My Fallen Angel. When she woke up, there were 17 voicemails from a stranger. But what did happen to Sheila Murphy? The Patient. I don’t recognises the phone number, it must be from overseas, surely. The pristine glow from the&nbsp;white lights were painfully blinding me. The smell of cleaning chemicals burnt in my nostrils. The monitoring machines bleeped rhythmically. Where on gods earth am I?I was left in shock as I looked down to see my legs covered in medical plaster and hoisted in the air. I tried to move but I couldn’t. I was unable to get past any more than a frantic wriggle. That was when the doctor came over. Kind eyes but spoke in a foreign tongue. Oh my god. Not only am I in hospital, but I don’t know which country I’m in. This is terrifying.I looked for more clues. A sign. I know I’m in a hospital but I couldn’t understand a word that was said. Whether it was from the hospital staff or the signs that littered the walls of the ward. The only thing I can recognize were the digits on the signs, but the 2 above my head could mean an elevator to the next floor, it could be another ward. It could be the car park. I do not have a clue. Oh please, someone must be able to help me. I want to get out of here.Despite the efforts of the doctor and 2 nurses trying to communicate with me, I couldn’t understand a syllable. The nurse offered a sympathetic hand on my arm as the three of them walked away. I could only close my eyes before they filled with tears. I feel so helpless.I looked at my phone again. I opened the 17 voicemails and listened intently, one after the other. Someone must be trying to get hold of me. Someone must know I’m missing. I am scrambling for clues but to no avail. I don’t understand the language spoken, it’s just a man’s voice, but I don’t recognise it. My pulse heightens and heat fills my face as panic becomes rage.Without thinking, the phone was launched across the ward. It shattered against the wall, narrowly missing another patient. I try to apologise immediately. The patient shook her head. She could have offered a word of reassurance, it could have been an obscenity. I don’t know what she said. I’m on my own.The doctor just made a phone call. A tall, kind looking man is sent into my direction. He pulls the curtain shut behind him. He’s incredibly good looking but he also looks like he carries a lot of fatigue in his eyes. He looks aged but isn’t old. He says something, pulls the chair close to my side and holds my hand. He asks me a questions, I think, but again, I don’t know what is being said. Nobody can help me. This is awful. I want it to be over. This must be a panic dream. I’ll wake up again.Soon.Why am I not waking up.Why is this nightmare continuing.Now the handsome man is leaving, he’s shaking his head while he looks at me with sadness now in his eyes as he mumbles something.The heart monitor begins to increase in pace as my heart rate speeds up. A constant and deafening tone fills everyone’s ears as I rip off another attachment. It stings my chest as I rip the glue form the sticker. My skin burns. As the people around me duck and cover their ears, I have to get out of here. As I try to roll out of the bed, stressed and scared, I tumble and crash to the floor. The alarm is drowned by the sound of my painful screams as my broken and plastered legs collide with the solid floor.Before I’m able to gather my thoughts and try to push myself up from the ground, I am surrounded by multiple pairs of crocs and sneakers. The thunder of a hundred voices is heard along with more hands on me. My arms ache. Two hands are felt supporting my neck as I’m rolled onto my back.The icy chill of the floor is replaced with the rigid plastic of a stretcher. I try to catch my breathe but I’m left gasping as I try to sit up, but I’m unable to move as a strap is tightened across my chest. I can’t breathe but all I can do is scream as my eyes fill again. My vision is now becoming blurry as all I want to do is cry and shout and hold someone while they hold me, but not a single person around me seems able to understand what I say. I can feel my eyes closing as my chest gets tighter. I hope this is the end. I don’t want to wake up.This is nothing but pain.I’m in hell.End it now.Please. The doctor. Ms. Murphy woke after her surgery. She needed to have both her legs reset and a cast going her past her hips due to her injuries. Double fractured femur and shattered pelvis. 6 hours she spent in surgery. Paramedics say they found her on the floor outside her home. When I went to speak to her, I couldn’t understand anything she said. The poor woman looks so upset and petrified. I tell the nurses that we’ll come back later, but to continue observations and report any changes.I called her partner or husband. He arrived almost as soon as the ambulance and has been here ever since. The poor man looks exhausted. He’s only just gone outside but he should know that she’s awake. I point towards her bed and say it’s ok to pull the curtain across if he wants to. Have as long as he needs, but I also warn him that she had thrown her phone against the wall.I barely get any notes written before I see him leaving. That was quick. He looks dejected.The alarms are triggered. The noise is piercing. It’s to alert the doctors and nurses on the ward that urgent help is needed. Not a code blue, like you would see on the TV, but a quick glance at the screen tells us all its bed 5, Ms. Murphy. As I sprint over, she’s already surrounded by nurses, a paramedic who just finished a handover, Mr. Murphy, myself and Dr Raj. The Paramedic handed me the stretcher she had in her hand, purely by chance that she was still here. Thirty seconds later and she would have been back in her ambulance.Ms. Murphy is screaming. She’s clearly in excruciating and unrelenting pain. Together we roll her onto her back and onto the stretcher board. The nurses get the strap across her chest. Despite urgent attempts to keep her calm, she continues screaming and trying to sit up. It’s like she can’t understand anything that’s said to her. She’s trying to fight anyone she can reach and grab.I look to Mr. Murphy and he gives his consent for us to administer the sedatives. Ten seconds feels like ten minutes, but finally she’s asleep.