by Tara Ford
Would they all be doing normal Sunday activities, or were they all missing me and moping around the house under a cloud of heavy hearts? Deciding on the latter lifted my spirits, for I needed to be wanted and wanted to be needed.
A group of medical practitioners appeared early as Nurse Gower had prophesied. Inspecting the records of my visit, Mr Thomas agreed with himself, muttering under his breath. After a short deliberation with the rest of the group, he decided that I should be transported back to the General Hospital.
“The scan results will be ready soon,” I overheard him saying to another doctor, leaning on the end of my bed. Then the curtains around my bed were pulled, cocooning me inside with the two doctors who proceeded to examine my legs and feet. It was the same routine as before. Firstly, I had to close my eyes while the doctor stabbed me repeatedly with a sharp metal pin-like object, up and down the length of my legs, along my feet and on the top of each toe (I knew this because Grant had watched them do it previously and was amazed that I felt nothing). Secondly, the extensive reflex tests on my unresponsive legs and feet, which really puzzled everyone. Thirdly, and I enjoyed this part, I had to play strange games with my hands, either following along with the doctors’ hands or using my fingers to touch my nose. Worryingly, I couldn’t find my nose with my fingers, which was one of the many reasons for the MRI scan. My coordination had become very much uncoordinated. The last part of the examination was to inspect the rash which continued to travel upwards, but had actually lost some of its colouration and potency as it went higher and higher.
“That is good news,” the doctor said cheerily, not looking at anyone, so I presumed he was talking to all of us.
The bit of good news was that there was a glimmer of movement in my right foot, triggered by the reflex tests. My big toe had reacted to the foot-stroke. However, the mystery still remained as to why I had become paralysed from waist to toes over a matter of hours, covered in a deep purple rash and with a strange, flu-like illness that utterly depleted my strength and vigour.
Leaving the cocoon for a few minutes to discuss their findings, I could hear the group of doctors mumbling, a short distance away, on the other side of the curtains.
Peeping in with a smile, Nurse Gower then squeezed through the curtain like it was made of heavy armour.
“I need to take some more blood, is that okay?”
Smiling to her, I nodded yes. “I think I’m getting a bit better,” I whispered to the nurse who had just become my best friend within the confines of the cotton-curtained cocoon.
“Let’s hope so,” she said as her wrinkled mouth curled into a big smile.
Withdrawing the needle with its syringe full of blood, Nurse Gower collected the tray of equipment and went back through the curtains. Seconds later the doctors, Thomas and Shelley, returned without their colleagues in tow. As they delivered their encouraging words of improvement and detailed the next steps to aid my recovery, which would entail a vigorous course of physiotherapy to teach me how to walk again, I remained seated on the bed, staring in disbelief at the two highly qualified men.
They still didn’t know what was wrong with me! They were still perplexed by the whole course of events and the unusual pattern of symptoms. Well, if they didn’t know, then I certainly would not have a clue what had been happening to me.
Late in the afternoon, in the déjà vu of another ambulance, I lay on the stretcher once again, trussed up like a Sunday roast joint of lamb. Peering through a small gap, I could just see out of a side window. The real world was out there basking in the sunshine, I thought sadly, as we approached the motorway. Unlike the previous journey, there were no flashing lights or sirens and the paramedics were not like the couple who had memorably been the highlight of Grant and Emma’s year, the previous night.
After we came off the motorway the journey seemed much longer than the one last night, and that was accounting for the fact that we were travelling at a normal speed, in the flow of the traffic.
Peeping through the gap again, I tried to make out where we were but didn’t have too much of a view to establish any known landmarks or road signs. From the small field of vision, I could just make out the cars rushing past on the other side of the road, an odd tree dotted along the pavement, and a few houses.
However, once my eyes had adjusted to the brightness of the sunlit roads, I actually started to recognise the area we were in.
“Are you taking me home?” I enquired to the paramedic seated on my left.
