Page 18 of The Dead Ex
I’m aware that there’s a cold compress on my forehead. My muscles are aching, and the inside of my right cheek tastes of blood where I must have bitten it.
‘Not surprising. There wasn’t much space under the bench when you were thrashing about.’
A memory surfaces.For Marjorie – Who Loved This Place. I’m barely able to keep my eyes open; it’s an effort to talk, but I have to keep going. My emotions are all over the place, though I realize this is normal.
‘How do you know what I was doing?’ I’m always intrigued by this bit. It’s weird going into a secret world and then not remembering what you did there. One girl, whom I read about on the net, sent a text to her bossto say she was going to be late when she started fitting but then couldn’t recall anything about it afterwards.
‘Luckily, the woman who saw you was a nurse and realized what was happening.’
That’s not always the case. Often people think you’re drunk, mad or having a heart attack (a Good Samaritan once tried to give me mouth-to-mouth, even though I was still breathing).
‘She rang for an ambulance.’
If she was a nurse, she probably didn’t panic. It’s why I feel relatively calm myself. When people freak out, it’s catching – especially if they’re still doing it when you come round. This makes it harder to compose yourself afterwards.
I’m so sleepy that Adam is now drifting in and out. I could ask how he knows my name, but that’s what my silver medi bracelet is all about with my ID. (NaturallyI always remove this when treating clients, to avoid questions.)
‘Did something upset you, Vicki?’ His voice comes at me through a mist. ‘Something that might have brought this on?’
They usually ask this. It’s all part of building up a profile picture. But my eyes are heavy. I can’t think properly.
‘Not sure,’ I murmur. But something is nagging inside me. Somethingdidupset me.
I just can’tremember what.
When I wake again, I’m in a hospital bed. I’m in a green gown. If I twist my neck – ouch – I can see a small wooden table with a jug of water. Blue and white striped curtains are surrounding me, although I can hear muffled sounds coming from the right: ‘Nurse. I need the toilet.Nurse!’
What time is it? It’s not dark. But nor is it very lighteither. That’s the thing about my‘condition’. You might think you’ve been out for hours when it’s only been minutes. And vice versa.
Either way, I always feel as though I’ve had a long, deep sleep. A bit like when you’ve come out from an anaesthetic.
I hate hospitals. So hot and airless. The heat amazes me, given the cutbacks. Right now I’m sweating, even though I’ve just realized I’m not wearing anything underneath this hospitalgown. Only paper pants. What have they done with my clothes?
Places like this (and I’ve seen a few) always leave an unpleasant taste in my mouth of liver and bacon: a meal I always hated as a child and which still comes to me when I have to do something I don’t want to. I simply want to get out. Be normal.
On the other side of the curtain I hear a trolley rattling past. ‘Breakfast!’ says a cheerfulvoice.
That answers my earlier question, then.
‘What do you want to do about that one?’
‘She’s waiting to see the nurse,’ said someone else. ‘We need to make sure she’s not nil by mouth.’
Are they talking about me? There’s a gnawing feeling of hunger in my stomach. I’m often ravenous after a seizure. I’m about to call out when there’s a high, persistent beep that makes the hairs on my armstand up. At least it’s not coming from the machines I’m attached to. Although I can’t see anything, I can hear tense voices and movement from across the room. ‘ICU. Now!’
My heart goes out to the patient. I’ve been there a few times myself.
Someone else – I think it’s the occupant on my left – ison the phone. It’s an oldish, wavering voice. ‘So the doctor said I had to take these tablets.Two, he said. Every day. I only did what he told me. And now the consultant says I should have been on something else.’
I’d forgotten how noisy hospital could be, even though it’s only been two months since the last one. That was in Devon, before word got round my clients and I had to move again.
‘Vicki?’
The curtains are being opened now. Why is it that hospital staff always speak as thoughthey know you intimately? It was reassuring in the ambulance, but I’m not too keen on it now.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine.’
