yes.  I’ll sign off the death certificate accordingly.  Was her husband with her?’

‘No.  I think he’s probably gone to the canteen for a cuppa.  I’ll go and find him and break the sad news, poor thing.’

I find him in the canteen.   I stand in front of him and shake my head.  He collapses.

------------------------

‘Brenda is that you? It is you isn’t it,’

I turn around and there is Steve.

‘Steve.  How lovely to see you,’

‘You look different out of your nurse’s uniform,’

‘I would hope so,’ I laugh.  ‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m coping, just.  Good days and bad ones.  I wanted to thank you for…………,’

‘It’s my job.  I’m a nurse.  Caring for people is what I do.  Now I don’t know about you, but I could murder a drink.  I know a good pub not too far from here.  What do you say?’

‘Sounds like a great idea,’ Steve laughs.  It’s good to see him laugh, I think, it adds a sparkle to his piercing blue eyes.

We sit across from each other.  I notice that Steve idly flips the beer mat with his left hand, while his right nurses his pint of bitter.

‘We miss seeing you at the hospital,’ I say.

‘I miss it too in a weird way.  It gave my day a sense of routine.  The house is so empty.  It’s been six months, but it’s still hard to believe Maggie’s gone,’

‘It must be so difficult for you, but at least she’s not suffering anymore,’ I say

‘I hated that. You know, every cry of pain tore at my heart,’

‘Anyway, tell me what you’ve been up to,’

I find Steve very easy to chat to.  Casually I glance at my watch and I’m horrified to see two hours have passed. 

‘Gosh is that the time?’ I say.

‘Hope I’ve not bored you,’

‘Of course not,’ I laugh.

‘I’m really pleased I bumped into you,’ he says.

‘Me too,’

‘Let’s do it again sometime, if you’d like to that is,’

‘I’d like that very much,’

‘Here’s my phone number.  You’re such a good listener,’ Steve pauses and then says, ‘seriously we seem to have lots in common,’

He pecks me on the cheek and I watch his departing back.  He turns around once to wave. 

‘We’ve got more in common than you’ll ever know,’ I whisper to myself.

1,704 words

THE END