Saving Mercury

Chapter 4: Visiting the Patient

Mid to Late Nov. 1990

Roger was once again my chauffer as I rode to Freddie's house. I'd been here before, in early 1987, but I was 23 then. The world was so different now.

I walked the path leading up to the door, trailing behind Roger. In my head I tried to imagine what I would say to Freddie Mercury- how i would tell him of my plan to save his life. A few seconds after Roger knocked on the door, it opened.

I didn't see the same energetic, joyful and flamboyant performer I had first met at that concert in Wembley Stadium. I saw Freddie, one of my best friends, a man transformed by illness, standing in the doorway.

"Rog, darling! And Miss Ella! Do come in! I need the company." His voice sounded just as before, but there was a touch of sorrow.

I didn't know what to say. "I've missed you so much, Freddie. How are you?"

"I could be better!" he said, with a giggle. "The illness is weakening my body. I can hardly walk anymore. Most days, I can't even leave this place. But I can still sing. And I promise you, love, I will keep recording until I die."

He slowly dragged his feet toward a chair, where he sat down. Roger and I took a seat on the sofa. None of us spoke for the next few minutes. I studied my ailing friend, who was dressed in a simple long-sleeved black t-shirt and jeans. His dark hair was short, just as I remembered, but he had shaved off his signature moustache. His face was so pale, almost as colorless as the winter snow. And his eyes- while still a beautiful chocolate brown- seemed to have softened. This was the first time I'd seen Freddie looking fragile.

"Ella my dear-" his voice had a touch of frailty, although he did his best to cover it up. I had always loved his beautiful voice, and I wanted to treasure it forever, because I knew that he was not far from death. "Tell me, what are you up to lately?"

"I've been studying HIV and AIDS extensively. Dear Freddie, I'm determined to find a way to help you. I love you as best as a friend can, and I won't let you die. I couldn't if I tried." What if I actually could save him? I had to try- Roger had so much faith in me.

"Who cares if I die, Ella? Everyone dies. We have to accept it."

I shook my head. "No. I can't accept you dying. I need to save you." Tears streamed out of my deep green eyes. I felt Roger's hand on my shoulder.

"Don't cry, don't cry. Stay strong," he whispered. I wiped away a tear.

"If that's what you want, you damn well can try." He laughed at my tears, sounding slightly cocky as he spoke. Oh, Freddie.

"If you want, boys," I offered, "I'll get you something to drink. What would you like?" I was a very hospitable person. I guess you had to be one if you were a doctor.

"Beer for me," said Freddie.

"I'll have water, please," Roger added.

I walked to the kitchen to fetch the drinks. Upon returning, I saw my friends talking. A tortoiseshell cat was sitting in Freddie's lap.

My hands full with the drinks, I looked down at the cat, who looked up at me. "Hello, Delilah." After handing the beer to Freddie, I reached down to pet Delilah. I gave the glass of water to Roger and sat back down, waiting for Freddie and Roger to finish their chat.

"You need to eat healty, Fred," I stated, my voice serious. "It's important for your immune system. Don't drink so much alcohol. It's not healty."

He nodded. "I'm sorry, Doctor," he said, half-serious and half-jokingly, then continued to sip his beer, gently stroking Delilah's fur.

We continued to talk about nutrition for a while, as a doctor would talk to a patient. I explained to him the benefits of vitamin C and calcium, felt his pulse, and suggested that he get lots of sleep. Freddie listened intently to my words.

Later that night, the three of us played a friendly game of Scrabble, laughing and making jokes. Roger ended up winning that game with 179 points, largely due to a triple word score for the word "quiz." It was a fun night, but at the same time it was serious. I was watching Freddie fade away; he was dying, but he kept a smile on his face.

Roger and I left at 10:45 that night. I vowed to visit Freddie as soon as I could. As we rode in the car, I had a few minutes to talk to Roger.

"Roggie, what if I can't save Freddie? What if he dies before I see him again?"

He turned his face to me. "Sometimes death is beyond our control. Even if Fred dies, you can be satisfied in knowing that you tried. Just try- for him?"

I brushed aside a strand of my chestnut blonde hair. "I'll do it- not just for him, but for you, John, and Brian."

He gazed at me like a young schoolboy would look at a girl he fancies. "Be strong, El." Then he turned his head back to the road and kept driving until we reached my flat.

Beginning with the following week, I was busy with another patient. He was 12 years old, and named Alex Greenway. According to his mother, he was a hemophiliac who was at possible risk for AIDS. I'd see Alex every day, where I examined his urine and X-rays that other doctors had taken and checked his heartbeat.

"Be very careful with him when he plays sports, Madam," I told Mrs. Greenway. "The worst thing for him would be to lose blood. I studied hemophilia before, and if he loses blood he will need a transfusion- and might contract AIDS." And every day thereafter, I'd talk to her on the phone, asking her about Alex's nutrition and symptoms.

Such was the next week or so. Roger Taylor continued to visit every few days, and it was during one of these visits that he told me that Queen would be traveling to Montreaux in the next month to record more music.

"Fantastic," I replied. "Queen must keep recording."

"Innuendo is scheduled for release in early February," he told me.

"That's great!" I knew it might be their last album- that broke my heart.

"Freddie wanted me to tell you that he has limited drinking to one alcoholic beverage every 2 days. He says he started taking vitamins every morning."

"Good, he needs to be healthy."

Our conversations were short yet meaningful and important. I treasured every word of Roger's, as each was so sincere and perfect.

Later that week, as I opened the mail slot at my home, I found a copy of The Sun. I will never forget the pain in my heart as I read the bold print and looked at the image on the cover.

It was a picture of Freddie, looking very pale and fragile, his cheeks thin and colorless. Above it were the words: "It's official- Freddie is seriously ill." My eyes swelled with tears. I knew how seriously ill Freddie was before- but seeing the words on a daily tabloid paper hit me like a bullet to the head.

Dropping the copy of The Sun, I ran to my bedroom and cried.