ALICE

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Alice came to us in her eightieth year. She was one of the sweetest ladies I had the pleasure of nursing. I can’t recall her being without a smile. Her husband Cecil, a few years older than Alice, possessed the same nature. They were like ‘Darby and Joan’, the love and concern they showed for each other was indisputable.
   Alice had advanced Renal Cancer. How aware she was of her impending death was hard to tell, as she also suffered from early dementia. Alice was in the first bed of the nine-bed woman’s ward. She chatted amicably with her bedmates who quickly realized they were having ‘repeat’ conversations with Alice. They would just smile and nod.
   Cecil visited every day, usually staying for several hours. Once, when I asked how else he filled in his day, he told me he had ‘nowhere else to go’. In truth, he didn’t want to be anywhere else, except by the side of his beloved Alice.
   One day while doing the medication round, I noticed Cecil wore a troubled expression. Alice was quietly dozing at the time.
   “Everything okay, Cecil? Can I get you anything? The afternoon tea trolley will be along shortly.” His expression changed from concern to one of sadness. For a moment I thought he was going to cry.
   “It’s our sixtieth wedding anniversary next Friday, but I doubt Alice will remember our special day.” He said wistfully. “She was so beautiful. I had to keep pinching myself to make sure it was real. I never did work out how I got to be so lucky.”
   I could feel the lump in my throat. Now I wanted to cry.
   “Have you anything special planned Cecil?”
   “Alice always loved yellow roses, I thought I’d surprise her with the biggest bunch I could manage.”
   From that day on, I was on a mission. I had every staff member on board with me. Whenever we went into the room, we took flowers to Alice and proclaimed “Happy Anniversary!”. The fact the flowers were artificial was lost on Alice. She would beam her beautiful smile and respond ‘Happy Anniversary’ even though that statement had little significance, nor the fact she was being presented with the same flowers over and over again.
   Every once in a while, we would just present the flowers with a flourish, waiting to see if she might say ‘Happy Anniversary’ spontaneously. It wasn’t happening. I was determined not to give up. By the following week, I had just about gone mental, along with everyone else, trying to elicit the response we were praying for.
   I’d arranged for the kitchen to deliver a small cake to Alice on the afternoon tea round. Most days Cecil would arrive shortly after lunch and stay until late afternoon. If Alice was snoozing, he would sit quietly, and wait for her to rouse. There were no other visitors. They didn’t have any children or close relatives, just each other.
   Friday loomed. I lost count of how many times I presented Alice with those damn silk flowers that morning, they were now looking more than a little tatty. As always, the flowers were received with her beautiful smile, but still no ‘happy anniversary’ unless prompted. Cecil was always there by 1.30 p.m. Today he was late. It was nearly time for the 2 p.m. morphine round. I had to go and prepare the trolley with another nurse.
   We commenced the round in the ladies' ward at bed one as usual. About to attend to the patient in bed five, I turned around just in time to see Cecil almost at the end of the corridor, carrying the biggest bunch of beautiful roses imaginable. He stepped into the room and bent down to kiss Alice. As he placed the flowers across her lap, she looked up at him, smiled broadly and proclaimed,
“Happy Anniversary”.
I swear, there wasn’t a dry eye in the ward. We all offered our congratulations.
Cecil beaming, looked at me across the ward mouthing, “She remembered!” I nodded, still teary-eyed.
Maybe she did remember…I like to think so.