Division(Ashleigh Maihi) I twist and turn in the cold, hard hospital bed that has been my second home for as long as I can remember. A cold sweat has developed on my forehead and the blaring light from the small television above my bed does not help the searing pain in my head. I turn to the right, trying to find a comfortable position which is difficult with tubes running all over my body and needles inserted in my hands. I glance over to the foot of my bed and see my mother slumped in the green armchair. Her chest peacefully rises and falls and she is snoring gently. I envy her. She can escape, at least for a couple of hours.

I turn again, onto my back. There is pain with every movement but the strongest pain is in my stomach. Anxiety swirls around in my gut. I press my hands against it, attempting to dull the pain but wince when I push too hard. I try to remind myself that tomorrow is the day that I have been waiting for. Tomorrow I will be free from the stab of needles, the pushing and prodding of the doctors, free at last from the everlasting strain of sickness.

I turn onto my side with another rush of agony. I watch the clock tick slowly past 2am. Tick, tick, tick.

This is unbearable. With the thoughts of freedom come merciless thoughts of fear. In just a few hours time I could die. I feel a tear roll down my cheek, a tear for my family. I no longer care for my own life but for the lives of my loved ones. The ones who have had to watch me in pain. The ones who have had to endure years of sleepless nights. The ones whose lives would crumble if I were to leave them.

I have a one in a million chance of success. I could be that one, or I could be included in the million. It does not matter what category I will be placed in. Either outcome, death or life, will let me escape and that is the only thing that I need.

***

I must have fallen asleep. I wake to find my mother’s face smiling down at me. I look into her eyes and see that they are wet and full of worry. The bags beneath them have changed into a darker shade of grey.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” she coos, her voice broken. “It’s time now.”
I nod. The smiling nurses transfer me onto a trolley, muttering sugary words of reassurance that I do not listen to. All that I can hear is my heartbeat grow louder.

A new wave of anxiousness sweeps through my body. I watch the lights on the ceiling zoom past me as I am wheeled down the white corridor. The trolley stops. I hear the nurse speak.

“I’m sorry but this is as far as you can go. You’re going to have to wait here now, Mrs Ford.”

My mother’s hand tightens around mine and she leans down to kiss me on my forehead.

“I love you,” she whispers.

I smile and she lets go of my hand.

I am pushed through the double doors and into a room filled with silver machines and strange instruments. It seems colder in here and it smells sickeningly of disinfectant. I am lifted from my bed onto the icy tabletop. A surgeon enters and walks over to me. He can sense the fear in my eyes and places a comforting hand over mine. A mask is placed over my mouth. The pain in my stomach is dulled and I fall into darkness, listening to the rhythmic beep of my heartbeat.

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