The cool night air felt refreshing on my skin, I could almost convince myself that the grip of painkillers I had downed might do the trick this time. I threw the two empty sports drinks into the bin along with the mostly full packet of painkillers.

Couldn’t let Celia find the evidence of my nightly ritual. She would just make a fuss and force me to go see more specialists. Having spent over a year being scanned, prodded, blood-let and yet still I felt constantly dehydrated with a low grade headache, I had called it.

I lied and said I was feeling better.

I know she doesn’t really believe me.

Opening the little gate into our front yard I quietly unlocked the front door. Head still throbbing and fighting the urge to swallow for relief on my sandpaper like throat. I had gotten very good at ignoring it. What else could I do?

There was a flickering glow coming from the front room and I could smell candles and what was probably the left over charcuterie. It was our date night and I was late. A major issue had gone wrong with the client roll out and I had to be there to put out the fires and smooth over the higher ups panic.

I put my bag down quietly by the door and headed to the warm glow. I found Celia still awake, lying on the couch struggling to keep her eyes open.

‘Ohh honey, I am sorry I am so late.’ I said as her eyes met mine. My heart leapt as they did, she could still get a schoolboy reaction out of me, two kids and 15 years of marriage later.

Celia stretched and yawned, feline like. I kissed her in greeting then sat down next to her, stroking her hair quietly as she snuggled her head into my lap.

“hmmm did you get everything sorted?’ she mumbled mostly asleep.

‘unn yep.’ I managed around the remnants of food that I was not so gracefully shoveling into my face. It had been a long, hungry day.

I swear I almost hear her purr gently as I kept stroking her with one hand. Finally she shook herself and sat upright. ‘I have a bottle of that chili wine that we both agree is terrible.’

Almost laughing, I saw that it was half gone. For some reason we kept buying this awful wine. As I filled my own glass I asked how her day had gone.

‘Alright, the kids had art today at school. One of the teachers caught me as I was picking them up.’ I heard the distaste in her voice and threw her a puzzled look to continue.

‘Ohh it was about Paul’s art piece. It was a man made of guns. Shooting a gun. All the bullets were also guns.”

I did laugh then. He was a young boy. I remember what I was like back then even though my memories are usually hazy at best. ‘Yeah, I used to draw guns back then too, it was either guns, dinosaurs or dicks.’ My throat reminded me it was still sore while I talked but I ignored it. It was a constant companion.

Celia laughed with me then continued ‘I can imagine. Also, if Gracie asks you to guess what her piece was about….good luck. All I know is that its not a fairy.’ Celia shook her head. ‘Little miss got very upset that I couldn’t understand her genius.’

‘Noted.’ I agreed, we were incredibly lucky that I earned enough that Celia could follow her passion and looked after the kids. We had built the family we had both dreamed about.

Celia finished up her wine and gave me a very particular look. ‘I am going to have a shower and head to bed. Maybe you won’t be late this time?’

I watched her walk towards the bathroom until she was out of sight.

I know she usually takes about 20 minutes in there. As soon as I heard the door close behind her I got up and opened my bag. I returned to the couch with a sheet of papers I had printed earlier today.

My head was really starting to throb now. It was not as if I was cheating on her. I was just not telling the love of my life, the mother to our children, everything. Very different.

I was protecting her in a way.

These were the lies that I told myself to keep digging.

They had become all the more important in the last month.

Moving the charcuterie board out of the way allowed me to spread the papers out in front of me. They were filled with jargon and diagrams, notes and scary words like ‘bedsores’ , ‘enforced airflow’ and ‘unresponsive’.

I found the page that had given me such chills. I have spent months working on this in secret. It had started purely because I was sick of paying money to be told again and again ‘we have no idea’ in more and more elaborate and expensive ways.

So I had started doing what I am good at. Collecting and collating data. I did not have a lot to go on in the positives. Dehydration, the constant headache, the occasional invisible burning pain on my arse that moved around. A prickling feeling on the inside of my wrists. Some nights I would wake up almost choking for no reason.

Not real symptoms.

What I did build though was an incredibly long list of what it could not be. I needed to find was something that didn’t exist on that list.

The page in front of me swam back into focus as I heard faint music start from the bathroom.

It was a simple enough page. It had a crude drawing of a man from the front and back. The man like drawing had marks at his wrists ‘to administer fluids and antibiotics’ a tube down his throat ‘delivery of nutrients otherwise the patients body will consume itself’. My mind rebelled, I tried to stop reading but I had been chasing this for too long. I had to keep going. I knew I was close.

The nightmare continued. ‘At night times intubation or forced airflow might be required as the lungs can be atrophied and cannot provide enough oxygen without aid.’ I kept reading, I had to. ‘Constant movement of the patient is of utmost importance to avoid pressure sores and to keep skin integrity’.

I don’t know how long I sat there.

The shutting off of the shower brought me back. Scrabbling around to collect the papers I shoved them back in my bag, my mind shut down and yet screaming at the same time.

The door to the bathroom opened and closed followed by the bedroom door. Moving like I had forgotten how to walk I made it to the cracked open door of our children’s room.

Our children.

Paul and Gracie.

Our treasures.

I looked in at their sleeping forms and could see a piece of paper by Gracie’s head. That had to be her art she was so proud of. She had wanted to stay up to show me. I couldn’t stand there. I closed the door quietly and turned towards our bedroom.

Where my wife, my love, was waiting for me.

The words printed at the top of the page came roaring back into my mind.

“Persistent vegetative state”

My hand trembled as it reached for our bedroom door.