CONNECTED

by Denman, Simon

  “Are we nearly there yet?” whined Brian from the back.

  “So tell me about your EEG. What was Singh's interpretation?” asked Susan, glancing across at Doug and holding his gaze for a moment, before returning her wide hazel eyes to the road.

  “Well most of the results were perfectly normal...” started Doug.

  “Which you have to admit is pretty surprising!” Brian jumped in.

  Doug ignored him and continued. “But a couple of times, while I was sleeping, it showed what he called a spike focus in the temporal lobe. He said it could mean I have a type of epilepsy. He then asked me a whole bunch of questions about my family, and whether I'd had any previous history of dizziness, confusion, smelling funny odours etc.”

  “And have you?” asked Susan now looking very concerned.

  “Dizziness, confusion and funny smells pretty much sum up our Doug,” said Brian, prompting a simultaneous glare from both of them.

  “Sorry mate!” he added apologetically. “I know it's not really a laughing matter. It was kind of funny though, you have to admit!”

  Doug went on. “I told him I'd always been as fit as butcher's dog...”

  “Though not as handsome,” Brian gibed in again.

  “For Christ's sake, Brian, this is serious,” pleaded Susan.

  “Sorry, I just can't help it,” he replied.

  “Anyway,” continued Doug feeling frustrated, but not impervious to the humour, “as I was saying before I was so insensitively interrupted - I told him I'd never had any of the things he described as symptomatic of an epileptic seizure, and as far as I know, none of my family have either.”

  “What did the video show at the time of this abnormal brain activity though?” asked Susan, sounding both concerned and surprisingly knowledgeable.

  “Absolutely nothing,” replied Doug. “He showed a four-minute clip of me just lying there in the dark, while all this weird shit was going on deep in my brain. It just looked like I was asleep the whole time.”

  “Sounds like a real must-see; when's it coming out on DVD?” asked Brian.

  This time even Susan couldn't suppress a slight chuckle, although she stifled it quickly and returned to looking concerned.

  “Seriously though,” continued Brian. “Don't epileptic fits cause people to writhe around on the floor kicking, screaming, and biting off their tongues?”

  “That's only in a grand mal or generalised seizure,” replied Susan, with an air of authority. “If it's only a partial seizure, which I think is more common in TLE, there...”

  “TLE?” asked Doug.

  “Sorry – Temporal Lobe Epilepsy - where the electrical storm originates in the Temporal Lobe. Anyway, depending on whether it's a simple or complex partial seizure, there may be no involuntary movements at all – the patient may just look confused or thoughtful. Sometimes they experience what are known as auras - strange odours or feelings like déjà-vu, or even in some cases, hyper-religiosity.”

  “Hyper-what?” asked Brian.

  “Hyper-Religiosity - Intense religious or spiritual feelings. It's actually a fascinating thing. This guy, Ramachandran, came to my university last year to give a lecture about it. He did some studies, which showed a definite correlation between obsessive religious convictions and TLE.”

  “Cool - so believing in God is a disease?” exclaimed Brian excitedly, clearly enjoying this development of the conversation. “I've always thought those Bible-bashers must have something wrong with them.”

  “Well, he didn't quite go that far,” laughed Susan, “but yes, some of those extreme cases who claim to hear voices and see angels and the like, could theoretically be suffering from undiagnosed TLE.”

  “Jesus Christ!” said Doug, with a sigh.

  “I rest my case! “ said Brian triumphantly.

  They were silent for a few minutes while Susan negotiated a busy roundabout somewhere on the outskirts of Cambridge, then Doug turned to her. “So anyway, Singh wants me to go back and see him next Monday, I think he wants to see if he can trigger another seizure to confirm the diagnosis.”

  “Sounds reasonable. He'll probably sit you in front of flashing lights and play high pitched sounds in your ears, while measuring your brain activity again.”

  “So did you learn all this stuff at university?” asked Doug, his eyes following the girl's profile from auburn hair gradually down to her very shapely calves.