“We’re taking you to the General, love.” He spoke patronisingly, making me feel stupid.
A little annoyed, I asked, “Aren’t we going in the wrong direction? I live down this way!”
“We’ve got someone else to drop off, love,” he replied nonchalantly.
Looking back through the window, I watched as glimpses of familiar roads and buildings showed the way to my home.
Continuing to watch intently as we approached my beautiful house, I filled with sadness when we passed the turning in to Pinewood Avenue. A strange feeling of deep anguish filled me entirely as I pined for my home, my children and my husband. Little did my family know that I had just travelled straight past them. Heartache and silent tears filled me as I realised that my son Jack was only seconds away from me, yet he could have been a million miles away. I’d longed to see him for the last six months.
After dropping off the elderly man (of whom I had been completely unaware), sitting right at the back of the ambulance, we turned back and headed for the General. I watched eagerly, again, as we approached the area where I lived, hoping irrationally for a brief glimpse of anyone I might know, or better still, a member of my family casually strolling along the road. Neither of these was forthcoming as we drove past. Maybe it was just as well, as I couldn’t have guaranteed that I would not scream out “STOP!” possibly even causing an accident.
Unbelievable! Surely I wasn’t going back in the very same dingy little room, I wondered, as the stretcher was skilfully parked just outside the door, by a young porter.
A familiar face peered down at me and said, “Hello Alex, back again? How are you?” The young nurse had remembered my name.
Spinning in an emotional whirlpool, I found myself twirling downwards, deeper and deeper, as I looked to her and sighed.
“Hello.” Tears pricked my eyes as she smiled at me warmly, but I didn’t want to go back in that depressing, dull room.
Back in the same prison-like hospital cell, I gazed at the familiar patterns on the wall, cast by the last rays of sunshine – another beautiful day was drawing to a close and it felt like the weekend was also ending, even though it was a long one with Easter Monday tomorrow, it felt like the end.
The evening meal trolley clanked its way around the ward, outside the room. I had to take a meal that was left over as I’d not been here to order one earlier, but to my pleasant surprise, it was the most delicious meal I’d had in a long time, and considering it was a hospital offering, I was very impressed.
Resting back on the plump pillows, my full tummy gurgling away happily, I looked at the clock and wondered what time Grant would come to visit. Somewhat disappointed that he had not come sooner, I wished he had more of a desire to rush over to the hospital at every given opportunity to see his beloved wife. Perhaps he was too busy, but surely I was the most important thing in his life and nothing could match the need to be with me.
There I went again, insecurity reigning as usual. Why was I so insecure sometimes, and then other times I felt like I had the world at my feet, and that included having Grant right where I wanted him? But today, he was not where I wanted him.
“Your husband called, he said he’ll be here very soon,” said the young nurse, as she almost danced into the room. “Is there anything I can get for you?”
“No thanks, has he just called?”
“Yes, he wasn’t sure where you would be,” she replied, plumping up the pillows behind me and straightening the bedspread, as if we
had visitors coming round for tea. “Are you warm enough with this blanket?”
“Yes, it’s fine.” I smiled, wondering why it had taken Grant all day to call the hospital.
Then the usual observations were performed, before the young nurse left the room.
Dozing and semi-aware that occasionally, a rippling gurgle of a snore resonated from deep inside my throat, I suddenly heard a familiar voice speak outside in the conscious world. It was Grant. He had arrived. Praying that I hadn’t been dreaming, I opened my heavy eyelids and looked up to see his smiling face peering down on me. Blinking the blurriness away from my eyes, I beamed at him and then noticed Emma stood by his side.
“Hello darling,” he said softly, leaning over to kiss my lips. “How are you doing?”
“Hello Mum,” whispered Emma as she shuffled past Grant and reached over to kiss me on the cheek.
My two precious visitors took their usual seating positions, one each side of the bed. “I thought you might have come sooner Grant.” Cringing as I spoke, I knew it sounded terribly selfish and needy of me, when poor Grant had probably been running around doing all sorts of chores all day.
