The General Ward
written by: Hanna von Randow
The first thing Harriet became aware of was the warmth of the heavy blankets which she’d been covered with, followed by beeping sounds – some near, some far – and then the smiling face of a nurse saying, “Wake up, dear. Time to wake up now.”
As reality tumbled in, Harriet’s senses jostled into position, and she was able to recognise where she was and remember the operation she’d just had. She tried to talk, but her throat was dry and sore. Someone in blue scrubs put a paper cup of water to her lips, and she sipped from it. Someone else said, “We’re taking you through to the ward now. The surgery went well,” and then her bed was guided through corridors of flickering strip lighting and heavy doors until they arrived at the general ward. Harriet took in the closed curtains of several other patients and the hushed tones of whispered care. The lights were low as the orderlies manoeuvred her into position and then left.
The curtains around her bed were closed now, and an alarm was draped over the back of the bed’s rail and onto her pillow; iced water poured for her and placed gently on the overbed table, and a friendly face with kind eyes was saying, “I’ll be back to check on you shortly. Get some rest now.” The oximeter was clipped to her finger, and the nurse disappeared behind the curtain.
Harriet felt like she’d run a marathon. The exhaustion pulled at her frail body, begging to be satisfied. She felt herself give in to it as it engulfed her in its silence and welcoming warmth.
Dreams came then. A jagged montage of memories. Her children. Their children. The men and women she’d loved. The pets she’d adored. The places she’d been. A famous bridge, a colourful cathedral, a gondola drifting through peaceful canals. A swirling tornado of images and now feelings too. The longing for lost love, the haunting shame of mistakes, the despair of missed opportunities. But also now the joy of motherhood, the triumph of success and the celebration of love in all its forms.
“Mama?” A soft voice appeared on the edge of the dream, and then more insistent, “Mum??” Harriet knew the voice; it was her daughter. She fought to stay dreaming, to keep on being swept up in this theme park ride of her life.
“Mum?!” The voice was now closer, and a hand was on her arm, gently nudging her. Harriet felt her whole self rising from her braided and coiling reverie and opened her eyes just enough to see Bella’s kind, concerned face. “Hey. There you are,” Bella whispered.
“Hi, baby,” Harriet managed, her lips not quite coming together to form proper sounds.
“They said you came through it like a champ,” Bella smiled.
Harriet tried to bring her daughter’s sweet face into focus but couldn’t. She could feel Bella’s hand around hers now, soft and stroking, more like through water than through air. She felt the swirling still, the dream waiting impatiently for her to return to it. “I love you,” she said, her voice like gravel, not her own.
“I love you too, Mama,” Bella replied.
“Sleepy time now, love,” Harriet managed as she struggled to keep her eyes open, using the language they shared from when Bella was so little.
Bella wrapped her arms around her mother, and Harriet felt the warmth of her breath on her neck as she whispered, “I’ll be back tonight ok? See you soon. Sleep well.” Hushed voices followed, a little laughter, and then she was gone.
Harriet felt the dream tugging at her like an enormous toddler, demanding her attention. As soon as she closed her eyes, it was there, wrapping itself around her, coiling and twirling. She was the eye of the storm, the centre of gravity, the hub of all things that had ever been hers. It was softer this time, though. Less urgent. Less frenetic. Images came and went, people’s faces and touches, their care, their longing. Less of a storm now and more of a current. Harriet gave in to it, allowed it to sweep her away, its silky softness replacing the hard edges of consciousness.
And here now was the horse, Hassan, she had loved, cantering over to her and nickering, his gleaming white coat shimmering in sunlight, his head high, his Arabian tail carried aloft and flowing. He gazed at her with his soft and tender eyes as she kissed his velvety smooth muzzle and they exchanged breaths. Then he tossed his mane and knelt. Harriet climbed on his back easily, and together they galloped through forests streaked in sunlight and beaches of white sands and clear, crisp water. Harriet raised her arms above her head and leaned back, revelling in the freedom and beauty of how it always had been between them.
And here now was the Afghan Hound, Tigger, she had adored, her long crimped hair dancing like tassels as she bounded over to Harriet in that awkward loping way she had and laid her sweet head on her lap. Harriet bent over her dog and stroked her face then, as she looked up, she saw people taking shape. Here was Elizabeth, still 18, her smiling eyes and gentle heart reaching for her. Here was her father, his arms wide open, offering love. Here too were her sister and brother, cancer-free and grinning, brimming with warmth and welcome. There were others – lovers, friends, grandparents, animals – all gathered and silent. Waiting.
A noise cut through Harriet’s dreaming; a hard, loud, cold and constant sound which became more persistent, demanding her attention. Three people gathered around her bed, two with clipboards and the third leaning over her to unclip the oximeter. Harriet watched as they busied themselves with protocol, exchanging short sentences and raising the sides of her bed. Unhurried, they tucked in the sheets, pressed a button so the noise ceased its whine, and opened the curtains. A crash cart was moved out of the way as they wheeled Harriet’s bed out of the ward and disappeared through a door marked private, and then Harriet felt herself lose any interest in following them any further.
Behind her, Harriet felt her dream’s embrace, peaceful and patient.
“I’ll be back tonight, ok?” Bella’s voice said to her heart, her grey-green eyes filled with care. Beautiful Bella, the child she had craved and raised and loved so much. Bella, who had burst into her life late and had brought with her a new type of love, a surprising and joyful connection which had endured effortlessly between them for 40 years. Harriet smiled and knew in that moment she would not be back tonight.
She turned around. Hands reached for hers, and she took them all at the same time. Flanked by her dog and horse and surrounded by those she had once held dear, Harriet took her first step into the widening calm of all she had loved.
- The General Ward - September 8, 2026
- In From The Cold - June 15, 2026
