Ghosts

The phone rang at last. “Hi Michael, it’s Cathy from Wollongong Private Hospital. Vickie is out of surgery, all went well and she is in recovery. I’ll call you when she is in her room so you can come in to see her.”

The day had been a long one of waiting for me, but an even longer waiting process for Vickie. Having been diagnosed with fibroids some years ago, the specialist had taken a “wait and see” approach, coupling it with drugs to try shrinking them. Apparently, "menopause" would also help with shrinking too, he said. As time went on, it was clear this strategy wasn’t working. As the radiographer said at one of the last ultrasound sessions, "there is not a lot of room in there," something had to change.

A conversation with an acquaintance uncovered that she too had undergone the same surgery. She mentioned her specialist was brilliant and added, "she has not felt this good in a long, long time." So with the recommendation in hand, Vickie was able to get the necessary referral from our GP, who by the way is great, for a second opinion.

Things moved fast. An initial specialist appointment was made, a new ultrasound was scheduled, and it was not long before we were both in front of the surgeon. Vickie wanted me there to remember what was said, as she knew her anxiety would be through the roof and she has difficulty taking everything in when feeling this way.

“You have the biggest fibroids I’ve seen in a very long time, and they need to come out.

It’s like the size of a 20+ week fetus”

WTF! Yes, he had said this after we had told him we didn’t have children and were veterans of many rounds of IVF treatment. But this awoke something in Vickie that I rarely saw, in a good way, but more on that another time.

Surgery was scheduled for early 2025.

I remember thinking, as I was driving in once I’d gotten the call that Vickie was now settled in her room, what the psychological ramifications of the hysterectomy would be. We had talked previously that even though we are approaching 60, there was a finality here that we both felt and knew shouldn’t be underestimated.

The private hospital is literally across the road from the public hospital, and ironically they couldn’t be more different. The cacophony of noise and activity I’ve always experienced in the public hospital is missing in the private one. I imagine it was what a carpeted monastery would feel like and strangely make me feel a little comfortable.

As I find Vickie’s room, the door opens silently and I wonder if they are designed that way. I see my girl; she is asleep, looking peaceful. This is contrasted with the chaos of still being in the poorly fitting surgical gown, the IV, and the inflating leg massagers. I pull up a chair and sit next to her, I reach out to hold her hand.

In that brief moment, the room fills with ghosts.

The ghost of our daughter Emma. I’ve always loved the name Emma, and so this was always going to be my choice for our daughter. Emma is fussing over her mum in that way only a woman could, a mixture of worry and care, flipping between what magazines she needs to get, “have you got enough spare clothes?” and "do you have your iPad charger?” all whilst she is straightening that ill-fitting surgical gown. As I sit there, I realize how inadequate my attention to caring is compared to hers. A testament to her mother’s influence and guidance.

James and Matilda, her children, come over to hug their grandad. I can see the worry in their eyes for their nan. I pick them up, sit one on each knee.

“Don’t worry, nanny is fine. She has just had a little operation and is still very sleepy, just like when you wake up in the morning. Come and hold her hand, but we can’t hug her at the moment as she is a little sore.”

Vickie slowly opens her eyes and turns her head, registering that I am there and they are gone. The emptiness of the once ghost-filled room and the silence is visceral and leaves an intense feeling of loneliness.

In that groggy post-op phase where she is in and out of consciousness, she asks:

“How long have you been here?”

“About 5 minutes, I think. It's hard to say.”

“Why?”

As I look around the room, hoping that the ghosts return, I say, “A lot has happened since I’ve been here.”

But it fell on deaf ears as my girl had fallen back to sleep.