“I was waiting to find out if you would come back here or stay in Southampton,” he replied guiltily.
“Oh, okay. I could have been here all day though, and you only phoned a little while ago didn’t you?” I really didn’t want to be asking this question, but I couldn’t stop myself showing my annoyance at his lack of care that I was stuck in this miserable little room. And for all he knew, I might have been lying here most of the day, staring at sunlit, patterned walls or reading a mini Joy of Sex handbook, as there was absolutely nothing else to do.
“Sorry babe, I’ve had a hell of a day. Your mum and dad have been over all afternoon.” Looking pensive, Grant scratched his head and glanced over at Emma.
Seated on a higher chair, Emma leant over the small washbasin, twiddling with the mixer tap and staring down the plughole.
“No, I’m sorry Grant. I’m just feeling sorry for myself because it’s so boring here – I’m so fed up.” Realising I was being over-emotional, I tried to lighten the mood, that I alone, was beginning to create, or so it seemed. “Emma, what was all that stuff you put in the bag for me?” I asked.
Shrugging her shoulders, she pushed out her bottom lip and looked at me briefly before turning back to the sink.
Surely she wasn’t still sulking about the letter, I wondered, but decided not to mention it. Looking puzzled, Grant frowned, so I enlightened him as to the contents of the bag.
“I think we should take the bag home again and get you some more stuff!” laughed Grant, after I had carefully mouthed, whispered and played charades to demonstrate the particularly embarrassing book found in the bag.
Grinning superciliously, Emma grabbed the bag from the floor at the side of the bed and tucked it under her chair. “I’ll take it home when we go. Dad can bring back some stuff,” she mumbled. “I’ve got to go to Grandma’s for dinner tomorrow, haven’t I?” she said sarcastically.
It was the same every single year, we all had to go to Mum’s for dinner on Easter Monday, so she could share her homemade Simnel cake, topped with lemon icing and decorated with – yes, you guessed it – fluffy chicks and mini eggs.
“Oh yes, I almost forgot, the weekend has gone quick, hasn’t it?” I looked to Grant for any signals, as I sensed Emma’s awkwardness. “How are Mum and Dad?” I asked jovially, in an attempt to lift spirits in the doom and gloom of the small room.
“Yeah, they’re good. Your dad is really looking forward to Tuesday now. He was saying today that if you’re not better by then, history will repeat itself so that you can benefit from it when you’re better-hopefully by next Sunday.” Grant smiled and rolled his eyes at the same time.
“Oh for goodness’ sake! You know what that means don’t you?” I proclaimed while rubbing my forehead with clammy fingertips.
“Hmm,” muttered Grant, screwing his face into a side-grin and raising his eyes to the ceiling.
Pop!
We both looked to Emma, who had been sat quietly next to the sink, mobile phone in one hand and sink in the other.
Pop!
“Emma, will you stop that?” said Grant huffily.
“You can’t let my dad do anything stupid like that Grant, just because I won’t be there. It’s a ridiculous thought.”
“How can I stop him, Alex? You know what he’s like once he’s made his mind up about something!” Fidgeting in the chair, Grant watched Emma on the other side of the room.
Pop!
“Emma, I’ve told you to stop that!” Grant’s raised voice startled her and surprised me.
“It’s a bit annoying Em, do as your dad says.” Trying to bring peace and harmony back into the room, I felt uneasy again about my husband and daughter, just as I had the previous night. Perhaps my sudden illness and absence from home was preying on everyone’s nerves. They both seemed to be somewhat peeved about something.
Shuffling in her chair, Emma moved her hand away from the sink overflow hole that she had been using to create the irritating popping noise. Pushing her thumb in and out of the small hole, she had bent her knuckle to cause a suction effect, hence the ‘pop’. Now, having been told off, she placed both hands on her mobile phone and proceeded to move her thumbs frantically as they alternated between the letters on the tiny keyboard, typing several sentences. Finally her right thumb paused heavily on the ‘send’ button and she looked up.
