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The blink of fate

With one ismple gesture, my precious husband's life was coming to an end


Published by: Polly Taylor
Published on: 29th November 2010


Asmile, a raised eyebrow, a pout – there are so many ways we can speak to each other without ever saying a word.
Sometimes, body language can tell you far more than speech.
That’s what it was like with my husband Ray, 48. He was a man of few words, but you only had to look at him to know exactly what he was thinking.
We’d met when my friend Belinda had invited me to France to watch her husband compete in an off-road driving event.
Ray, a professional driver, had been competing, too, and afterwards he’d leaned out of the window of his Land Rover, grinning at me.
‘Fancy going for a spin?’
Smiling at each other over the roar of the engine, we hadn’t needed words – we’d just known we were meant to be together.
We’d started dating, and moved in together three months later.
‘You make me feel so safe,’ I’d said, snuggling up one night.
Ray wasn’t the slightest bit macho, yet his quiet presence made me feel protected.
Five years later, we married in a low-key ceremony, followed by a barbecue in our back garden.
By then, I was into off-road racing, too, and our weekends were spent driving all over the country to events.
‘Beats cleaning the house or going to the garden centre, doesn’t it!’ Ray would chuckle, whizzing around in a muddy 4x4, me in the passenger seat.
Life with my Ray was like one big adventure.
Of course, fun though it was, off-road racing would not pay the bills. That’s why one morning, as Ray got ready for another car rally, I was getting ready for my morning shift at the local petrol station.
After that, I’d planned to go on a shopping trip with my nephew Matt and friend Nieccie.
‘Bye, love’ I said to Ray, kissing him on the lips.
‘See you tonight,’ he replied.
But that afternoon, as Matt and me pulled into Nieccie’s driveway to pick her up, she ran outside, phone in hand.
‘Ray’s had an accident at the rally,’ she said. ‘He’s been airlifted to Salisbury Hospital.’
Oh my God…
‘I’ll drive you,’ she said, running to her car.
‘Airlifted…’ I gasped, snapping on my seatbelt, my mind racing. ‘It must be serious!’
‘But Ray’s a professional driver,’ Nieccie reassured me. ‘He can handle anything.’
‘She’s right,’ Matt soothed. ‘Ray’s had his share of bumps and bruises in his line of work.’
True…
I nodded slowly.
‘Ray will be fine,’ I said.
But arriving at the hospital, I was whisked off to a private room by a consultant.
‘When your husband lost control of the car, it rolled over several times,’ he told me.
‘Oh God!’ I breathed.
‘He’s broken his neck,’ the consultant said. ‘We need to operate to repair the damage.’
This was much more serious than I’d ever imagined.
‘Can I see him?’ I croaked.
Legs shaking, I was led into Ray’s room where he lay on the bed, strapped to a board.
‘I’ve really done it this time, haven’t I?’ he said, trying to smile.
‘You’re going to be fine,’ I soothed, stroking the back of his hand. ‘The doctors will fix you.’
The operation to repair Ray’s spine took seven hours, while I waited nervously for news.
Finally, the consultant appeared in front of me.
‘He’s awake,’ he said. ‘You can go through and see him now.’
Ray was hooked up to a life-support machine, a breathing tube snaking into his mouth.
‘Hello, sweet,’ I whispered, sitting in the chair by his bed.
‘I love you,’ he tried to mouth, but the breathing tubes in his mouth made it impossible for him to speak.
‘Listen, how about this system?’ I smiled, leaning over him. ‘If I ask you a question, you can blink once for yes, twice for no.’
Blink.
‘So you understand?’
Blink.
At least now we could communicate – I didn’t want Ray to feel scared, alone.
Just then, his consultant arrived and took me into a side room to talk to me about the operation.
‘We’ve fixed Ray’s spine as best we can,’ he told me. ‘But your husband is paralysed from the neck down.’
‘H-he…can’t walk?’ I stammered, stunned.
‘He can’t move at all… and there’s nothing we can do to change that,’ he said gravely. ‘I’m very sorry.’
He went on to explain that Ray would need to spend the next two years in hospital before he would be allowed home.
‘And even then he’ll need round-the-clock care,’ he said. ‘He won’t be able to do anything for himself.’
As his words sank in, my whole world crashed down around me.
What kind of life could Ray have without any movement? He lived for jumping behind the wheel of his 4x4 and whizzing around a racetrack somewhere…
Then I remembered something… a conversation we’d had a few years back. We’d been talking about how dangerous our sport could be.
‘If I was ever paralysed in an accident, I wouldn’t want to be kept alive,’ I’d said.
Ray had nodded, deep in thought.
‘I wouldn’t want to live like that, either,’ he’d said.
It’d been a silly, late- night chat. I hadn’t given it a second thought since, why would I? Now, I remembered it clearly.
‘Ray won’t want to live like that,’ I whispered, echoing his words.
‘I know,’ the consultant replied. ‘He’s spoken to us about it.’
I had to ask him myself, though.
Returning to his room, I leaned over the bed, looked into his wide, frightened eyes.
‘Sweet,’ I whispered. ‘Do you want to live like this?’
Slowly, deliberately, he blinked.
Once… then again… NO!
Oh God! Part of me was willing him to change his mind. I’d love him, look after him, no matter what. It didn’t matter what sort of life we had, just so long as we were together.
But I knew it was his decision to make.
‘Are you sure?’ I croaked, squeezing his hand.
Ray blinked again. Just once this time. Yes, he was sure.
I dreaded the next morning, and wished it would never come. One of the nurses wheeled a bed into Ray’s room for me, so I could lay beside him, holding his hand, while doctors turned off his life-support machine.
The consultant explained that Ray wouldn’t die right away, that I’d be able to say a proper goodbye to him.
When the breathing tube was removed, Ray was at last able to speak to me.
‘I love you, sweet,’ he gargled, tears filling his eyes.
‘I love you, too,’ I said, crawling on to the bed beside him.
Turning on my side, I wrapped my arms around his chest, curled my body around him. Just as we had slept together at night.
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
I’d never sleep beside my husband again.
‘I’m so sorry to do this to you,’ Ray croaked. ‘It’s the only way.’
‘I know,’ I sobbed, squeezing him tight.
After 45 minutes, his breathing slowed. Then he took his final breath wrapped in my arms.
‘I’m going to miss you so much,’ I whispered.
More than 400 people came to Ray’s funeral – it was amazing to see how many lives he’d touched.
Now, a few months have passed since Ray died and I’m muddling through somehow.
I haven’t given up my rally driving – it’s my way of keeping part of Ray alive. Without it, I’d have nothing.
Whenever I put my foot down, I think about that smile – the one that started 20 years of happiness.
I just can’t believe it all ended in the blink of an eye.
Yvonne Kempster, 49, Chipping Norton, Oxfordshire