Beyond the High Blue Air Read Online Free PDF

anomalous and our walk leads to an Intensive Care Unit does not show. The strangeness, the strain for us all, is subsumed by the horror of the situation that has brought us together and when in the evening the exuberant waiter in the Italian restaurant greets us as la bella famiglia inglese we don’t put him straight. I worry that it is especially difficult for the children, but now Ron has arrived and I take comfort from the civility of his and David’s relationship.
    Ron and I take the airport bus into town and arrive at the hotel just in time to join the children and David setting off for the evening visit to the hospital. I can see the children’s relief at his arrival, the sharing of our predicament, his understanding without explanation. Once at the hospital Ron and I go first, walking down the dreaded corridor before I show him where to put on his plastic apron and gloves and then leading him through the eerie silence of the ward to Miles’s room. The machines are blinking, the ventilator soughs rhythmically, the nurse sits quietly in the corner reading. Miles lies alone on the high bed, so still he could be embalmed, a magnificent specimen of young manhood on display for whoever dares. Miles darling, Ron is here. Why do I say that? It’s not for me to be the interpreter, their relationship so strong my intervention is not required. I wonder if Ron would prefer to be on his own with him; it is difficult finding the words, easier to be alone, I think. I kiss them both and leave the room.
    The uncomprehending, raw pain on Ron’s face when I return, this strong man rendered defenceless. I put my arms around him and we stand together in silence by Miles’s bed. The nurse turns away and inspects the medical chart hanging behind her.
    Embracing Ron, I think, I want Miles to be in love again, make love again.
    A week passes. Ron, Will and David have gone back to London, to work, but they will continue to come and go. Still at university and now on their Easter vacation, Claudia and Marina have remained here with me. We visit Miles twice daily and are beginning to build our days into a routine. But this morning we must face our new reality afresh: the doctors are going to take Miles off his ventilator. They will ‘wean’ him off it – that is the medical terminology.
    The word wean is a singular euphemism here, though correct in its way. Miles has suffered a traumatic brain injury and, reduced to infantile dependency by the injury, he must now go through the hoops of developmental stages that are set out unconditionally in its wake. In the way that anxious new parents do, we follow the stages of his development intently and applaud each tiny sign of progress as though it were being achieved by a prodigy. The irony is not lost on us – Miles invariably succeeded, and when something wasn’t easy he set his cap at it with unstoppable determination. How the tables have turned; determination is no longer available to him. The stakes are different: if he succeeds today he will breathe on his own; or he won’t.
    Our time with him is spent urgently, the three of us spurring him on in turn, goading him to success. Miles, we say, bending close to his ear, you have been breathing with the help of a ventilator for the past ten days since your accident. Today the doctors are going to take you off it – this is such a strong sign of your recovery. You are amazing, Miles. You are going to come back to us. You can do it, you can always do anything. You have so much life left to live, Miles, you must come back. You want to achieve great things and you will, you know that. You are so precious to us, we love you so very much . . . And so on, the urgency, once again, dissolving into an unabashed gush of feeling.
    The afternoon shuts down; if I close my eyes I think I can feel the world rotating. When we finally arrive at the waiting room that evening and I pick up the