Journey Out of Hades
Gisle Lamontagne

CHAPTER I
LOVE ME . . . LOVE ME NOT!



Anne-Marie raced out of Ottawa airport, into a cab.
-Sacr-Coeur hospital . . . Hull. You must know where it is!

The cab pulled away and headed north into the night. As it crossed the Outaouais River
Anne-Marie stared at the lights reflected into the dark waters, the Museum of
Civilization's cursing lines made even more startling in its nighttime show of seemingly
dancing lights. The cab seemed to plod along as Anne-Maries heart pounded. Couldnt
this guy go any faster, she thought. She felt in a dream, somewhere between reality and
hell. How could it be? How could it have come to this?

She prayed Carol and Dennis would be at the hospital; she had spoken to them a few
hours ago. In less than two hours they could have driven down from Montreal to Hull,
across the river from Ottawa.

The last few hours retraced their way through her mind.
She had spoken to her mother, Kari yesterday. Kari had been so depressed, so tired,
exhausted with work, studies and trying to "sort things out from the past." Anne-Marie
really had so little information about her mother's history. What could have driven her to
such a drastic gesture? A desperate cry for help? A true wish to die?

They had talked about the garden her mother so lovingly had planted for her fiftieth
birthday . . . her friendship garden, perennials "to last as friends do" she had said. She
had been "cleaning out stuff." How had she sounded? Anne-Marie now wondered if she
could have guessed what her mother was really planning. Did her mother even know?
She had said she was depressed, but it would pass. She had been down before and
always she perked up! Her mother was such a fighter, never giving up, never! "Never
say never" she said so often!

Then this morning, around eleven, Anne-Marie had called and her mother
sounded awful. She had admitted taking medication, Ativan.
- How many mother?
- Six, maybe seven. I can't stop shaking . . . I can't take it anymore. Sweety I love
you, I just can't take this anymore. I'm tired, so tired!
Her voice had trailed into a murmur, barely audible.
- I'm so sorry. I love you so much, never forget that! You're everything a mother
could ever wish in a daughter! I love you so much.
- Mom! Anne-Marie had nearly yelled into the phone. Have you been drinking?
- Ya, I bought a bottle of wine, a litre! Cheap. Does the trick. Don't worry
sweetheart, I've taken care of everything; the garden is beautiful, I've wallpapered your
bedroom, you'll get a good price for the house.
- Mom, don't call it my room anymore. Mom, please! Why? You haven't had a
drink in five years . . . Have you?
- Just once, a few months ago . . . I poured the rest out after a glass, tasted awful!
- Why now, mom. What's happening?
I'm tired, so tired! Sweety, I can't fight this anymore . . . I can't go on!

Anne-Marie realized something was terribly wrong. Yet, her mother reassured her she
would only sleep awhile, take good care of herself . . . rest. Anne-Marie could call a bit
later.

Instead, Anne-Marie had called the counseling center where her mother was receiving
help. Damned answering machine! she had thought. Isn't anyone there? For God's sake,
I need someone, fast! She had left her name and long-distance number.

She felt so helpless, so far away. Her mother in St-Pierre, just out of Hull and she, in
Toronto. What could she do? Call 9-1-1? Call the counseling center where her mother
had been receiving help for six years?

The director of the center had called back very quickly; then, she had decided to give
Anne-Marie her telephone number at home. They would monitor the situation closely.
Kari had seemed well recently; she was telling her counselor she wanted to enter the
termination phase of therapy, all was on track.

The events jumbled in Anne-Marie's head as the cab headed toward the emergency room
. . . would she get there only in time to identify her mother's body?

Everything had happened so quickly. After supper, she had continued to try to reach her
mother. The answering machine always tripped in - "Je regrette je ne peux pas venir au
tlphone, but if you leave your name and phone number I'll get back to you as fast as I
can". Damned infernal machine! And that lengthy bilingual message . . . yes, yes, this
is Qubec!

Anne-Marie called back the director of Family Services and asked her to dial 911.
Within less than 30 minutes an ambulance attendant had been on the phone with her
telling her her mother had OD'd and that they were stabilizing her before the journey to
the emergency room. He had kept in touch with her for quite a while until they were at
the hospital and he could reassure her that her mother would live.

In the meantime, the director of the Center had left messages on Connie's answering
machine in the country where she was spending the weekend with her family. Connie
had been Kari's therapist for five years . . . even she could not foresee such a turn of
events! The Director had raced to St-Pierre's emergency room, looking for Kari who had
been taken to Hull. There were frantic phone calls between hospitals as they tried to
locate her.

Anne-Marie reached Sacr-Coeur hospital, paid the cab-driver and ran inside. People sat
waiting in the entrance. An attendant at the desk stopped Anne-Marie asking her what
she wanted; she seemed nice enough yet indifferent. As she rushed into the main area of
the emergency room, nausea swept over her. The large room was surrounded by cubicle
upon curtained cubicle filled with people in every state of dishealth. Everywhere people
lying ashen-white, tubes fitting into their bodies, some moaning, some talking softly,
some yelling. It all seemed mad, or surreal!