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The doctors swarmed around her. A fluster of IV cables and plastic tubes surrounded them. I was left in the open, yet cluttered corridor, sat on a folding chair set along the wall. The paramedics had wheeled Emily into one of the anonymous rooms leading off from the corridor. I wondered how many more times I'd end up in this same position, just sitting and waiting for the results of yet another relapse.

The clock ticked on, louder and louder, till the piercing boredom persuaded me to pick up a tattered magazine. A collapsing magazine rack was to be found near the end of the corridor, but often blended into the featureless walls. I wasn't even surprised that I'd previously read it. I visited the hospital frequently, and its never altering magazine assortment was always consistent and unchanging. The people in most need of distraction are the regular visitors, but somehow the magazine rack was unnoticed by the nurses. A low-volumed TV was murmuring in the background like a babbling stream. I flick through the pages but am unable to focus on reading.

Eventually a nurse taps me lightly on the shoulder.
'You can see her now; she's just in the ward.' Her finger points at a pair of double doors. 'Two beds down on the left.' Now totally receptive to what the nurse is saying, I rise from my sitting position and go through the doors. Apprehensive of what I might find, my eyes rapidly sought for Emily. She looked pale, white-washed and wan. Her eyes closed in a peaceful rest, and her body motionless in total contrast to the beating of my own anxious heart.

I sigh and then curl up in the chair at the foot of her bed in an attempt to rest. Aware there was nothing I could do but wait.

****

What first hits me is a muddle of beeping machines and the strong scent of cleaning fluid. My eyes feel heavy as I try to raise my eyelids. Unnaturally heavy, like lead. My eyelashes are intertwined, fixed as if to prevent me from breaching them open.

I eventually feel them flicker, and am startled by the sudden blur of glaring white light above me. I realise where I am, then try to breathe deeply and take it in. The tiniest movement makes my stomach and ribcage feel like they're tearing apart. I am completely drained even the thoughts that pass through my head seem to sap energy from me.

I notice my mother slumped in the chair at the foot of my bed and wonder how long she's been there, how long I've been asleep and where I collapsed this time. Every visit follows the same routine, yet it still never seems to feel habitual. Every time I'm admitted the worry lines upon my mother's once unwrinkled face grow. Oblivious to my emotions she frets more and more. Unaware of the extra strain it adds. All my vigour is used fighting the disease yet I constantly need to uphold the pretence that I am well. Secretly I fear the opposite.

Shoe heels reverberated on the solid linoleum floor marking the arrival of the morning shift. The nurses gathered around the nurses' station, awaiting the imminent arrival of the consultants, closely followed by a flurry of student doctors. Two nurses stroll past, and I glimpse at them through the glass window of the door. They chat in hushed voices writing on clipboards. The busyness of the early morning contrasts with the usual evening silence. Every time I'm admitted this always bewilders me. The same numbers of nurses are on duty and there are more visitors to be found in the evening, yet the atmosphere changes so dramatically.

My mum stirs in her seat. Breathes heavily, then returns to her original position and continues being dead to the world.

A nurse walks past with a disposable cup containing pills. She continues to a bed two down from my own where a man hisses in pain. Though I dare not be as vocal in my anguish I know that I suffer the same mounting torment.

Wearily the minutes, and then eventually the hour pass.

Later the door swings open and a consultant ambles in. What am I to expect ' good or bad news? I'm anxious now. I fiddle with the tips of my fingers whilst he asks to speak in confidence with my mum. I sit up in the bed waiting for them to return.