"She was, she says, a block of stone. They were in the neurological ward of a huge hospital on the outskirts of Paris. Travelling on the Metro, the hospital name scribbled on a scrap of paper, it had taken Henderson an hour to find. Roderick looked comfortable when she arrived; he was a good colour, but there was a round red mark in the centre of his forehead and a small tube inside his mouth, attached to something she later learned was breathing for him."
"I just stood there. A doctor came in. She was in tears and I thought: Bloody hell, am I meant to be crying?' You've got no emotion, you've got nothing. You don't know what to say or where you are. That's what shock does to you. Less than 24 hours earlier, on the Saturday night, Henderson, her husband, their two adult children and their partners had been toasting Roderick's 54th birthday on the Seine."
"We'd been dressed up, suited and booted, on a bateaux-mouche. All six had arrived in Paris for his birthday weekend the day before, travelling by Eurostar, sharing champagne and bacon rolls on the way. When this happened, Roderick and I had been married for 32 years. We'd seen all the ups and downs, says Henderson. We were broke when we started you have the kids, things get easier."
Eve Henderson arrived at a neurological ward in Paris to find her husband Roderick lying in a hospital bed with a tube in his mouth and a red mark on his forehead. She felt emotionally numb and unable to cry. Less than 24 hours earlier the family had celebrated Roderick's 54th birthday on the Seine and traveled to Paris by Eurostar. Henderson and Roderick had been married 32 years, weathering financial hardships and family life. They lived in Swanley, Kent; Henderson worked part-time at Asda, and Roderick was a tool-maker and engineer. The sudden hospitalisation left the family in shock.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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