Facing Jack's Own Vulnerability A lively personality such as Sheila's was deeply missed at the hostel, and several months pasted in strange sobriety. Respiratory infections were also causing serious concern from time to time. I began to get a morbid obsession about Jack's state of health, and was anxious each time he developed the slightest cold. Yet it was to be the most unsuspected episode which shook me rigid. We were having breakfast with Trevor and Freda, when I saw Jack gulp. He calmly announced. "I think I'm going to choke." A piece of bacon had stuck in his windpipe. Trevor thumped him on the back, and twisted him and turned him all ways to try and dislodge the bacon piece. Jack's mouth would not open wide enough to get a finger down the throat. His face went red, then blue, and all colours, but from the awful noise he made it appeared that he was getting a little air. Trevor picked him up bodily, and turned him upside down in the hope that gravity would help to release the blockage. We all remained deadly calm. Freda tapped her walking-stick on the wall, and the neighbour was soon telephoning 999. Jack's eyes were staring glassily. I could only look on helplessly. The ambulance arrived, and the attendants saw Trevor still desperately struggling to keep Jack alive. They shook their heads hopelessly. Trevor wasted no time in carrying Jack into the ambulance, still whooping for breath. All this had seemed an eternity, yet it lasted barely fifteen minutes. Freda and I could do nothing except wait. Jack's chair remained in the corner looking empty and forlorn, and echoing exactly how I felt inside. We both said very little. I was fully convinced that Jack would not recover from this incident. All routine was forgotten, and we just waited in silence. It was two hours later before Trevor returned. His face showed a broad grin, and I was immediately reassured that Jack was all right. Only then could I cry – from sheer relief. Trevor told me that, though a tracheotomy tray had been prepared, it had fortunately not been needed. A "sucker" tube had sufficed. Apparently, Jack was soon back to his old wisecracking self! "Phew! That saved my bacon, didn't it?" What Trevor did not reveal was that Jack had broken down crying for awhile, so terrifying had been the experience. Later that afternoon, I went down to the hostel, and could hardly believe it had happened at all. Jack looked so normal, though his throat was still sore. We both felt subdued, and were reluctant to talk about it for some time. The experience had proved a great shock to Jack. It seemed significant that before long he was suffering many minor infections, and a recurring bladder disorder was becoming more uncomfortable. He seemed to feel the cold more, and often had a higher than normal temperature. Despite having a good doctor, Jack was reluctant to bother anyone, and often suffered too long without treatment. His sense of humour was less apparent the usual, and he would lapse into long, gloomy silences. It was during one of these indifferent spells that he was invited to my home for the day. My parents had long accepted the obvious permanence of our friendship. But another daunting experience was to beset us on that Sunday. Jack had taken some tablets for his urine infection, when soon afterwards his normal rubicund face turned ashen. He said that his heart felt "funny", and that he felt dizzy and numb. I was holding his hand, which was suddenly hot and clammy. We were puzzled, and decided to call the doctor. A locum arrived who knew nothing about Jack, and suggested that he might have been drinking. By now, Jack had begun to talk loudly, and inform us all that he was dying. He insisted that I should take care of his purse. In my own mind, I was convinced that he was having a nervous breakdown. Unable to decide what was wrong, the doctor advised that Jack should be taken back to the hostel. I ask Dad to take me as well, but he refused, saying that it would be unwise since there was nothing I could do. So once again I was left waiting and wondering. How I wished I had a telephone. How I wished I could go somewhere quiet. But family life hustled and bustled on around me, and I kept my feelings bottled up inside. If only I did not always have to put up a brave front. But it seemed the only way. Dad returned. He told me that Jack was put to bed, and that a consultant had been summoned. Again, I resigned myself, thoughtfully turning Jack's purse over and over in my hands. Plans started to formulate in my mind. I must visit him tomorrow. Trevor will take me – his day off from work. But how shall I get a message to him? I know – ring him at work straightaway. I asked Dad if he would go down to the telephone kiosk on the corner, and make the call for me. He duly complied, and I began to relax. "Please let Jack be all right," was my silent prayer. But to those around me, I remained quiet. As if in answer to my prayer, Alec was suddenly at the door! By chance, he had called at the hostel and heard about Jack's "attack". He had waited to see at first hand the results of the consultant's injection. Jack had become calmer, it seemed, and was soon back to normal. Alec asked if there was anything he could do. "Let Margaret know I'm all right now. I know she'll be worrying about me." Alec was so understanding, and always ready to help. He finished with a kiss on my forehead. "With Jack's love," he added, and went back to reassure Jack. Next morning I was at the hostel, thanks to reliable Trevor. I found Jack still in bed, though none the worse for his experience. I learned that he had suffered "something with a very long name which induced rapid heart-beat!" No treatment was prescribed by the consultant. Jack was convinced that his heart had stopped beating, at the time. He had also been told that it could happen again though not necessarily so. It seemed as though we were being reminded of our own vulnerability, but these unpleasant incidents, we feel, also helped to cement our relationship.