by Clare Tanner
Today's the day
Clare Tanner
Copyright 2011 Clare Tanner
Today's the day
Today is the day I am to be discharged. I can’t believe that now, after the roller-coaster of emotions I have been through over the last few weeks, I am finally to leave hospital. I feel great. I feel positive. I feel that I can face the world again. And it is all thanks to Carl. I feel ashamed when I remember how negative and selfish I was in the early stages. He made me see my way back to the real world, from the dark and depressing place I had put myself in. Now I am longing to see him, to tell him that I can leave hospital today and to let him know how I feel about him. I can’t wait. Where is he? He is usually here by this time. He must be here soon. While I wait, I think back over the horror of discovering what had happened to me and the wonderful, positive influence that he has been on me.
* * *
“Joanna? Can you hear me? It is time for you to wake up now. Your parents are here to see you.”
My parents? What are they doing here? I’ve only just left them behind at home. I try to concentrate and to understand what is going on, but I feel that I’m at the end of a very long tunnel. I’m trying to crawl back along it to the source of that voice, but it keeps fading and then becoming stronger again. Am I dreaming?
“Joanna. Don’t leave us again. Try to focus on us. You’ve been involved in an accident, Joanna. You’re going to be fine, just fine, but it is important that you wake up now and start getting better.”
I can’t take this in. I know that I have been sleeping, and I still feel very fuzzy. I have been having really strange dreams. Family and friends have all been involved in these dreams, walking on and off stage, talking to me, as if I’m the main part in some very complicated play. Now people are talking to me again, but it seems so hard to understand what they are saying. I can’t seem to process the information. What’s the matter with me?
At last, I begin to be able to focus on the room. There are Mum and Dad, and my brother Jamie, sitting in a line by my bed like part of a set of ninepins, waiting to be knocked down. Even in my befuddled state I can tell that something serious has happened, by looking at the fixed smiles on their faces.
“What happened, Mum?”
“Well, darling, as far as we can tell, you were knocked down by a hit and run driver. He tore round a corner and mounted the pavement. You didn’t have a chance to avoid him.”
“But I’m OK, right? You are all looking way too worried for my liking.”
“Yes, you’re doing really well. You took quite a bang on the head. That’s why we all wanted you to wake up quickly, to be sure that you were alright. And you are, so that’s great.”
I don’t like the look of that anxious grin.
“I can see that I’ve injured my legs,” I say, looking down at the cage that the blankets are draped over.
“Yes. Your left leg had some bad cuts. Your right leg was badly injured. Darling, the surgeon did everything he could, but it was too badly crushed. He had to take it off below the knee.”
I look at her blankly. This is way too soon to tell me this. I have a wall between myself and comprehension. Nothing is getting through.
“That can’t be right,” I say. “I can feel it.”
“I’m sorry, darling. They said that might happen. It will pass over time.”
“Why do you have to tell me now, anyway? I can’t cope with this.”
“It’s better to know, Joanna. You are going to have to face it.”
“No, it’s not better,” I spit at her. “It’s better for you to get it off your chest, maybe, but it’s certainly not better for me. Now go away and leave me alone. I want to die.”
They don’t go, of course. They sit there and chatter on, trying to make me feel better, trying to impose normality on a terrible situation. As if anything is going to make me feel better. I would turn away from them if I could, but I can’t even do that. I am totally helpless, and right now, I feel beyond help. Eventually, I drift back towards sleep and oblivion, exhausted by the accident and the realisation of my altered situation.
* * *
When I wake up again, I am alone. It takes a minute for me to remember what has happened. When I do, I feel the sickness of gloom descending like a black blind being drawn between me and the life I knew and the world outside. I am a prisoner within the four walls of my hospital room. More importantly, I am imprisoned by my self-built cage of depression and pessimism. I feel that my life is over when it should be just beginning. I, Joanna, had just left home for the first time to come to university. I had been excited but nervous at the thought of this new life opening out in front of me. Now, two short weeks later, I feel that I have reverted to babyhood and complete dependence. I hadn’t really even had time to make many new friends. That’s why I was walking back on my own from lectures to my Hall of Residence on that fateful afternoon.
I know that it is pointless, but I feel the need to dredge through my memory banks, to rediscover this part of my existence of which I have no memory. I remember coming out of the lecture hall, still feeling that sick, shy, uncertain feeling in my stomach, wishing that I knew more people, and longing to gain that polish of confidence that the others all seemed to have. The homesickness was starting to well up as I walked down those unfamiliar streets. That’s why I pulled my phone out of my bag and switched it on again – I’d been terrified it would go off during lectures – and saw that I’d had two missed calls. That made me feel better. Someone was thinking of me. I was checking the call details when, that’s right, I remember now, I heard the screech of brakes and saw this car tearing round the corner towards me, and then, nothing, blank space.
