Evening star., 1941-06-08

lazy sort of way - with Ann Wade, with
Mrs Jim Wade, who had taken up existence
again yesterday when she ceased to be name
on hospital chart, "the patient in Room
No. 3l6."
1t would be very pleasant just to lie here
in bed that was large and soft and so low
that she could actually reach down and touch
the floor; to stretch her limbs and give herself
up to the warm aveness that flowed through
her veins. But somewhere, if she could only
think down deep enough, lay that extra ounce
of fortitude that she might need very soon,
and she must make one last attempt to lay
hold of it before her husband sleeping on the
couch in the living room, knew that she was
awake.
People who have been very ill, Ann knew,
often have strange. off-the-track notions.
They tend to lose their perspective on life
in much the same manner that they lose their
perspective on things, because they have been
looking at the world so long from horizontal
viewpoint. But - she tried to argue the mat
ter quite dispassionately, as she had been do
ing now for many days - perhaps their slim
hold on living gives them new awareness,
a quickening of sensitivity which is possible
only when the mind is drained of the food of
normal experience.
This feeling, for instance that particular
patch of gray winter morning sky belonged
peculiarly to her because it held in the fore
ground bare branch of her own plum tree,
and because it was framed between the white
ruffled curtains of her own bedroom - that
was pure fancy, though it seemed quite real.
But the certainty that this was the day she
would know whether she was going to get well
or not - there was nothing fanciful about
that. 1t stood up quite surely in the light of
pure. cold reason.
Everyone knew except her: the doctor,
Jim, the children. And today she would know.
Today was her birthday, and she knew that
her annual request concerning gifts was so
well-rooted in their minds that they would
follow it if only by instinct. Something |
need but wouldn't buy for myself" was what
she always told them; and this year their gifts
would be either the sort of thing one gives to
woman whose life stretches ahead, or the non
committal non-essential prettiness that one
selects with thought only for the moment
and the package.
IT WAS her own fault Ann admitted to her
self, that she didn't know the answer. DR..
Morrow had said, that morning in his office:
You see, we can't be sure until we operate"
And afterward, when she had asked him, his
words had come to her from far away: You're
doing nicely. Now 60 back to sleep and don't
worry" 1t might mean merely that she would
rally from the operation, fact that she had
been sure of from the beginning Or it might
mean that she really ,Ods all right She had
wanted to question him more closely, but the
desire to float away again on the fast receding
tide of ether was too strong.
Jim had said: The doctor says you're fine
Heart like sledge hammer Be out of here in
couple of weeks. 1t sounded all right, and
glance at his tired and worried face told her
that if there was anything sinister behind his
words she must spare him, at least for the
moment, the pain of telling her.
Then, gradually. her will to make them tell
her the truth had weakened. 1t was easier
simply to assume, as they wanted her to do,
that she was going to get we'll. She tried to
play the game to their complete satisfaction,
for her own protection as we'll as for their
sakes but every glance, every low converse
ton between the doctor and the nurse and
between the doctor and Jim, was something
which hid the truth.
Now she would know. When the gifts were