I hadn't noticed

So here we go, something I've been tinkering around with. definitely a different type of story I usually write.


I Hadn't Noticed
Written by Loki456

'I hadn't noticed', the phrase seemed to be the drive behind the blank stare Nick gave to Sarah on so many occasions lately.

“Did you see the tax return on the counter this morning?” Sarah asked.

A riposted look combined with the oft expression– I hadn't noticed would blindly flash across Nick's gaunt face.
“When was the lawn mowed?” Sarah would inquire, looking out the window.
A shrug of his shoulder and semi-coherent grunt 'I hadn't noticed', Nick would reply.

An air of change was coming, and Sarah could feel it cozy up against her porcelain skin. She knew something was wrong, but how does a married couple of 20 years begin to talk to each other again?

It had been a week since Nick took this road of emotional incongruity and it was taking its toll on Sarah. Her remarks now snappy and increasingly abridged by anger. “When did that bill come, Nick?” Sarah asking as she flicked through the mail.

His head still buried in the newspaper, Nick would follow up with a simple “I hadn't noticed it come”. Sarah's sigh denoting her lack of care for the response would be met with the boarded mortal coil that was Nick. His head not moving from position to acknowledge her frustration would be left with a slap of the mail on the kitchen counter and a disgruntled snort that would follow the tone, “you're unbelievable Nick”. The thud of Sarah's footsteps up the carpeted stairwell could be heard throughout the house. He didn't notice.

He was once a clean man, neatly folded shirts lined next to rows of socks. Color coded of course. But it was a Tuesday, Nick had flung his shoes into the hallway as he came up the steps from work. His socks pulled off in tragic malady, and laid to rest in resounding martyrdom in the doorway. His body shrilled as the brisk cold winters breeze blew threw the opened window. He had to close it. His body, wearied and fatigued from the work of the day would fall weightlessly, man handled by that Newtonian mistress known as gravity, flinging him to the bed below. Sheridan quilt covers weren't cheap, but they sure were comfortable to lay in.

“Nick! $600 quilt and cover and you lay on it in your dirty work clothes?” the question pierced as Sarah opened the door.

“sorry love, I hadn't noticed”, the reply screeching like wooden nails against a chalk board.

“For pete's sake, get up and go have a shower, we're going to dinner with Bill and Shelley, remember?” Nick of course obeyed.

Dinner was eventful that night, flashing lights, and men in uniform with a side order of intubation was on the menu. The night had begun like it usually did, mediocre conversation with obligatory smiles and whispered ridicule at Shelly’s obscene ear rings and bust line. Dr Mason was a magician Nick thought. The champagne was exquisite as it usually was, it was a sparkling sunset in a glass Nick had often called it. The food flooded every sense. And as the last tempered steak and wine left a resounding cheer on Nick's taste buds, his eyes glazed, his gaunt face convulsed and the steak and wine returned to the plate in excretory fashion. Pain forced his muscles into a stalemate as his body became rigid. His eyes widened with fear and his diaphoretic skin, pulsed through a sweat laden shirt. Onlookers stood with frightful jubilation. Sarah dropped to meet her husband of 20 years.

“Nick! Nick, are you alright? What's happening? You having a heart attack? Nick! Nick!” Sarah tearfully questioned.

Bill with his receding hairline called the ambulance, his bald head glistening as sweat oozed through with sympathetic motivation.

Waiter's followed through with medi kits in toe. Bags and hands alternating CPR techniques. Nick's body moving in rag doll style as counted numbers where muffled by the sobbing of a distressed wife. The ambulance arrived within the span of two roman numerals, the gurney clanging to the ground and men in uniform forcefully clearing a path. The ride to the hospital was quick, Nick had failed CPR and an airway could not be successfully maintained. One paramedic leaned over and whispered to the other officer, “have you done your intubation course yet?”. They didn't think Sarah could hear, but she heard everything.

The more senior of the two responded, “of course I have, mate you better do that because it is unprofessional to leave a patient in this state”. Sarah was satisfied with the reprimand. A tube not unlike a garden hose was placed down Nick's throat, air inflated and his chest rose. This was definitely a good sign, at least they could be 80% sure they didn't place the tube into his stomach. The gurney clanged again and the hospital doors opened, a distressed wife followed close behind.

Sarah was asked to wait in the waiting room, her mother arrived shortly after. The shoulder of a mother is a comforter in the darkest of hours. Time passed by slowly, tears had all but dried up and the waiting room was now home to Bill and Shelley as well. Sarah was grateful. The doctor re-appeared his head in a quasi-hanging type position, a position that denoted a professional standard, but a way to refuse eye contact with Sarah. His lips parted, a slight tremble and crack of the voice followed through with the words “I'm sorry Sarah, Nick didn't make it. The cancer was just too far advanced. Maybe if he had accepted chemotherapy he would have had possibly another couple of months”.

Sarah, still, shocked, shaking. Her eyes glazed, her mouth widened, her legs bowed and a scream. An aching scream. The scream of a wife who had just lost her husband of 20 years. Arms of a mother wrapped around her, consoling her. “what hadn't I noticed?' the sobs rang through. The gaunt face. What hadn't she noticed. The tears that streamed down Nick's cheek as he hid them behind a newspaper. What hadn't she noticed. The increasing fatigue, the loss of appetite. What hadn't she noticed.

Excellent piece.

You had me gripped from the very beginning, as I could never be sure which way the story would turn.

My first impression was that you were dealing with a very difficult subject i.e. the breakdown in communication between a long married couple. I was wondering how you would deal with it.

Then I began to suspect an affair.

The change in personality threw me completly off balance. Nick's external decline brought back sad memories of my best friend in France who went through the same thing before he died of a heart attack five years ago. In fact the tale was a mirror image.

You brought out well; the deception, the sensitivity & the extreme sadness. Thank you for a much appreciated story.

Best Regards
M.

Thanks Manichaean,

I'm glad I was able to bring the emotion out. It was actually really quite difficult for me to apply emotion to it. As a Dr I see it all the time, in fact you become numb to it. the crying, the sadness. You don't appreciate it for what it is. That's why I wrote this piece, just to get back in touch with a bit of sympathy. We are taught to show only empathy (which is a good thing, people don't want Dr's who are always crying and wailing with them) - but in one's own down time, I think debriefing is good. This is my debrief.

I knew there was a punch line on the way - I just failed to spot who would get to deliver it (even with the menacing reference to 'flashing lights' and 'intubation' as the hors d'oeuvres).

There were a couple of moments where I thought your display of verbosity was a little out of sync with the quite jaunty nature of the story - black comedy I'm assuming was intended.

A riposted look combined with the oft expression..... is a pretty ugly (?!?) expression

as is 'the boarded mortal coil that was Nick' which I keep wanting to read as 'bearded' (and even then it's still a bit iffy).

Also you refer to their 20-year marriage twice - the second occasion is probably better removed as it distracts from the drama of Sara coping with her husband's collapse. And also her line 'You having a heart attack?' seems a bit out of place.

But other than that (!) a fine story - and delivered with the scalpel-edged graveyard-humour of a trained medic.

H