It’s so unfair. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was the original goody-goody, worked hard and did all the right things. And now this. My life ruined because of some idiot. I bet nothing ever happens to him. I allow myself to wallow in self-pity. There’s nothing else to do, and nobody here to try to buoy me up. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, and make no attempt to stop them, but then I hear a gentle knock on the door. I quickly wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my pyjamas.
“Hello. Who’s there.”
A tall, lanky young guy pokes his head round the door, which he has half-opened. He is obviously leaving himself an opportunity for a quick exit in case I turn nasty.
“Hi. I’m Carl. I saw that you were on your own and I thought that you might like someone to talk to.”
“Oh. I suppose you’re one of those hospital visitors. I’m not very good company at the moment.”
“That’s OK. You’re bound to feel a bit fed up being stuck in hospital. But sometimes it helps just to chat to someone else. Is it alright if I sit down?” He gestures tentatively to a chair and smiles shyly.
“Alright,” I say grudgingly. I hate do-gooders, but I have to say, he doesn’t fit the normal profile. I would have expected a jolly, middle-aged woman, but Carl is young, probably my sort of age, and really nice-looking. My mum wouldn’t approve of the shaved head, but it does make him look quite cool. But there is no swagger to him at all. He just seems to be really kind and gentle.
“Surely you’ve got something better to do with your time than this?” I don’t mean this to come out rudely, but it does.
“Not really. Anyway, I’m nosy. I was hoping you were going to tell me what happened to you.”
“Well, I don’t really remember much about it. One minute I was walking along the pavement and the next thing I knew I woke up in here. Apparently I was hit by an out of control car.”
“That’s really, really tough. But at least you’re still here, and pretty soon you’ll be as g
ood as new.”
“No, I won’t. I’ve lost my leg, and…and… I’d only just started at university.” I start this sentence quite calmly, but as soon as I put my loss into words, for the first time, I lose all composure. I start to cry, as if I will never stop, and my whole body begins to shake. And then, just to top it all, my teeth begin to chatter uncontrollably. I can’t talk at all. Even in the depths of my despair, a part of me is deeply embarrassed at behaving like a kid in front of this lovely stranger. I expect Carl to make a bolt for the door, but not a bit of it. He sits there calmly, looking at me, and gently takes my hand.
“Don’t worry. This is just delayed shock. It needed to happen. Let it take its course. It will pass, and you will feel better. You haven’t really taken it all on board yet.”
I can’t believe how calm and patient he is, and how wise. He is right, too. Gradually, the shaking subsides and I do feel better – exhausted and embarrassed, but less angry. I actually feel disappointed when he lets go of my hand and gets up to leave.
“I’d better go now. I’m sure your family will be coming in soon, but would it be alright if I dropped in tomorrow?”
“Yes, that would be nice,” I say, and to my surprise, I mean it.
“What are you reading at university, anyway?”
“I was reading English”
“Correction. You are reading English. You are having a very short sabbatical, that's all. Make sure you remember that.” With a smile and a wave, he is gone.
* * *
It is only a few minutes later when my parents arrive. They notice the difference in me immediately.
“Darling, you look so much better. We would have been here earlier, but the nurses insisted that you needed rest. It must have done you good.”
“Mum, I’m sorry I was so horrible yesterday.”
“You weren’t remotely horrible, you were shocked. We understood.”
“I know, but I’m still sorry. I will try to be more positive now, but I can’t promise miracles.”
“Well, do your best. What’s perked you up, anyway?”
“I don’t know really. But this hospital visitor did come round.”
“A hospital visitor. So soon? I think they should give you more time to recover first.”
She looks disapproving. “Perhaps I had better have a word with them.”
“No, it’s OK” I say, hastily. “He was really helpful. He made me feel better. I don’t know how.”
“He? That’s unusual. They’re very kind, aren’t they, these old gents?”
I merely smile in assent.
* * *
The first full day of my new life has gone quite quickly. But once all my visitors have left, it becomes harder to hold onto my new found optimism. It begins to drift away from me, like leaves on the wind, and the familiar blackness descends. I remember that my life as I knew it is over, and I become engrossed in self-pity again. Eventually I drift into a fitful, dream-filled sleep, in which I hobble around the university and my old home like Long John Silver, with a parrot on my shoulder, and cannot fail to see everyone’s pantomime looks of horror and pity.
The next morning I feel worse. I don’t want to see anyone, and I scowl when Carl arrives. He pretends not to notice.
“Hi. I thought you might be starting to get bored. I managed to find some reading matter. I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got a mixture, from Tom Jones to Bridget Jones, from the sublime to the ridiculous.” He holds the two books up in either hand, and flashes me such a comic grin that I cannot help but smile. I haven’t the heart to tell him that, although Tom Jones, as an English classic, is on my reading list, Bridget Jones is much more up my street. I don’t want to shatter his illusions.
“Oh, Tom Jones. We are going to be studying that.” I bring myself up short. “We would have been studying that, I should say.”
