I'm Normally Perfect (re-upload)

Chapter Seventy-Two

Settled in the hospital we fell into another routine—or I suppose I should say that a routine was imposed upon us, as you don't have a hand in shaping your days in an institution. I went first thing in the mornings and sat with her for a while. I've never been a morning person, but I had to go in as soon as I could to be certain she'd survived the twelve hours we'd been apart. She had physiotherapy and a nap then Anthony usually had lunch with her while I did any errands that needed seeing to or just sat in the square nearby. I felt guilty being out in the fresh air—spring just beginning—when Alex was stuck inside twenty-two hours a day. When she felt up to it I wheeled her around in the park and we'd sit in the sun and hold hands. I hated seeing Alex that way—it made her seem old to me when I knew she wasn't. Though I suppose she probably felt the same way.

God, but hospital life was boring. I suppose because what had happened was so monumental—had completely changed our lives, in fact—that it would be more exciting, but mostly it was just sitting and waiting. I occupied myself with finding books to read to her and finding smaller books that she could read to herself one-handed. I got one of those weights that held a book open, but that wasn't much use, as she couldn't keep the pages down and turn them. In the afternoons if it wasn't fair enough to go to the park we'd watch a video. Those days now seem to have been in black and white or at the very least shades of grey. Everything was planned out for us, the sheer lack of decisions to be made sucking the life out of our days. I hated that Alex was subjected to worse than I was, because at least I got to go home at the end of the day and decide what to eat. She never got to make a decision for herself. I imagined being in hospital was rather like prison except there were never fights—that might have livened things up a bit.

One murky afternoon, as we were watching Black Adder she broke down weeping—she cried at anything those days. Sometimes with no discernible cause. Every sort of crying you can imagine: from sitting with her head down, big tears silently rolling down her cheeks to out and out sobbing. I'd hold her if she'd let me—sometimes she pushed me away, which broke my heart though I did understand her frustration. She'd always make a contrite face later and gesture for me to go to her for a hug. I wanted to hold her all the time.

And people kept showing up. Of course dons and professors. Her ex-husband arrived one day and sat with her for a moment before it became too much for him and he left, telling me to 'take good care of her.' People did often have a difficult time knowing how to talk to a person who couldn't engage in conversation. They'd usually walk in, nearly exhale in relief and say, 'You look so well, Alexandra!' And then The Silence would descend. Some would gamely try to tell her about their lives, 'Went to see that new play by the RSC...we're thinking of going to Ibiza at the summer...we're going to re-paint the kitchen...' as if it made any difference to her. After a few minutes they'd either turn to Anthony or me and talk, ignoring Alex, or they'd say they only wanted to stop in and say hello and then take their leave. Alex never seemed much cheered by those visits and soon I began turning people away saying she was very tired, which she very often was.

She continued working with the occupational therapist and was getting quite good at writing with her left hand and in early April I walked into her room one morning while she was having her bath to find a note on her bed addressed to me.

C.,

There is so much I want to say, but everything is so exhausting I shall have to be brief. First, you look knackered and I want you to get more rest. Second, thank you for being here through everything and for being kind to my brother. He's said some things to me that make me believe the two of you are getting on well at home (or at least not not getting on, if that makes sense). He is a dear soul, but most of the time I'd rather be with you, as he seems to think I'm 5 years old now. I love how you still talk to me as if I'm myself, though I feel like quite a different person now. I love our reading times together best, I think.