by Niall Culligan, Kilrush Community School

“I sat all morning in the college sick bay…”I recite to myself over and over again, trying to learn a poem I cannot relate to.
Homework, Bloody Homework! I’ll give it five more minutes and then I’ll watch the movie I rented out.
“If there are any problems just ring us and we’ll be home in a half hour,” my mother shouts as she rushes out the door. My parents were off out with friends to celebrate their wedding anniversary. It was the usual warning given to me whenever they left me in charge for a few hours. Tonight, like every other night, I have no worries. Adam goes to bed early and falls fast asleep, once I read his favourite story.

I nod off on the couch, but am startled when I hear Adam crying and moaning with pain. I rush upstairs, taking two steps at a time. Adam is lying helplessly, getting violently sick and the pale colour of his cheeks shocks me.
I ring my parents’ mobile filling them in on the details as best I can. As I wait for their return I pace up and down the bedroom, looking at the clock anxiously, believing that every five minutes is like an eternity. Adam lies propped up in the bed. I make him as comfortable as possible, trying with all my will to remember how they treat patients in “E.R.”. His pale little face and limp body scares me. Eventually, what seems like hours but is probably a half hour my parents come rushing in the door.

Through loud sobs I try to relate to them what has happened since they left and reassure them that I did everything that I could. Adam has stopped vomiting but we need medical advice immediately. A concerned doctor calls an ambulance and Adam is rushed to the hospital. We wait anxiously outside intensive care for news; I cannot believe that only an hour ago I was reading him his favourite story. A lot of questions have to be answered before we can get any news; my head is spinning from the shock of it all. Tests after tests, more scans, consultants and nurses discuss our Adam and still we wait for any outcome. We maintain an all night vigil in the hospital corridor, totally oblivious to any other family’s plight. We have to wait for a second opinion before anyone is telling us anything. My parents and I pray like we never prayed before.

Dawn breaks. Once again there’s activity in the hospital. Finally a tall man approaches and calls out “Parents of Adam?” All three of us jump up. He signals to come in to his office. A grave look of concern crosses his face. He professionally tells us that the results of Adam’s scans show that his kidneys have failed. He outlines the options available to us. Adam will need a replacement kidney and ideally a family member would be a suitable donor. The doctor turns to me and says that as I am young and healthy, I would be a likely donor. Without hesitation, I agree. I was willing to do anything to help Adam.

The following morning both Adam and I are taken into theatre. A team of doctors waits for us. I look across at Adam and smile despite my anxiety. Then I feel a sharp stab of pain in my upper arm as I get injected. Everything is getting hazy….
Hours later, I feel discomfort in my side and head. At first I cannot remember where I am, then reality hits. I see my dad and my first concern is about Adam. He tells me he is still in theatre, with Mam at his side.

I nod asleep again, and when I awake some time later I am aware of hushed voices around me but I am so drugged with medication that I force my eyes open. I search for my dad’s familiar face but he is not there. I move my hand to capture a nurse’s attention; finally she moves closer to me. I faintly ask for news. She looks anxiously at the other nurse and reassures me that everything is fine.
I know by her tense expression that there’s something amiss. I beg her to get my Mam or Dad. I fall into a fitful sleep again and sometime later I am awakened by my father’s gentle voice. He tells me that Adam is struggling in the operation and the doctors are doing their best to help him. I say one more prayer for him…

Everything seems blurred, almost unreal as I walk towards my front door. Gathered around the lawn are crowds of people; some faces are familiar, all with the same depressed, gloomy look.
I want to shout “what’s going on here?” but a steady hand leads me toward the sitting room. As I enter the room, eyes from the ashen faces of my family look sympathetically towards me. A cold sweat envelopes my forehead, my knees are shaking, my heart thumping so loudly I feel that everyone must hear it.
Then I stop, abruptly. In the corner, I see a white box. Somebody urges me to move forward. Instinctively, I know something terrible has happened. I gaze into the box. “Noooo” I scream!

“Calm down, Niall”, my mother’s worried voice pleads. My eyes burst open to see my parents’ anxious look gaze down on me. “Where’s Adam, did he pull through the operation?” I blurt out. “He’s in bed. What operation? And where have you been—you’re soaked” Suddenly reality hits me: I’ve been having a nightmare. How did I get such a morbid idea into my head? Then I look down to see my English Poetry book opened on the floor beside me.