&nbsp;&nbsp;The husband. I feel so guilty. In sickness and in health was the vow, 23 years ago. I should have done a better job looking after my angel. I can’t call her that any longer. We had been together since we were 18 but it feels like this is the end.It has been a very challenging few years. I knew when she became unwell that I would have to quit my job. She needed me at all hours of the day. It was my duty to keep her safe but I’ve let her down. The family don’t visit any more. The kids don’t want to talk about it. When I do call them, they skirt around it, mainly out of politeness I guess but they have their university lives to live. I also don’t like burdening them, it would be unfair. They should live their lives. They have the world as an opportunity, I couldn’t forgive myself for holding them back. ‘I’ll cope’, I always tell them. ‘we’ll be fine, don’t you worry!’This might sound odd, but even though she hasn’t been able to use her phone for the last few years, I still leave her messages. She doesn’t listen to her voicemails, she never did when she was well, but I use it to talk to her still. Tell her about my day. I guess you could look at it as a type of therapy. A coping mechanism. In many ways, even though she doesn’t understand me, I still want to talk to her.Since the ambulance arrived, I couldn’t help but keep wanting to call her and tell her everything was going to be ok. I look at my phone. I’ve called her 24 times since the accident and must have left her 17 messages.I couldn’t wait much longer in the family room. I went to get some air, but the doctor just called, she’s awake. I rush as quickly as I can, but she’s thrown her phone and smashed it. I doubt she’ll know what messages I have left her now. I try to sound pleased to see her and reassure her that I’m here and everything will be ok and that I’m sorry, so sorry that she is hurting in every way.I look in her eyes. I can’t help but feel upset as she looks like she is in so much distress. I try to talk to her but she’s tearing up and shaking her head. I don’t know if she can understand me.I go to get her a drink but before I reach the water tank, the alarms on the ward are ringing. My word, their deafening. As I turn to see where the nurses are running, I realise it’s my angel. My Sheila. She’s on the floor, screaming. But it’s not just a scream.Its pure fear.It’s unrelenting horror. It’s the definition of unbearable.The doctor asks me if he can sedate her. I don’t have time to think. I just blurt out, ‘whatever you need to do!’ It feels like forever but finally she goes to sleep. Finally she looks like she can rest. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her resting. Even if it did take a strong injection. Why do I feel guilty about a moment of relief? She needed this, I think.While she’s now resting, a nurse and a lady with a notepad guide me into another room. It’s blissfully quiet. For the first time in ages, I feel like I can hear my thoughts clearly. The big leather chair feels so comfortable as I sink into it. I have to close my eyes to stop me from crying though. Sheila always did that too.The lady with the notepad is an emergency social worker. She wants to know what happened to my angel.“Well that seemed to have been the tipping point”, I tell her. “I’ve called her my angel since we met.” I explain that it’s not dementia Sheila battled, it’s a personality disorder. Since we met, she had always seemed to have a bright, bubbly and fun personality. It’s why I fell in love with her from the moment I saw her, but as life moved on it became clear that with all the fun and eccentricity, there was an equal level of darkness and turmoil about her.When she turned 38, she talked about shadows, demons and death a lot. That’s when the Illness really took over and to keep her safe, I quit my job and became her carer. I had to watch her all day. She would tell me she could see things. Things that nobody could see and nobody could help her with. The doctors said that until she acts, she will be ok at home.I shouldn’t have listened. I should have sought more help. I should have done more for my ange…my Sheila. I can’t call her my angel any longer. That had to be the tipping point.Did I cause this?She started to say that if the angels were coming to collect her, she would have no choice but to go with them. This was becoming more frequent over the last 3 weeks. I woke up this morning and find her on the roof. Initially I was relieved because I thought she had gone missing. The front door was open. As I ran outside, I heard her voice. Her delusions had taken ahold of her. She was chanting something it seemed. I didn’t understand a word of what she was saying and it seemed like despite me shouting at the top of my voice to stop moving and stop walking forwards, she either couldn’t hear me or understand me.Then the worst happened. She spread her arms and stepped off the roof. Did she hope to float like an angel? I didn’t hear anything after that. I can’t remember seeing her fall or hearing the noise as she landed. It just left a ringing in my ears. I can’t even remember calling the ambulance. It was all a blur from the moment she stepped.Now I have to accept that the one thing I promised not to do, is what is needed for Sheila. I promised her when she was first diagnosed that I would help her at home. To keep her out of hospital, psych wards and residential homes. But now she’s hurt herself, I have to admit I can’t do it anymore.I have to let her go to the psychiatric hospital, but it means I’ve let her down forever.I’m sorry my love.&nbsp;

My Fallen Angel. 

My Fallen Angel

Try Premium

Try Premium

My Fallen Angel

Khardwick

Self published.

Share

My Fallen Angel.

Synopsis

Chapters

Word Count

Read Time

Publish Date

Story Updates

This story has no updates.

Reviews

This story has not been rated yet. Login to review this story.

Advertisement

Challenge

About Author

Kev

Advertisement

Browse