  “Mostly yeah, I studied Diagnostic Radiography and Imaging at Hertfordshire – but I also have a cousin who was diagnosed with TLE a couple of years ago, so I've read up on this more than most other conditions.”

  “And how is the cousin doing now?” asked Doug. “Did they manage to get rid of it?”

  Susan frowned, shifting her hands on the steering wheel. “It took a while to find the right combination and dosage of meds, but now he's doing much better.”

  “But he's going to have to be on medication for the rest of his life?”

  “Listen, I don't know. Every case is probably different, and I'm far from an expert on this.” She placed her hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. “Please don't worry. Singh is one of the best neurologists in the country. You're in great hands.”

  He looked down at her soft white hand on his arm until she pulled it away. “So you enjoy what you do?” he asked, trying hard not to think of a lifetime on anti-epilepsy pills.

  “I love it. Ever since I had my broken leg x-rayed when I was about seven, I've always wanted to be a radiographer.”

  “Not a doctor or a nurse?”

  “No, not really, You see I've always had this fascination with machines. I think I got that from my Dad. He's a mechanical engineer – always fixing things, and I used to love watching and helping him.”

  “Does it pay well?” Doug asked.

  “It's okay... Not brilliant, but okay.”

  He waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't.

  “Doug, have you told your folks yet?” asked Brian with uncharacteristically genuine concern in his voice.

  “Not yet. They know about the cheekbone – although I told them I'd fallen down some steps. Don't want to worry them until I know what I have.”

  “Ah, that's very considerate of you,” said Susan, first smiling and then looking puzzled. “So what did happen then?”

  “Doug had a run-in with the Russian Mafia!” explained Brian.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “He's exaggerating,” replied Doug, still thinking about the possibility of being on medication his whole life.

  “Yeah, he just thought he'd try to break a guy's fist with his face - all to save a young damsel in distress.”

  “Oh...I see,” said Susan. “Your girlfriend?”

  Doug looked at her blankly for a moment, while his brain tore itself back to the conversation. “Girlfriend? Err...maybe – not quite sure at the moment.” He turned away and looked out across the passing fields. He hadn't seen Cindy since she dropped off his things at the hospital. He had left some messages, but she had only replied with a brief text saying she had gone to London for a few days. Doug suspected that he may have frightened her off with his spontaneous declaration of love, and the thought made him sick to the core.

  They stopped to refuel and answer calls of nature at a small service station just past Kettering. Doug offered to pay something towards the petrol, but Susan let him buy the refreshments instead. She and Brian took their overpriced and under-flavoured coffees to a small grubby aluminium table by the window, while Doug stuck a pre-rolled cigarette between his lips and continued outside. Stepping into the cool spring air, he lit up and inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs a few seconds, and savouring the calming wave of nicotine that flooded his system. He turned and watched his friends through the window. Judging by the changing expressions on Susan's face, Brian was still playing the clown. Each time she laughed, her small straight nose crinkled up and her eyebrows arched skyward as if in surprise. They were leaning towards ea
ch other, their legs almost touching under the table. They appeared to be getting on very well. Oh well – good for them, thought Doug. He had felt flattered by Susan's interest and concern on the first half of the journey, and his automatic flirt-response had kicked in, but as he looked at her now, he found himself comparing her to Cindy. Although Susan was cute, it was really no comparison at all.

  “Hey Brian, you can sit in the front this time if you like,” he said, flicking his butt into the gutter as they came out, “I think I'll try and get some sleep.”

  Sleeping in the back of the mini was harder than he had imagined, and he soon began to regret trading places. Reclining across the seats, and using his jacket as a pillow, he reached for his iPod and set it to shuffle. As familiar music filled his ears, he closed his eyes and thought again about what an epilepsy diagnosis would really mean to him. So far, the only times he was supposed to have suffered seizures were immediately after being socked in the face with brass knuckles, and then apparently twice while asleep. None of these instances had left any real impression on him - except the knuckle duster of course - and even then, he hadn't noticed the seizure. If that was the worst he could expect, he failed to see any good reason to seek treatment at all. As random tracks from his pleasingly eclectic collection streamed from the small white earplugs, Doug slowly began to drift asleep.

