Just a quick fiction about what might happen if Serena's mother's condition had become much worse. The thought came to me after having a similar experience.
Serena couldn't remember how long she'd been sitting there, staring at the bed where her mother had been only a few hours ago. She had ignored the nurse who had come in to change the sheets. She knew it was important to keep busy but she couldn't seem to move. A strange numbness had overcome her. It felt as though nothing was real and if she moved away, she would soon realize that it had in fact happened. Her mother's death would become a reality. That was something she couldn't quite muster up the courage to accept, so she continued to sit in silence, hoping no one would come looking for her.
Only a few days ago, Adrienne had been scolding her for being harsh towards her colleagues and for not taking enough time to relax and she had become increasingly frustrated with her mother's incessant ramblings on going to Australia to meet an old flame she had met on Facebook. And now she was gone. It felt as though there was a hole through her heart; a pain that she couldn't even begin to describe.
"I'm sorry Ms Campbell," a nurse called from the doorway. "We need to put a patient in here."
The bubble had popped. Serena nodded tiredly and pulled herself out of the chair, making her way weakly through the door, glancing down at the patient in the stretcher, but not really seeing anything. She felt like she was gliding down the hallway, as one would in a dream. She could hear noises from people talking, phones ringing and machines beeping, but it all seemed muffled; like she was under water. There was an odd ringing in her ears as she kept moving.
"Ms Campbell?" Malick called gently as she reached the lift. "Can I get you something? A nice cup of tea maybe?"
"No," she mumbled, glancing back at the nurses' station. Chantelle, Mary-Claire and Ric were watching her closely, concern etched in their faces. She couldn't quite handle the thought of them showing any concern towards her. It would destroy her. "Please," she managed to say to Malick. "Just don't be nice to me."
Malick gave her a confused look. He obviously expected her to show some form of mourning.
She waited for the doors of the lift to close before resting against one of the panels on the side. She couldn't even imagine how she was going to carry on with her life. Her mother had been the very foundation of it. She stared at the floor, remembering snippets from their life together. How she had always managed to make her feel better as a child. How she had always been her hero; the person who could always fix everything, no matter how large the obstacle ahead seemed. How her eyes would light up when she saw her. How she managed to always claim that everything Serena made for dinner had too much salt in it. How she would brush Eleanor's hair and her eyes fill with pride when she looked at her. And how alone she had looked when they were forced to turn the life support machine off; how small and vulnerable she had looked. She had not died immediately. She had kept breathing without assistance for a whole day before giving up. Serena had watched as her breathing had grown weaker and how she had eventually stopped altogether.
She suddenly felt sick. Slamming her fist against the basement button, she squeezed her eyes closed as the lift moved, praying that it wouldn't open on the ground floor first. It didn't and she gladly got out into the basement, taking in a deep breath, before physically falling against and sliding down the wall, sobbing into her hands. Her mother's loss felt like someone taking a blade and slicing through her heart.
She had seemed to handle the stroke and the further complications that had resulted from the procedure she had had at the private hospital rather well. But she knew as soon as she had brought her back to Holby that things had deteriorated and that she was bringing her back to die. It felt as though the whole world had come to a complete stand still ever since she had had the stroke.
"Here you are."
Serena froze, immediately recognizing the voice.
"I had to discourage Mr Griffin from assembling a search party for you."
The thought brought a tired smile to her lips as she slowly glanced up at Mr Hanssen who was standing nearby, looking down at her. His usual stony face was tinged with sadness. "I couldn't save her," Serena managed to say, wiping at her bloodshot eyes.
"I'm sure she knew you cared," he said gently, handing her a white handkerchief.
"It wasn't enough," she said with a deadpan tone. "I should have . . ."
"If we had to berate ourselves for everything we should have done in life, we would never be able to get out of bed in the morning," Hanssen said, leaning against the wall, staring at the floor.
Serena nodded, but she knew she would forever carry the guilt of not showing her mother the same love that she had shown her all the years.
"I'll let Mr Griffin know that you're alive, shall I?" Hanssen said after a few seconds of silence.
"Don't go," Serena heard herself saying. "Can you just . . . talk to me and . . . and let me listen?"
Hanssen cocked his head to the side as if thinking this over. "And what would you have me talk about?"
"It doesn't matter," she sniffed, shrugging. "Anything you want."
He seemed to accept this answer as he took a deep breath. "The history of Sweden?"
Serena couldn't help but chuckle. "That's fine."
"Well, where to start? . . . I know," he started, snapping his fingers as though he had just come up with the best beginning.
Serena listened to him as he started talking about what she would, under normal circumstances, consider a completely mundane topic. It was a comfort just listening to him. She leaned her head back against the wall, imagining her mother's face as she would always remember her; smiling and lively.