My stomach started aching during the last lecture of the day. Nausea crept up and I felt dizzy, my vision blurring at the edges. I really should stick it out until the end But the pain only grew sharper. I ended up hunched over to one side, fingers of my left hand pressed into the sore spot. Eventually, I put my hand up and left the room.
Of course, Id been expecting these days, almost ready for them, but today Id completely forgotten my tabletsand so had Lesley. Typical.
I tried to console myself; just make it through this final lecture, catch the bus, and then the train. I was off to Grandmas for the weekend. Theres a pharmacy kiosk at the train station. Then just over an hour on the train, and Id be at Grandmas place where, as always, everything would be alright.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. I fidgeted constantly, my discomfort only intensifying. When it finally ended and I escaped the university building, I was relieved.
The weather was miserablewet snow mixed with rain. Mum had told me to wear my winter coat, but I stubbornly chose something lighter. Now, here I was, nearly frozen in my thin jeans and cropped jacket, longing more than anything to just be at Grandmas already.
Outside, the pain temporarily retreated somewhere deep, biding its time for another onslaught. As luck would have it, the bus took ages to come. My shoes quickly became soaked.
While I stood at the stop, the pain surged back with renewed force. Little waves of agony that came and went like contractions. Around me, people scurried through the slush, umbrellas up, bumping past mea student frozen by pain, just trying to hold herself together. It was all I could do not to cry.
When the bus finally showed up, it was packedno seats left. My vision dimmed, but I was too embarrassed to ask for a seat at my age, so I just stood and endured. I started to worry, toowas everything alright back there? I pressed my back to the window, trying not to think about it as icy drafts nipped at my ankles. All I wanted was to be at Grandmas.
But when I made it to the pharmacy at the train station, it was closed. There were forty minutes to wait before the train would come. I found a spot on the hard station bench, leaned forward, and pressed my bag tight against my stomach. It dulled the pain a little, or at least distracted me. I pretended to nap on my bag, but really I was squeezing it against the ache and counting to a hundred over and over, focusing on breathing.
Lift your feet, and your bag too! a voice called out.
It was the cleaner, mopping the half-empty waiting area.
I cant.
Whats wrong, love?
My stomach hurts.
Shall I ring for an ambulance, then? The lady looked at me with such understanding; women always know.
No, its alright. Ill make it.
I gritted my teeth through the ride on the train, hunched over in exactly the same way. I cant even remember how I made it from the station to Grandmas house.
But when Grandma opened the door, she took one look at mesoaked through, dark circles under my eyes, forehead creased and shivering all over. She understood instantly.
Gran, do you have any paracetamol?
Right, sit down, now. Take everything off, youre drenched! she clucked fussily.
After that, she set about caring for me in the way that only grandmothers can.
Still wearing those synthetic tights! And without any socks, too! Grandma fussed, bustling around me.
Oh Gran, why do we women have to go through this?
Well, I used to suffer too, though it got easier after I got married, she tried to reassure me.
Soon enough I was enveloped in scratchy woolly socks, one of Grandads long t-shirts, Grandmas flannel dressing gown, and my favourite dark-green knitted shawl she made for me.
Tablets? I called, halfway through a trip to the bathroom.
Hot chicken noodle soup first! Three big spoonfuls, come oneven if youre not hungry.
By the time Id forced down the soup, Grandma had set out two precious painkillers beside my bowl, and had brewed and strained some tart herbal tea in a mug.
The combination of soup, medication, and that bottomless grandmotherly care soon worked their magic: the pain faded, sweat beaded on my forehead, my whole body relaxing. Even the shawl felt too warm. Grandma bustled about, rubbing soothing balm on my back and spritzing something sharp and minty under my tongue.
I wanted to drift off right there at the kitchen table, my head tipped back and eyes closing. This, I thought, must be true happiness.
Nor did it end there. There was still the feather duvet and heap of soft pillows waiting in the next room. I fell onto the bed as if I weighed a hundred stone. When Grandma tucked the blanket round every edge, I could barely move at all.
And as I drifted off, I remember thinking:
I dont ever want to get married! No one in the world will ever love me the way my Grandma does.But lying theresafe, warm, and drifting in and out of sleepI realized something else. Maybe Grandmas magic wasnt just in soup and medicine or even the shawl shed knit stitch by stitch. Maybe it was the way she knew, without asking, what I needed before I did. The way shed listen, and tuck me up against the storm and cold world outside.
I pressed my cheek into the pillow, breathing in the faint scent of lavender and old pages. The ache in my stomach had eased, and heavy with comfort, I let myself float. Just before sleep pulled me under, I promised myself: when Im older, when someone I love is hunched and hurting and lost in the aches of life, Ill remember this. This gentle refuge, this home stitched from kindness and hot soup and woolen shawls.
And maybe, I thought, sometime far in the future, Id knit a green shawl for someone too.
