Bha an oidhche ann. Ach ann an uàrd-ospadail 5B cha robh Tòmas MacIlleDhuibh na chadal, bha e ag èisteachd ris a’ ghaoith a’ sèideadh.
Bha am fuaim a’ toirt gu chuimhne oidhche gharbh bho làithean òige, oidhche na stoirm uabhasaich ud – ach cha robh eagal air a bhith air a chionn ’s gun robh e còmhla ri athair.
Dh’èirich Tòmas gus an robh e na shuidhe air oir na leapa. Bha e air togail a thoirt dha a bhith a’ cuimhneachadh air athair – bha e air beagan fois a thoirt da inntinn agus bha fadachd air a-nis gus an innseadh e an naidheachd aige do chuideigin.
Bha an triùir eile anns an uàrd bheag nan cadal.
Chuir e air na slapagan aige agus thòisich e air coiseachd. Bha an seann duine aig prìomh-dhoras an uàird mus fhaca a’ Bhanaltram Eilidh Nic a’ Ghobhainn e.
‘Càit’ a bheil sibh a’ dol, a Thòmais?’ dh’fhaighnich i.
Chlisg e. ‘A Thòmais’! Cha bhiodh banaltram òg mar Eilidh Nic a’ Ghobhainn a’ cleachdadh ainm baistidh mar sin nuair a bha e na àrd-lighiche anns an ospadal.
‘Tha mi a’ dol a bhruidhinn rim athair,’ fhreagair e. ‘Tha deagh naidheachd agam.’
Ghnog Eilidh a ceann. ‘Ceart gu leòr, a Thòmais, ach tha e còig uairean sa mhadainn. Carson nach till sibh dhan leabaidh ’son treis. Bidh an troilidh a’ tighinn timcheall aig sia uairean le cupa teatha dhuibh. Dh’fhaodadh sibh an naidheachd agaibh innse dhan a h-uile duine an uair sin.’
Lean a’ bhanaltram Tòmas fhad ’s a bha e a’ tilleadh dhan t-seòmar aige. Sgioblaich i an leabaidh. ‘Mus tèid sibh a chadal, a Thòmais, bu toigh leam tomhas a dhèanamh air an ogsaidean san fhuil agaibh. Am biodh sin ceart gu leòr?’
Chuir i an t-inneal-tomhais air tè de a chorragan.
‘Tha an t-ogsaidean agaibh gu math ìosal, a Thòmais,’ thuirt Eilidh. ‘Bidh fios agaibh dè tha sin a’ ciallachadh on a bha sibh fhèin nur lighiche. Dh’fhaodadh an cion-ogsaidein a bhith gur cur troimh-a-chèile. Bu toigh leam ogsaidean a thoirt dhuibh tro na ‘nasal cannulas’ seo. Am biodh sin ceart gu leòr?’
Dhùin Tòmas a shùilean. Cha b’ urrainn dha càil a chluinntinn a-nis ach siosarnaich an ogsaidein anns na pìoban.
Cha robh e a’ còrdadh ris idir a bhith na euslainteach anns an ospadal seo far an robh e air a bhith na chomhairliche-leighis fad mòran bhliadhnaichean. Choisinn e cliù dha fhèin mar lighiche air leth math ach, on a leig e dheth a dhreuchd, b’ ann ainneamh a thàinig na co-obraichean aige faisg air. Bha e air fàs aonaranach.
An uair sin, o chionn sia mìosan, thòisich e air casadaich. Nochd an fhuil. Nuair a thug e sùil air a’ ghath-x de na sgamhanan aige fhèin, cha robh iongnadh air. Bha fios aige cheana dè an t-ainm a bha air an tinneas aige. Cha robh saoghal fada roimhe.
Bha siosarnaich an ogsaidein ga chur na chadal ...
Bha na dotairean agus na h-oileanaich mheidigeach a’ dèanamh cuairt-uàird, ach cha b’ urrainn dhomh càil fhaicinn ach balla de dhromannan air an robh còtaichean geala. Carson a bha iad gam chur ann an suarachas, agus mise nam àrd-lighiche os cionn na roinne seo?
Mì-mhodh! Thionndaidh mi air mo shàil, agus rinn mi air prìomh-dhoras an uàird.
Air taobh eile an dorais, ghabh mi frith-rathad a bha a’ dol sìos tro choille-ghiuthais.
Fhad ’s a bha mi a’ cromadh a’ bhruthaich, thug mi an aire gun robh fuaim mar thàirneanach, no toirm nan uisgeachan, a’ fàs na b’ àirde agus na b’ àirde.
Cha b’ fhada gus an do ràinig mi oir na coille agus an d’ fhuair mi mi fhìn nam sheasamh air bearradh, àrd os cionn aibhne mhòir bheucaich.
B’ ann an uair sin a chunnaic mi an drochaid.
B’ i drochaid-chrochaidh thairis air an abhainn a bha ann. Cha robh rùm air a’ cheum ach do choisiche leis fhèin agus, gus an gnothach a dhèanamh na b’ eagalaiche buileach, bha grunn math de dhèilean a’ cheuma a dhìth. Bha i mar dhrochaid a chitheadh sibh ann am film fantasach.
A dh’aindeoin sin, bha rud air choreigin gam tharraing, gam thàladh chun na drochaid. Bha fios agam gum feumainn a dhol thairis oirre.
Bha eagal orm nuair a chuir mi mo chas dheas air a’ chiad dèile ged a bha i seasmhach gu leòr. Ach thug mi sùil air thoiseach orm fhìn agus b’ i mearachd mhòr a bha sin. Chunnaic mi fear a’ tuiteam sìos bho bhogha na drochaid, a ghàirdeanan a’ bualadh an adhair mar sgiathan gun fheum. Chaidh e às an t-sealladh anns an abhainn dhomhainn. Ma rinn e sgreuch, cha chuala mi e.
