Tell Me It's Not True
She gazed with tear-filled eyes through the portal window. There lay her husband. It was only a mere half hour earlier that she'd seen him, flashed him a smile in passing as they had gone about their work. Nothing of earlier events had even hinted at the possibility of the devastation the afternoon was to bring. She could barely comprehend that the man she'd spent a lunchtime chatting and laughing with was the same man who now lay pale and clammy on a hospital trolley.
She couldn't prevent the gasp that was released as they turned him and his arm flopped, almost lifelessly from the edge of the table. She even flinched as Mr Rose made the first incision. She was a surgeon; she didn't get squeamish. She could perform a hundred operations without so much as a twitch.
Yet this was different. Before her lay her husband. It was her husband Mr Rose was cutting through, the scalpel sliced through skin she'd frequently smoothed her hand across, a chest she'd laid her head upon in peaceful slumber.
She blinked repeatedly, attempting to clear the tears so could see the heart-breaking scene before her, though the wish to see was not wholehearted. True, she felt she couldn't miss a second whilst her husband was still alive, in fear of losing a precious second of his life if the worst was to happen. Yet, another part of her wanted to remain ignorant. The watery lack of focus presented an almost dream world. She wanted so desperately to believe it was a dream, that the nightmare she'd been plunged into wasn't true. She wanted to wake in her own bed, to turn to see her husband beside her. She wanted to hold him, to be held by him, to tell him she loved him, and hear him say it back.
She was drawn from her wishing by a hand on her shoulder - Matron. As the scene before came once more into focus, her fear grew as she watched her husband's blood drip seemingly unheeded to the floor. Yet each drop of fluid was precious to Jill, each hit her harder than the last, gradually loosening the tenuous hold she had on her emotions. She spun further into silent despair. Each droplet was part of her husband; as he was rapidly losing blood, she felt she was losing him bit by bit.
She had stood strong for so long. Her shoulders had heaved with silent, repressed sobs, tears lined her eyes but refused to fall. Yet when Mr Rose was handed the familiar, heavy rib spreader, when he applied it to her husband, she could hold on no longer. No longer could she hope it was just a dream. The image was too awful for her to have imagined. She lips quivered, the hold her trembling fingers had on the wood-rimmed window tightened.
"I can't lose him." She sobbed, eventually releasing the tears. "I just can't."
The End