  He eventually awoke as the car pulled up abruptly at a set of lights. “So how are we all doing?” he asked, feeling unusually well restored after such a brief snooze.

  “I think we're nearly there!” replied Susan. “Brian's just trying to find it on the map.”

  Doug glanced out of the window. “It's the third turning on the left,” he announced confidently.

  “Have you been here before then?” she asked, glancing back over her shoulder with a look of surprise.

  “Never,” he replied, now wondering himself how he knew. “I took a look at Google Maps last week, when I first got the address. I guess it must have stuck.”

  “He's actually right,” said Brian.

  Taking the third left, they pulled into the grounds of the crematorium and followed signs to the car-park. Susan immediately began to adjust her make-up in the rear-view mirror, while Doug and Brian got out, stretching and groaning as blood returned to their stiffened limbs.

  “This is like having two bodyguards,” said Susan, finally stepping out between them, and taking each by the arm, as they set off toward the chapel. A small group of men and women all clothed in white were beginning to gather outside the modest brick-built building set among firs and closely cropped lawns. The three stopped for a moment looking at each other's predominantly black attire, exchanged oh-well-never-mind glances and continued. For twenty minutes or so, they stood around wondering what to do next, as increasing numbers of mourners, some thankfully also dressed in black, began to aggregate around the entrance to the chapel. Doug recognised no more than a half dozen of them.

  “In three hundred yards, you will arrive at your destination,” announced the haughty female tones of Peter's satellite navigation system. He parked the Volvo and made his way to the gathering crowd, still wondering whether he really wanted to attend the funeral of a complete stranger. He looked around and spotted a tall, thick-set, young man, dressed uncomfortably in a cheap, ill-fitting, dark suit, and sporting a large plaster across the left side of his face. Peter smiled and walked towards him, extending his hand. “You must be Doug.”

  For an instant, Doug looked surprised and then, gesturing to his face, as the penny dropped, smiled also. “Peter! Glad you could make it.”

  “Well, it made a convenient half-way point to break the journey. How are you doing?”

  “Fine!” said Doug, turning to Brian and Susan, who were looking at him with surprise and bewilderment.

  “Erm, guys...sorry, I completely forgot to mention. This is Peter – his brother knew Kal.”

  They shook hands and introduced each other.

  “So is your brother here too?” asked Susan.

  Peter glanced at Doug for a moment. “My brother passed away two weeks ago.”

  “Oh my God, I'm so sorry!” said Susan, her mind clearly processing the coincidence. Brian was looking at Doug for some sort of explanation, but received none. An awkward silence ensued, each presumably wanting to talk about it, but nobody quite sure how to do so with sufficient sensitivity. Eventually, they were interrupted by the sudden beating of a drum. The door of the chapel was open and the congregation, now numbering at least sixty were starting to make their way slowly inside.

  Laid on a long table to one side of the chapel and dressed in white and orange was the body of Kal Gupta. A dozen candles flickered around him, casting a serene glow over the robed form, and those at his side. An elderly woman Doug recognised as Kal's mother, wailed uncontrollably as people filed past. As Doug finally approached the table, a vivid image of the Golf cabriolet with Kal's broken body protruding from the roof, flashed before his eyes. He started to feel nauseated. Loosening his shirt collar, he forced himself to look at the thing lying before him. There were no signs of injury now. His hair had been washed and combed - more carefully in fact than Doug ever remembered having seen it while he was alive - and as he looked closer at the greying skin and sunken features, it dawned on him that he was looking at nothing more than a broken and condemned bio-mechanical machine.

