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Who Cares?
Doctors may be interested in the relative’s side of the story, too. Her article was featured here last week. Chapter 1 - Paul’s Suicide For some reason, I couldn’t sleep well that night. Paul’s breathing was very loud and I woke up just about every hour, drifting in and out of sleep. At around 5.00 am, I decided to get up and do some housework, but then I dozed off again before I could. The next time I looked at the clock it was 6:40 am. I jumped up off the sofa, scared that I had slept for so long. Had Paul stopped breathing? Is that why I hadn’t been woken up? But as I rushed over to him, I could hear his raspy inhalations and exhalations, which reminded me so much of Darth Vader. I took a deep breath myself and felt my panic slowly subside. I went into the kitchen to let Sheba our dog out and then came in a few minutes later to go to the toilet. This time I could hear nothing. I stood there for a moment, near the door to the bedroom, listening closely. I knew that I was a bit on edge and thought that maybe I was being paranoid, as I had been just a few minutes ago. It was probably all due to lack of sleep. But still I heard nothing. Then I simply thought, “No! No! No!” I crept closer to the bed and, as I looked at Paul, I saw that around the edges of his ear there was a blue tint, just as there had been the morning before he went into a coma two years earlier. I moved faster now, pushing his wheelchair out of the way to expose the bedside table. On it were two pill packets, which had been full the previous night, but were now empty. One was MST, a heroin derivative that he had been given to help control the pain, and the other was Amitriptyline, an anti-depressant. The first would have held twenty six tablets, the second fourteen. That made forty pills in all. Normally he would only take one or two of each a night. I wondered how long it had taken him to swallow all of that. I opened the top drawer of the bedside table, where I had seen him put the letters he had written the day before. There were two sealed envelopes in there, one for me and one for the boys. I took them out and decided that I would put them away somewhere for the time being. I had a vague feeling that I shouldn’t be removing anything from the scene, but I didn’t want anyone else to get their hands on these. After all, they belonged to us, our names were on the envelopes. I looked down at him and his face looked peaceful and relaxed – I hadn’t seen it like that for so long. It was an even, creamy colour. He lay in exactly the same position as I had left him the night before, with his left hand up by his nose, which had been itching while we had been talking that previous evening before he went to sleep. His hand still clutched the tissue he had obviously fallen asleep with. He was completely still. He had told me long ago, and then through me our sons Adam and Lee, of his plans to commit suicide. Recently, in his weakened state, he had constantly reminded me that he could do it at any time now, until sometimes I wished that he would do it just so that I didn’t have to hear him talking about it anymore. In fact, he had already tried and failed twice. Finally he had succeeded. This time I did not wish for him to come back. This time I just wished him well on his journey, wherever he was going. Then the full realisation of what he had done hit me and I felt as though a vacuum had sucked out my insides. Paul was not coming back. I could feel panic rising in my throat and a dreadful emptiness in my stomach. I went into the living room, breathing deeply so I wouldn’t faint or be sick. I still wasn’t sure what to do. I started to pick up the phone to call the ambulance as I had done so many times before. Then I remembered him specifically telling me not to do that. As confused as I was, I could tell that it was too late for that anyway. I put the phone down and went back into the bedroom instead, just to make sure that Paul really was dead. I did what little I could to compose myself then went into the hall, putting the letters away in my bag before calling upstairs for Adam and Lee to come down. I wasn’t sure what I would say to them, but judging from the way they got up out of bed right away and rushed downstairs, they both had a pretty good idea what might have happened. Abby, Lee’s girlfriend, had spent the night and she came down as well. As I looked at their sleepy faces and rumpled hair, I thought for the millionth time that they were far too young to be going through something like this. One of them, I don’t remember which one, asked me, “what’s wrong?” “Your father’s dead,” I said, not knowing any other way to put it, but hoping that my voice came out sounding the way a mother’s should at a time like this. Abby flung her arms around Lee and I reached over and pulled Adam to me. I asked my sons if they wanted to go into the bedroom to be with their father, but they both said “no”. They were no more prepared to deal with this than I was. I couldn’t get the image of Paul, lying dead on the bed, out of my mind. I could feel his presence in the other room and it was almost like a physical pull. I went over and shut the bedroom door. After a few moments, I let go of Adam and walked over to the phone to call the police detective who had been investigating our hospital for criminal negligence in their care of Paul. He had given me his mobile phone number some time ago for this purpose. I wondered how many nights he had gone to bed thinking that maybe that would be the night that he would hear from me. I dialled his number and when he answered, I told him what had happened. “Have you called anyone?” he asked me straight away. “No,” I answered shakily, “you’re the first.” Adam and Lee stayed close to me, still in their pyjamas. I quickly threw on some clothes, not sure if I would be required to go anywhere once people started to arrive. I thought I might feel less vulnerable once I was dressed. But even with my clothes on I still felt weak. When the ambulance arrived, I showed them into the bedroom. They had lots of machinery with them, but they could see pretty quickly that it would be of no use. Still, they had to be certain, so they pulled the sheets back and put wires on Paul and turned on the heart monitor. The screen showed a flat line. One of the men moved Paul onto his back and begun straightening his legs. He had been sleeping in an almost foetal position. I overheard them saying that he had been dead for about four hours. I wanted to shout out “No!” and tell them that he had died at about ten minutes to seven, because I had heard him breathing shortly before that, but I just kept quiet. A policeman walked into the bedroom then. There was another one in the lounge. Adam or Lee must have let them in. They talked with the ambulance men and then turned to me and told me that I would need to give a statement. I said OK and I’m sure that we must have discussed things further, but I don’t remember much of what was said at the time. I have a vague recollection of telling them what had happened earlier that morning, which was pretty much just that I had woken up and then found Paul dead a few minutes later. In the back of my mind must have been the fear that they were looking to blame me and that if I said too much, I might incriminate myself. I was beginning to feel faint by that time. While talking to the policeman in the bedroom, I kept looking over at Paul. He looked so lovely and peaceful. I was terrified at the thought of life without him after over twenty four years of marriage, during which time we had hardly ever been apart. But still I was happy and relieved that the nightmare was over for him. Finally. To purchase this book click here.
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[Home] [NHS Exposed] [Patients] [Health Workers] [NHS in Crisis] [Legal Issues] [Media] [Helpdesk] [Public Views] All copyright remains with original authors unless otherwise stated. |
Amanda
Steane details the suicide of her husband following his harrowing treatment
at the hands of the NHS. In the end he felt he wanted to take control
of his fate and considered death to be a better option than being abused
by the NHS. Who Cares? is an excellent book and well worth reading.
