My head throbbed from a combination of tears and the sterile overhead lighting. Despite the pain behind my eyes, I stared resolutely at the bright white lab coat. Nothing had been as fascinating as the cursive writing which pronounced the owner to be Dr Linda Drakeford. If I focused on that, perhaps I wouldn't have to focus on her words.

"Did you wish to speak alone?" She asked eventually.

I shook my head, still looking at her chest. It was probably becoming inappropriate after this long but I struggled to drag my eyes away. She remained quiet. It was like she was waiting. But waiting for what? For me to drag my eyes off of her chest? To stop acting like a child unwilling to face reality. All of the above?

With a small sigh, I lifted my eyes to her. The professional empathy was flawless as if she had done this a thousand times before. And she probably had.

I cleared my throat and replied, "No. He can stay."

She nodded her head, adjusting the stethoscope around her neck.

"How is she?" I finally asked, because that was what she was clearly waiting for me to say.

"We've stabilised your mother for now. She has pneumonia, a symptom of which is a build-up of fluid in the lungs. It's affecting her ability to breathe." She replied calmly, her eyes meeting mine.

My fingers clenched around Richie's like he was my personal life raft. I would never be more grateful for his presence as she delivered her next words.

"Her condition has deteriorated rapidly since her arrival here so we're using all of the extraordinary measures we have at our disposal. She is no longer able to breathe on her own so we have had to sedate her and put her on a ventilator. We have also given her a course of strong medication to help her body fight off the illness." She replied. The expression on her face spoke volumes though her facial muscles did not even twitch.

"She's not going to pull through, is she?" The words were whispered but they were loud within my skull.

Doctor Drakeford hesitated. "I don't want to lie to you. There is always a chance she will pull through but her prognosis is not looking good. Her body is already in a weakened state and this will take everything she has to fight." She paused. "The next twenty four to forty eight hours are critical but you may wish to consider the options."

My throat was so dry it was painful to force out my next words. "What options?"

The doctor shifted a little but that mask of professionalism remained perfectly in place. "Well, we can continue to do everything in our power to keep her alive. We can continue with life support and the extraordinary measures. Or, if she does not respond to the medication, you may wish to choose to cease all extraordinary measures. We can make her comfortable so that she doesn't have to feel any pain and we can remove life support."

And she dies.

I swallowed. How had it come to this? How was I responsible for making these decisions? I may be an adult but as I stared into that doctor's face, all I wanted was for someone to take those decisions out of my hands. For someone to be the adult and take control because I certainly didn't feel sure enough.

"When do I have to make a decision?"

"Not yet."

I nodded.

"We'll monitor her progress but I just want you to be prepared. You should know all of the facts going in. I am sure that your mum's doctor has already made you aware but, as she moves towards the end stages of the disease, she will be more susceptible to illness and less able to fight it off." She paused, her hand reaching out as if she were going to offer some form of comfort before she dropped it back to her side. "We'll do everything we can to make your mum comfortable, no matter your decision."

"Thank you."

"Do you have any questions?"

"Can I see her?"

"You can but not for long. She needs her rest and so do you."

She moved to the door to the intensive care unit. "You'll need to wear a mask and gown. Your mother is extremely vulnerable right now and we want to give her the best chance possible."

She pointed to the mask and gowns by the door. I slipped my arms into the plastic, tugged on the mask, and applied liberal amounts of hand sanitiser. Richie moved a little more hesitantly beside me. It was as if he wasn't sure if he should even be there. I wasn't sure either. I was putting him through a strange and cruel torture. I'm not sure I could do this if the roles were reversed.

Selfish. It was just another thing to add to the list of my flaws.

I couldn't ask him to leave. I was too afraid he would say yes. I was too afraid to face this alone.

After being the strong one for so long, I just needed someone. I just needed a friend.

We entered the room together. I made no attempt to get close to my mum. Instead, I hovered just inside the door with Richie's comforting presence at my side.

It no longer looked like my mum. She was trussed up in so many wires, had withered in just the short hours between when I had last stood at her side, that she looked like a stranger. She felt like a stranger.

My mum was vibrant. Lively. This was a sad shadow of the woman she had once been and would never be again.

"I would ask if you are okay but I don't think anyone would be okay with this." Richie commented from my side.

I chuckled sadly, "I always knew it was coming. I just never really pictured what it would look like." My breath shuddered past my lips. "I could never have pictures this."

My throat grew tight. The urge to cry once more surged within me.

Richie's strong arm wrapped around my shoulder as he pulled me into a one-armed hug. The warmth of his body was comforting in the face of the chill spreading within me. If I let it take hold, I knew I would be numb to it all. I just wasn't sure if I wanted that. If I let myself shut it all off, would it be better or worse.

"She doesn't even look like her anymore."

His hand rubbed my shoulder in response. Silent comfort but after being touch starved for so long, I drank it in willingly.

"I'm sorry about your hand." I whispered after a pause.

"Don't worry about it." Richie replied, his voice just as quiet before he added with a chuckle. "Though if you feel bad about it, I won't say no to one of your famous coffees. Jacob always brags that you make the best ones."

I shook my head and chuckled. And just as suddenly tears welled up in my eyes. How could I be laughing in a place like this? When my mum was probably dying just feet away? I was a monster. There was no ifs or buts about it.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"Are you really asking that?"

"Yes, because if your mum was like any other mum out there, she wouldn't want you to feel guilty about smiling or being happy. In fact, I think she would prefer this over you feeling upset over everything that is happening here."

His words rung true and yet I still shook my head.

"I should have taken better care of her. If I had, she wouldn't have been in that place and she wouldn't have gotten sick."

"Maybe not this but she probably would have caught that bug that went round the office a few weeks back. Or perhaps she might have just gotten ill anyway. Perhaps she would have perfectly fine." Richie replied, his voice quiet. "The truth is you will never know and beating yourself up about it won't help her and it certainly won't help you."

I swallowed past the dryness in my mouth before tilting my head up to stare up at him. I offered him a small smile as I commented. "When did you get so serious?"

Richie shrugged, the movement shaking my entire body. I realised then that his arm was still around my shoulder. I learned a bit further into his body.

"You should go and see her. Talk to her." He commented, his voice slightly muffled by the face covering.

Just in case.

I nodded and stepped out of the safety of his hug.

Each step towards the bed was like my feet has been weighted down. The plastic apron crinkled with each movement. My head continued its persistent throbbing. But, eventually, I was there at her side. Half of her face was obscured by wires and tubes. Her eyes lids were closed. There was no movement beneath them.  The heavy sedation keeping her from even dreaming.

Would she ever be awake again? The last time we parted had not been one of her good days. I hadn't even been able to hug her. And now, I dared not risk it just in case I dislodged something vital.

Reaching out, I allowed my finger tips to rest against the back of her hand.

"Hi mum," I murmured. "It's me. I'm here."

I paused uncertainly and then my heart tightened painfully in my chest.

"Please don't go. I'm not ready to lose you."

I'm so selfish.

What if I actually got my way and she pulled through? Seeing her like this, prone on the bed and struggling to live, was like a blade to the heart. And yet, I would condemn her to more of this? More days, more weeks and, if we're lucky, more months of struggle. More pain. More confusion. All so I wouldn't lose her.

The phone at my hip jangled loudly but I ignored it. After a moment, it fell silent as it ticked over to answerphone. There was a brief lull before it started up again.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I stared at my sister's name emblazoned on the screen.

Swiping to answer, I didn't bother with pleasantries. "If you want to see her, Diane. You need to come here now." I paused. "I think we're losing her."