45
Esther was at home for five days. On the sixth, she woke with a headache—an inadequate word for the throbbing monster trying to claw its way out of her head. Its titanium talons had a stranglehold around her head and neck, an only-morphine-will-help kind of headache. With frightening swiftness, she found herself in the palliative care ward. The first dose of morphine temporarily tamed the monster to a kitten, but slowed her mind to a sloth-like pace.
Mum arrived an hour later, looking ten years older. Esther smiled a weak welcome. Mum sat down and took Esther’s hand.
“I’ve cancelled all my appointments to be here. Would that be a help or a hindrance?”
“The best kind of help. Gina has driven Gran home to get my pyjamas and toiletries.” Esther smiled. One corner of her mouth dragged.
