Lucy (Feltham) Leonelli

And so our days fall into a routine. The nurses come and go, all of them angels – yes, really – doctors, consultants, surgeons; the constant flow of Lucy’s support team.

In between, I read, or talk with Lucy, take photos of what’s around her – her wee bag (Gladys), the controls of the bed, the view from the window – anything that helps anchor her to her surroundings.

The initial shock, Mat’s phone call, listening to her doctor explain her injuries; colostomy, tear, pelvis, shoulder, arm, neck… has morphed into the immediacy of the here and now. One thing at a time. I find joy in the smallest things- her first poo – a full bag of wee – a whole pot of jello – she scratched her own nose.

I hold it together because I have to, and because she, like me, on the face of it all is being so strong.

When they turn her, which they have to regularly, I am with her, like Mat, ‘telling them’ how to do it. I hold my breath as she groans in agony, and look away.

After the surgery on her pelvis – during which time I walk around Lake Merrit, trying to put some perspective on this new world – she is back in her room regaling us of the adventures she has been on. We hear of a pirate ship, of an evil nurse pursuing her, we follow her eyes to the ceiling, trying to see what she sees… but she’s on dilauded, and we’re not.

The surgeon tells us she entertained them with songs from Hamilton in the recovery room, and that she told him to ‘Piss off’ when he played the Spice Girls. That’s my girl.