An dèidh sin, chùm mi mo shùilean air a’ cheum agus chaidh mi air adhart, mo chridhe a’ plosgartaich.
Aig àird a’ bhogha, cha mhòr nach do thuit mi bhàrr na drochaid, bha a leithid de thuaineal orm. Bha mo chasan air chrith. Ghabh mi grèim cho teann den ròpa-làimhe ’s gun robh mi an dùil gun spreadhadh m’ fhèithean.
Ach ràinig mi an taobh thall agus chuir mi mo chasan air carraig.
Fhad ’s a bha mi a’ gabhail m’ analach, thug mi an aire gun robh taigh mòr air fàire. Thog mi orm air an fhrith-rathad dha ionnsaigh.
Bha doras-aghaidh an taighe fosgailte agus choisich mi sìos trannsa agus a-steach do sheòmar farsaing far an robh cuideachd mhòr ri còmhradh. A rèir coltais, bha bangaid gu bhith ann.
Thàinig e a-steach orm gun robh mi a’ dèanamh aithne gun chuimhne air na daoine a bha an làthair. Ach chuir e iongnadh orm nuair a chunnaic mi m’ athair fhèin nam measg. Smèid e rium.
Bha mi a’ coiseachd a dh’ionnsaigh m’ athar le gàirdeachas nuair a chuala mi fuaim mar chupa a’ dèanamh gliong air sàsar – chuir mi cùl ris.
Ann an uàrd 5B, bha tè air tighinn a thairgsinn cupa teatha do na h-euslaintich.
‘Am bu toigh leibh cupa teatha, a Thòmais?’ dh’fhaighnich i.
‘A Thòmais?’
‘A Thòmais ...’
The Bridge
It was night. But in hospital ward 5B Thomas Brown wasn’t sleeping, he was listening to the wind blowing.
The sound reminded him of a wild night from his childhood, the night of that terrible storm – but he hadn’t been afraid because he was with his father.
Thomas sat up on the edge of the bed. It had given him a lift to remember his father – it had given him some peace of mind and now he was impatient to tell his news to someone.
The three others in the small ward were sleeping.
He put his slippers on and began to walk. The elderly man was at the main door of the ward before Nurse Helen Smith saw him.
‘Where are you going, Tom?’ she asked.
He jumped. ‘Tom’ indeed! Young nurses like Helen Smith would never have used his Christian name when he was a senior physician at the hospital.
‘I’m going to speak to my father,’ he replied. ‘I have some good news.’
Helen nodded. ‘Ok, Tom, but it’s five o’ clock in the morning. Why don’t you go back to bed for a little while. The trolley will be coming round at six with a cup of tea for you. You could tell your good news to everybody then.’
The nurse followed Thomas as he returned to his room. She tidied up his bed. ‘Before you go to sleep, Tom, I’d like to measure your blood oxygen sats. Would that be ok?’
She put the measuring device on one of his fingers.
‘Your oxygen is pretty low, Tom,’ said Helen. ‘You’ll know what that means since you were a physician yourself. The lack of oxygen might be making you confused. I’d like to give you oxygen through these nasal cannulas. Would that be ok?’
Thomas closed his eyes. He could hear nothing now over the hissing of the oxygen in the tubes.
He wasn’t enjoying at all being a patient in this hospital where he had been a consultant for many years. He had won a good reputation for himself as an excellent physician but, since retiring, his colleagues had seldom come near him. He had become lonely.
Then, six months ago, he had started to cough. The blood appeared. When he looked at the x-ray of his own lungs, he wasn’t surprised. He already knew the name of his disease. He didn’t have much time left.
The hissing of the oxygen was putting him off to sleep ...
The doctors and medical students were doing a ward round, but I could see nothing but a wall of backs wearing white coats. Why were they being so disrespectful to me? I was the senior physician in charge of this department.
How ill-mannered! I turned on my heel and made for the main door of the ward.
On the other side of the door, I took a path that was going down through a pine wood.
As I was scrambling down the slope, I noticed a sound like thunder, or the rushing of water, growing louder and louder.
It didn’t take long for me to reach the edge of the wood, where I found myself standing on a steep cliff high above a great roaring river.
That was when I saw the bridge. It was a suspension bridge over the river. There was room on the footpath for only one pedestrian and, to make matters even more alarming, a fair number of the planks were missing. It was the kind of bridge you might see in a fantasy film.
Despite that, something was pulling me, drawing me to the bridge. I knew that I would have to go across it.
I was fearful when I put my right foot on the first plank although it proved to be reliable enough. But I looked ahead of myself and that was a big mistake. I saw a man falling from the arch of the bridge, his arms beating the air like useless wings. He disappeared from sight in the deep river. If he screamed, I didn’t hear it.
After that I kept my eyes on the walkway and went on forwards, my heart thumping.
At the top of the arch, I almost fell off the bridge, I was so dizzy. My legs were shaking. I held on so tightly to the hand-rope that I thought my muscles were going to explode. But I reached the other side and put my feet onto solid ground.
As I was getting my breath back, I noticed that there was a large house on the horizon. I set off on the path towards it. The front door of the house was open, and I walked down a corridor and into a spacious room where a large crowd of people was chatting. It looked as if there was about to be a banquet.
It occurred to me that most of the people present in the room looked vaguely familiar, but it gave me a surprise when I saw my own father among them. He waved to me.
I was walking towards my father, feeling very happy, when I heard a sound like a cup clinking on a saucer – I turned my back on it.
In ward 5B, a young woman had come to offer a cup of tea to the patients.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, Tom?’ she asked.
‘Tom?’
‘Tom ...’