With her son and how she found some hope in the terrible heartache
MONDAY OUR FIRST DAY WITHOUT FELIX
under its control. Whatever it says you have to say, in all of the ways it says you say it.
We thought it was perfect.
We took turns reading each page, and ended up laughing at all of the silly stuff we were to say.
Once we finished the book we put it down, placed his hand between ours and held it on top of his chest. We just lay there silently for ages. Like we were pretending that the next part wasn’t about to happen. A nurse quietly opened the door to make sure we were OK before apologising and closing it again. We stopped her and said we’d stay there forever if we could.
Then everyone who’d been waiting patiently outside began to come in. The walls of the room were glass and to avoid crowding us a few doctors stood behind us to check the monitors through the glass. Our favourite doctor came in, gave us a sad smile, and sat on the left of the bed. Rory and I sat on the right holding Felix’s hand.
The monitors were turned away from us and the doctors outside of the room started watching them.
Then the ventilation was removed. In order for his organs to be removed, Felix had to have a cardiac death. And we were going to be there. I suddenly realised this and I can’t even begin to describe the emotions I felt.
I’d previously asked what could happen during Felix being removed from ventilation, whether his reactions would take over and he’d fight to breathe etc.
We were told this could happen. It didn’t. I looked up at the doctor, who had a stethoscope to Felix’s chest, and quietly said: “The lack of fight is saying a lot.” I can’t remember if he said anything, I think he said yes, but he nodded.
Felix’s left wrist had an arterial line in it, the same hand I was holding, and I realised that there was a small bit of blood still in the line that moved to his heartbeat. I watched it unblinkingly as it slowed down, and then our favourite doctor whispered that he was gone.
He quietly left the room to get quickly changed for theatre and Rory and I cried like hurt animals. We had no reason not to cry next to him any more, and we certainly didn’t hold back. When the doctor returned we knew we had a small window before endangering his organs and we didn’t want to waste any precious time. One of us said: “Go make him a hero.” I think it was me, but I can’t be sure. Neither of us were really there. He picked him up and carried him carefully away.
Find out more about organ donation at www.organdonationscotland.org