  Whatever had made Kal ‘Kal’ was no longer here. Whatever it was that had animated the carcass in front of him had disappeared along with any identity. He turned and stared at the other mourners, their heads bowed in what each considered the appropriate degree of grief. What was everyone doing here? It certainly didn't matter to Kal anymore what happened to the meat he had left behind. In fact there was no longer any Kal to care one way or another. He then realised for the first time in his life, that funerals were actually nothing to do with respect for the deceased. Their purpose was merely to make the friends and family feel better about the loss. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced it was really just a group therapy session, sugar coated with religious ritual, for those whose only way to cope was to find solace in the delusion of an afterlife. Doug felt sweat bead from his forehead and neck. The proximity of the other mourners as they shuffled meaninglessly forward, began to feel oppressive and somehow hypocritical. The relentless monotony of the infernal beating drum hammered into his mind, and a heavy darkness descended upon him until eventually there was nothing.

  Doug blinked, daylight filling his eyes. Soft grass pressed against his back. Susan's face loomed above.“What happened?”

  “You passed out!” It was Peter's voice.

  “Are you okay?” asked Susan, consternation across her face.

  Doug looked around. Brian and Peter were standing nervously to either side while Susan knelt by his head.

  “I'm fine, look, you guys go back in, I think I'll just sit it out here and get some fresh air,” he replied.

  “We can't just leave you,” said Susan, “what if you have another seizure?”

  “He won't be alone,” said Peter. “Look, I never knew Kal anyway. I only dropped by here to meet with Doug. You guys go back in and I'll stay out here and keep an eye on him.”

  Brian and Susan looked at each other.

  “Having come all this way, I suppose we should see it through,” said Brian, putting his arm around Susan.

  “We'll be all right,” confirmed Peter.

  “Hang in there buddy!” said Brian. “We'll see you later.” And with that they turned and disappeared into the chapel.

  “It was getting a bit much for me anyway,” admitted Peter, extending his hand and helping Doug to his feet. “Two funerals in two weeks... and all that incessant drumming was starting to give me a headache.”

  “Ah, you can say that again,” groaned Doug, massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers.

  “Fancy a stroll through the grounds or do you want to sit down somewhere?”

  “No,
a stroll sounds good.”

  “The girl called it a seizure? I thought you'd just fainted,” said Peter, as they walked slowly away from the chapel towards some trees.

  “You remember that EEG I told you about? Showed I might have a form of epilepsy. Need to go back next week to confirm.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that. Is it something you've suffered from for long?”

  “No, it all stated a couple of weeks ago when I got knocked out during a game of rugby. It was just after Kal died. My head hit the post just as I was scoring a try.”

  Peter looked him up and down. “Second row?”

  “Yes, as a matter fact. Do you play?”

  “Used to... when I was at Cambridge. I was usually number eight though.”

  “Cambridge eh? What did you read?”

  “Physics for my degree, and then maths and theoretical physics as a post grad.”

  “Wow – like string theory and stuff?”

  Peter stopped and looked at him. “Yes, as a matter of fact, my thesis was in Superstring theory. Are you familiar with the field?"

  “Not really, but I've looked at some of the maths. In fact it was the Calabi-Yau flop transformations that inspired my work on the evolving fractal patterns.”

  Peter slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Of course, I thought those operations looked familiar. That was very clever stuff by the way.”

  “Thank you,” said Doug, beaming with pride, “so what do you do now?”

  Peter's shoulders slumped, as he continued walking. “I sold out I'm afraid. I now design electronic control systems. Not nearly as much fun, but the pay is a hell of lot better.”

  “Yeah? Still sounds pretty cool. I still don't really have any idea what I want to do when I leave uni.”

  “I wouldn't worry," said Peter with a smile. “Hardly anyone does at this point I think. It'll all become clear eventually.”

  They watched as a squirrel scurried across the path and up one of the trees. Doug pulled out another cigarette. “Do you smoke?”

  “Not for a long time ...but please, go ahead.”