long-winded attempts to spell out pointless messages on the little Possum spelling gadgets.
‘T … H. Is that an H? Or a G? Can you blink if it’s an H? Was that a blink or a twitch? Try to be accurate, OK? I’m going with H.’
T … H … God, it took
for ever
and they never said anything interesting. It didn’t help that one of the ward Possums was a bit dodgy and sometimes needed a good shake, or to be turned off and on again to avoid scrambling to gobbledegook.
While she waited for the patient to blink her way through the alphabet, Tracy’s eyes wandered to the TV on the opposite wall. It was
Bargain Hunt
and the blue team were considering a hideous green vase. Her mother had one just like it, and Tracy made a mental note to admire it next time she was home; maybe her mother would give it to her. When she looked back the patient had laboriously spelled out ‘T … H … I … R … S …’
Tracy smiled. ‘Thursday? Aw, bless! No, it’s Friday today, silly. TGIF! Off to Evolution tonight for a few drinks and a dance. Better get back to work now, though. No rest for the wicked.’
She put the Possum down beside the water jug, then went over to the nurses’ station and slumped in the swivel chair. The coma ward was boring yet difficult. Like golf.
Then Tracy sat up and dug about and found a hazelnut cluster in the lower layer of the latest Terry’s All Gold.
12
I SURGE UP from the depths of the well like a killer whale, with everything going from dark depths to bright white as I break the surface, and open my eyes on a pair of breasts encased in blue with white trim, almost touching my nose. Her enormous name tag says, ‘Tracy Evans, RN’.
She straightens up and looks at me and says, ‘Oh!’
Help me, Tracy! Someone killed the man in the next bed
. But my ears hear only ‘Aaaaaaa waaaaa aaaaaaa,’ like an annoying sheep.
‘Oh,’ she says again, ‘you’re awake.’ Then she leans down close and looks into my eyes from about six inches away, so that I can see all the little flecks in her blue irises.
‘
Are
you?’ she says, suspiciously.
All I can do is blink slowly and hope she understands that I need to report a murder
right now
.
Instead she bustles away and I get so angry that I fall asleep …
I open my eyes again to find a woman old enough to be my mother, but who’s not my mother, weeping at my bedside. She wears blue gloves and a surgical mask. Her hair is greying and her eyes are red, and snot from her nose has made a dark patch on the front of the mask.
Why is she crying? Has something gone wrong?
For a horrible second I wonder if
I
’ve gone wrong.
‘Maaaaaa!’
She stops mid-sob and looks up, gasps, then chokes a bit. ‘Doctor!’ she croaks.
I flinch inside. A doctor is the last person I want to see, but what can I do? I have to show I’m awake and in one piece or they’ll let me just
slip away
…
My stomach rolls in fear as a set of blue scrubs walks into my vision and looks down at me over an armful of clipboards. He’s even younger than me.
‘You awake again, mate?’ he says – and this time I
do
cry with happiness – and relief – because that’s such a nice friendly thing to say; not sinister or frightening.
I hope I’m nodding, but either way he turns and calls across the ward. ‘Hello? Can we have some help?’
We. Can
we
have some help. I’m with
him
now; regardless of the scrubs, we’re on the same side.
Tracy Evans with the big blue boobs comes over and it’s all bustle bustle bustle with people pinching my fingernails, requests to say my own name, establishing one blink for yes and two for no – while the young doctor announces each positive like a poo in a potty.
‘Withdrawal from pain! … No comprehensible language, but that might come … Spontaneous eye opening. Very good!’
He makes a quick calculation, then tells the weeping woman that my Glasgow score is now ten. I have no idea what he means, but ten sounds pretty perfect to
‘T … H. Is that an H? Or a G? Can you blink if it’s an H? Was that a blink or a twitch? Try to be accurate, OK? I’m going with H.’
T … H … God, it took
for ever
and they never said anything interesting. It didn’t help that one of the ward Possums was a bit dodgy and sometimes needed a good shake, or to be turned off and on again to avoid scrambling to gobbledegook.
While she waited for the patient to blink her way through the alphabet, Tracy’s eyes wandered to the TV on the opposite wall. It was
Bargain Hunt
and the blue team were considering a hideous green vase. Her mother had one just like it, and Tracy made a mental note to admire it next time she was home; maybe her mother would give it to her. When she looked back the patient had laboriously spelled out ‘T … H … I … R … S …’
Tracy smiled. ‘Thursday? Aw, bless! No, it’s Friday today, silly. TGIF! Off to Evolution tonight for a few drinks and a dance. Better get back to work now, though. No rest for the wicked.’
She put the Possum down beside the water jug, then went over to the nurses’ station and slumped in the swivel chair. The coma ward was boring yet difficult. Like golf.
Then Tracy sat up and dug about and found a hazelnut cluster in the lower layer of the latest Terry’s All Gold.
12
I SURGE UP from the depths of the well like a killer whale, with everything going from dark depths to bright white as I break the surface, and open my eyes on a pair of breasts encased in blue with white trim, almost touching my nose. Her enormous name tag says, ‘Tracy Evans, RN’.
She straightens up and looks at me and says, ‘Oh!’
Help me, Tracy! Someone killed the man in the next bed
. But my ears hear only ‘Aaaaaaa waaaaa aaaaaaa,’ like an annoying sheep.
‘Oh,’ she says again, ‘you’re awake.’ Then she leans down close and looks into my eyes from about six inches away, so that I can see all the little flecks in her blue irises.
‘
Are
you?’ she says, suspiciously.
All I can do is blink slowly and hope she understands that I need to report a murder
right now
.
Instead she bustles away and I get so angry that I fall asleep …
I open my eyes again to find a woman old enough to be my mother, but who’s not my mother, weeping at my bedside. She wears blue gloves and a surgical mask. Her hair is greying and her eyes are red, and snot from her nose has made a dark patch on the front of the mask.
Why is she crying? Has something gone wrong?
For a horrible second I wonder if
I
’ve gone wrong.
‘Maaaaaa!’
She stops mid-sob and looks up, gasps, then chokes a bit. ‘Doctor!’ she croaks.
I flinch inside. A doctor is the last person I want to see, but what can I do? I have to show I’m awake and in one piece or they’ll let me just
slip away
…
My stomach rolls in fear as a set of blue scrubs walks into my vision and looks down at me over an armful of clipboards. He’s even younger than me.
‘You awake again, mate?’ he says – and this time I
do
cry with happiness – and relief – because that’s such a nice friendly thing to say; not sinister or frightening.
I hope I’m nodding, but either way he turns and calls across the ward. ‘Hello? Can we have some help?’
We. Can
we
have some help. I’m with
him
now; regardless of the scrubs, we’re on the same side.
Tracy Evans with the big blue boobs comes over and it’s all bustle bustle bustle with people pinching my fingernails, requests to say my own name, establishing one blink for yes and two for no – while the young doctor announces each positive like a poo in a potty.
‘Withdrawal from pain! … No comprehensible language, but that might come … Spontaneous eye opening. Very good!’
He makes a quick calculation, then tells the weeping woman that my Glasgow score is now ten. I have no idea what he means, but ten sounds pretty perfect to
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