Praying for Mariam

I got 'that' call last week. The one you never quite believe can happen to you ... but the odds are that it will at some point.

The dreaded call that tells you that something really bad has happened to one of the people you love most in the world.

It's really a very strange sensation because before you even answer the phone you have that vague flash that the call is somehow out of place, that the person calling wouldn't normally call you at that particular time, and yet still it doesn't quite register that something might be wrong.

In this case my phone was flashing to tell me that the mother of one of my very best friends was calling. In itself not so unusual since my girlie girl moved to Dubai a while ago, her mother and I keep in regular-ish contact.

She looks out for me, makes sure my son and I have everything we need, sends her son over to drop off the odd thing she thinks I might like and has me over to sit and chat about the world in general and her daughter in particular (just as we had that very afternoon).

Birthdays and Christmas never go ungifted. She's one of those rare women that make you feel special and warm inside, enveloped in love and truly cared for - all qualities that her daughter has inherited in bucket loads.

Picking up the phone I knew in the back of my mind that something wasn't right but for some reason still expected to hear her warm friendly voice.

Near hysterics and heartbreaking sorrow is what I heard instead and my entire body reacted to the unbearable pain I could hear in the few words I could catch: "Mariam ... accident ... in surgery ... airport ... sorry" and then the line went dead.

No amount of books or films can really prepare you for that particular moment. Mostly because in books and films you just think it's for dramatic effect and that real life isn't that theatrical.

Heads don't really spin, phones aren't really dropped and life doesn't really move in slow motion. It turns out I was wrong though and life really does imitate art.

I sat there in stunned silence and the only coherent thoughts in my mind were: "Why was she saying sorry? What did she have to apologise for? It must have been because she hung up the phone without saying goodbye. Understandable really, she's upset. So why did she say sorry?"

After that my mind went blank and, what felt like a few minutes but was probably only five or six seconds later, I could hear a noise that sounded like a wounded animal in the background and then all of sudden I realised the noise was coming from me.

For some reason I was sitting on the floor in the middle of my bedroom with tears running down my face and the phone still open on the floor in front of me.

All very dramatic indeed and actually quite hard to believe even as I'm writing it but I know it really happened because it all went down in slow motion ... just the way you see it in the all those silly films with all that bad acting.

And then I was back to normal speed and it all hit me consciously. In my mind's eye I could see Mariam's look of terror that split second before impact, I could feel how dazed she must have felt waiting for someone to come and help her and how scared she must have felt when she realised how badly broken she was.

I could see how confusing all the flashing lights of police cars and ambulance must have been for her and how horrible it must have been to know all this was happening to her in one country when her family and loved ones were all in another.

I could see her on the operating table and lying in a hospital bed hooked up to all kinds of machines.

All weird things to see and think about really considering I didn't have any details other than the fact that she's been in a serious accident and was in surgery while her parents were desperately trying to get a flight out to see her.

Still sitting there on the floor I made a call to pass on the news and heard my son asking me if I was OK. My incredible, amazing son who took the news in his stride and set about comforting me and telling that everything was going to be fine and that Mariam was going to be back to her usual self before I knew it.

I can remember thinking that the roles should be reversed and I should be the one telling him that the woman he's told me in the past he thinks of as his third mother would be fine and he had nothing to worry about. I was so impressed with him.

The rest of the night went by in a bit of a blur, I know I sat starring blankly at the television for a couple of hours and then took myself off to bed, convinced I wasn't going to be able to sleep.

I guess that's when the body kicks in its self-defence mechanism to combat shock and shut down for a few hours because to my everlasting shame I slept like a log.

The next morning I set about finding exactly what Mariam's injuries were and organising a flight to Dubai. I booked my ticket and called her mother to find out what hospital I needed to go to when I got there and that's when I found out how bad the situation really was.

Through her tears I could just about work out that Mariam had a fractured skull and spine, broken shoulder and legs, some kind of lung damage and her brain was bruised.

She had to be induced into a coma for 48 hours to allow her brain to heal enough for them to be able to operate on her leg without causing too much trauma for her body to handle.

I also found out she wouldn't be allowed visitors for a while and flying out would be pointless for now.

That has got to be the worst feeling ever.

Sitting and waiting for news to come in, knowing that there's nothing I can do to help one of the best friends I could ever ask for.

My heart went out to her mother and I wanted to be there for her but knew that she was surrounded by her family and didn't need me intruding on her pain. 48 hours and a scan later, there was no improvement. 48 hours and another scan later ... the wait continues.

For now there's no way of knowing how serious her condition is going to turn out to be and worst case scenarios keep playing in my mind. Is she going to make it? If she does will her brain regain its full function? Will her body fully heal? Will she need months of therapy?

So many questions and a whole lot of fear for what her life is going to be like if she makes it. And, the most selfish thought of all ... what am I going to do without her sunshine smile and infectious silliness in my life if, God forbid, she doesn't make it?