“Sorry,” she mumbled sarcastically.
“What’s wrong, Emma? You don’t seem to be very happy again,” I asked, not expecting a reply.
“Don’t know.” She shrugged and recommenced the rapid touch-typing on her phone.
“Anyway darling, I want to know how you have been today?” asked Grant, a little edgy.
Verbally downloading the course of events over the period since last night, I also told him what I knew about the illness... which was not a lot.
“They said I would start physio today but I haven’t done anything physio-ish yet,” I chuckled. “The paralysis is moving with the rash, so I don’t know what will happen next.”
“Can you move your legs now?” asked Grant hopefully.
“No, just some of my toes.” Wiggling the two biggest digits under the bed covers, I pointed down at them. “Look!” I could feel the tension lift in the room as both Grant and Emma peered in wondrous elation at the little lumps undulating under the bedspread.
“You’re getting better!” exclaimed Grant desperately.
“I do feel a bit better today.” I smiled at them both warmly.
A nurse I hadn’t seen before knocked gently on the open door. “Hello, I’m afraid we need some more of your blood. Would that be all right?” she asked.
“Surely I have given enough blood to feed a crypt full of vampires, have I not?” I joked.
Lacking a sense of humour, the nurse frowned and prepared her tray of tools.
“You are having a lot of tests,” stated the nurse as she wrapped the band around my arm and pulled it tightly, “Therefore a lot of blood is needed for those tests, madam,” she said with a straight face. “The doctor will come and see you soon.”
Are all nurses trained to say that to patients all of the time to shut them up? I wondered as she pushed the sharp needle into my battered and bruised veins.
“We’ll nip out and get a coffee,” said Grant, standing up to move out of the way.
Grinning at him, I waved my hand to gesture a goodbye and watched Emma start to follow him out of the room. Approaching the door, she turned round, waved daintily and smiled as she left.
“I found this on the table down in the café - thought you might like to read it. Your mum brought some magazines for you but I’ve left them at home with two bunches of grapes. Sorry – I’ll bring them in tomorrow.” Grant smiled as he passed the tattered OK! magazine to me.
“Thanks.” Slurping a hot cup of tea,
I took the magazine and beckoned to Emma, who shook her head in disapproval. I knew she would not want to bother reading it. Her mobile phone had much more interesting material to offer. Stretching herself across the hand basin again, she continued the ardent mobile conversation she was obviously taking a leading role in.
“Who are you texting?” I asked.
“Friends.”
I could tell by the tone of her voice that she probably hadn’t seen any, and I expected she’d been doing chores all day to earn the money back quickly.
Deep in thought, Grant reclined in the comfy chair and watched as I drank the sweet tea. A tormented look was cleverly masked behind his face. I could see through his blue eyes that something was on his mind.
“Are you all right Grant?” I queried.
“Yes, just thinking that I forgot to bring your phone back,” he lied guiltily.
“I was going to ask about that. I really need it, Grant. I feel so cooped up in here. This horrible little room hasn’t even got a TV. I hope I’m not staying in here for long.”
“I know babe, I promise I’ll get it all sorted out for tomorrow. I’m not going to your mum’s for dinner. I told her I’d be visiting you.”
“Was she okay about that?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
“I would’ve thought you’d want to go. At least you’d get a decent meal. I bet you’re living on takeaways, aren’t you?
“Yes, but I’ve got a lot to sort out and do, Alex. You know what I’m like, I’d much prefer to stay at home and catch up with some paperwork.”
“Hmm,” snorted Emma, “don’t see why I have to go then.”
“Because I promised Grandma that you and Joe would definitely be there.” It was Grant that was doing the scowling this time, and I thought to myself how childish he could be sometimes.
“What about Jack and Aaron, don’t they have to go?” whined Emma.