“You will be. Remember what I said yesterday. You can get ahead of the others, on this one at least. And you can always get the university to send some work in for you, when you’re a bit better of course. It’s just as well you’re not studying Chemistry. That could be a bit dangerous in here!”
I laugh in spite of myself. His optimism is infectious. Too soon, he has to leave, but again he says he will return the next day. I hope that he will.
* * *
The days begin to follow a pattern. Each day I wake up gloomy. I always feel better when Carl is there, and he never misses a day. He is a very dedicated hospital visitor. Some days he stays for ages, and on others he cannot stay long. He obviously has other patients to see. I like to think that I am his favourite patient. Each day he either brings me something, or gives me some advice at just the right time, just before I need it. On the third day that he comes, he introduces an important subject that I haven’t even begun to think about yet.
“Pretty soon, Joanna, the physiotherapist will be coming to see you. It will be quite tough, but it will make such a difference to you. It will literally get you back on your feet again.”
“But I don’t want…”
“I know the physiotherapy is difficult, because it’ll hurt, and it’s a reminder that part of your leg has gone, but it will get you back into real life, and the sooner you do that, the better. You need the physiotherapy to get the prosthetic leg, and then there’ll be no stopping you.”
“I can’t bear the thought of people staring at me.”
“Which is why, as soon as possible, I am going to take you walkabouts, round the hospital to start with, where, believe me, nobody will give you a second look, and then round the streets near the hospital. People may look at you then, but it won’t be because of your leg. It will be because you are a stunning young woman.” I swear he is blushing when he says this. I certainly am.
“Why are you so kind to me?”
“I just like to be able to help.”
And help me he certainly does. I grit my teeth and suffer the physiotherapy, forewarned as I am by him. I even swallow my pride about the false leg, since he manages to introduce this subject just before the doctors do. He seems to be able to smooth my path for me. He is truly my guardian angel. I really look forward to his daily visits, and we talk so easily, as if we have known each other all our lives. My black moods become less frequent, but when they do descend, Carl is never critical. He never once tells me to pull myself together. He merely seems able to guide me gently to a more optimistic path. I really do not know what I would have done without him.
* * *
So now, after all this time, today is the day that I will leave. I only discovered this yesterday afternoon, after Carl had visited. He seems to have this uncanny ability to foresee what will happen because, almost as soon as he had sat down yesterday, he said:
“You know you will be going home soon, Joanna, don’t you?”
“I suppose so, yes, but they haven’t said anything yet.”
“How do you feel about going back out into the world?”
“OK, I think, but a bit scared.”
“You don’t need to be scared. You are well-prepared.”
“All thanks to you.”
“Not at all. You did it all on your own. I helped to point you in the right direction, that’s all.”
“Well, I’m very grateful, anyway.”
I wanted to ask him if we could still meet once I was out of hospital, but I was too shy. I must pluck up the courage to ask him today, before it is too late.
Where is he anyway? Mum and Dad will be arriving soon to pick me up.
Sarah, my favourite nurse, comes in now to let me know that the doctor will be arriving soon to discharge me.
“Sarah, where’s Carl today? He has usually been here by now.”
Her face falls.
“Carl has gone, Joanna.”
“What do you mean, gone? He hasn’t been to see me today. I won’t be here tomorrow when he comes.”
“He won’t be here tomorrow. He’s gone to the hospice.”
“The hospice? Is he visiting at the hospice now? Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Joanna, dear, stop pacing about for a moment, and sit down. There’s something I have to tell you.”
I sit down, with a feeling of dread building in my stomach.
“Carl isn’t a hospital visitor, Joanna. He is a patient, just like you, except he isn’t going to get better. He has terminal cancer. He didn’t want you to know.”
“But I don’t understand. He doesn’t look ill. And he is always so happy and optimistic. There must be a mistake.”
“No mistake, I’m afraid. Some people are able to hide their pain behind a smile. And you were concentrating so hard on your own recovery that perhaps you didn’t notice the tell-tale signs that he was ill. And I think that helping you has kept him going. He has been an inspiration to us all. But yesterday afternoon, after he had seen you, he started to go downhill quite rapidly. I think that he was dreading having to say goodbye to you, and explaining his true situation. He was taken to the hospice early this morning. He wouldn’t let us tell you. He hasn’t got long now, I’m afraid.”
I am speechless, and deeply ashamed. I think back to all the time that he has spent with me, helping me, time that was running out for him. How could he do that, and where are his family? Why aren’t they with him? Perhaps they have been, but I have been too self-engrossed to notice. Or is he having to face all this alone? How could he listen to all my selfish grumbles, and never breathe a word of his own troubles? I feel as if I have been hit hard, and that all the air has been punched out of me. I sit on my bed and relive the last few weeks. This is how my parents find me when they arrive a few minutes later.
“You’re very pensive. I thought you’d be desperate to get out here.”
“Well I am, sort of, but there is somewhere I need to go before we go home or anywhere else. It’s really important.”
* * *