The admissions now, and there have been a few, are getting worse.
The first one where i found you outside the hospital ripping needles out of your arms, blood spraying, asking a transient for a cigarette, gone to the world. You had gone in to a rehab and you were so intoxicated they sent you to A&E. They had my number, but I bitterly wish they didn't. That was what they decided, years ago, I thought it was a one off.
The second one you had a rare infection in a quirky sandfly bite acquired while we were kayaking between mysterious islands in Indonesia, you 5 months pregnant, perfect, beautiful. I could not have been happier. You were so strong, You co-operated and cried with joy each night when they did a sonogram of the baby's heart and you could hear and feel her. The foot meant nothing, it wasn't serious, it was a private hospital and a case of Singapore syle, over doctoring. But I visited you and kissed you and loved you.
The next you were having contractions every 5 minutes. You howled and cried like an animal and I held you like a bear with an arrow in its back. The midwives eventually took over, one each leg, and they spoke sternly to you. You were being histrionic. They threw a little baby on your chest and we took turns holding her all night.
There was the time you were arrested and locked in the place with three security doors between you and the outside, requiring security cards and fingerprints. They called it the "short stays unit". I am not like any of these people! you shouted. No, you are not. They are here voluntarily.
This last one you came home blind and paralytic with a 2cm long and 1.5cm deep gash in your neck. We went to the nice private hospital they suggested calling an ENT specialist back from a golfing trip and a surgeon from Japan.
You felt strongly about this and we left. You told them to f*ck off I believe.
They took you at the public hospital and it was brilliant but the ketamine and drugs left you woozy and weak.
You are home now and can't speak too much about the experience but you bear a massive bandage around your throat which will be difficult to explain. I love you still but i am not in love with you. You are a horrific mother and a poor example of what I want for my daughter. I know you want help and i can see you reaching out omni-directionally, hopelessly but there is no help for someone like you. I think you will die alone somewhere soon.
When they put you under drugs last night you didn't tell them what you had taken in case, just in case, they accidentally killed you, humanley and quietly and your baby received a pay out.
I can hear you saying the words, about Matilda, and love and how this time, this time of 1000 times, you will change. However, I don't believe you and you don't believe it yourself, you are f*cked and living in a horrible condemned grave yard for the living, destroying kind innocent people around you whilst you inhabit this horrific macabre intangible space. You are just a body left, the woman I loved is gone. I hope you die peacefully and this little baby doesn't remember you and has a chance at life.
If you live I feel sorry for you, if you die, Vale.
