Page 15 of Am I Allergic to Men?
‘I read that sometimes people have a surge before they die. Is this it? Is this her surge?’
I hear Emma loudly whisper back at her that she’s ridiculous and that I can still hear her and then they argue. But strangely, this is also familiar and I think I might laugh.
‘Just get here, Mum. Her vitals are good. She’s a bit confused but the more people she sees, the better it will be. Get in an Uber. Use my account. Don’t you dare drive, you’re emotional and you’ll both get confused about the congestion charge. Mum, I said don’t drive…’
An Uber? Their call ends and Emma exhales deeply as Jag rests a hand to her shoulder. She sees me, smiles and comes to sit on the side of my bed.
‘Classic Mum,’ I mumble.
Emma laughs. She reaches for a small plastic cup of water and a straw.
‘Small sips. You had a tube in for at least two weeks.’
‘I think I have one in my flaps?’
‘That’s a catheter helping you wee. They’ll take that out in a bit. Just let it do its job.’
‘I can’t pee when he’s in the room,’ I whisper, gesturing over to Jag.
‘Hun, I’ve been out with you and you’ve crouched down between two parked cars and taken a wee before. You set off one of the alarms you peed with that much force.’
‘I did?’
‘At Beth’s birthday thing? Though you were smashed so I doubt you remember.’
That’ll be it. But when I cast my mind back, it feels like there’s a blank page there. It’ll come to me, I’m sure, but all the words are fuzzy.
‘There’s a lot going on. You have a large scar on your skull, some cannulas for drugs and fluids. You were intubated so that’s why your throat will feel dry. Though Meg did joke you were used to having things rammed in your mouth…’ she jokes brazenly.
I don’t reply but return a look of horror. ‘I do?’
‘We removed the tube last week, the doctor was confident. Take lots of sips. We need to check your reflexes and up your fluids.’
She smiles at me, throws me a look of reassurance and puts a hand to my cheek. Her phone rings and she goes to answer it.
‘Oh my god, Gracie – yes!’ She bursts into tears. ‘Don’t cry. She’s fine. Get yourself over here with the girls. Do you want to talk to her? Breathe, Gracie. She is fine. She is awake.’
My eyes light up to hear that name. Grace. I know her. I want to see her.
‘Hold up, Gracie…’ Emma cups her hand over her phone. ‘I need to calm her down. Understandably, she’s not dealt with this very well. Give me a mo, Luce.’
Surely no one’s dealt with this too well but I get it. Emma and Jag move to the end of my bed, chatting like they’re on some conference trading call, my eyes and ears bouncing between the two of them.Gracie, this is nothing like Tom’s coma. Come and see her. I can meet you at the door with the girls. Will, she’s up!
Grace, I know. Who is Tom in the coma? And there’s a Will?Will and Grace. That’s a show. We watch that show together. I want to see all the sisters now. I want to absorb all that big sister energy like a huge collective hug.
A nurse, in the meanwhile, enters the room, observing my machines and taking a few notes.
‘Morning, Lucy. I’m Zahra,’ she tells me in a soft lilting West African accent. ‘Can I take your blood pressure?’ I nod and let her take my arm and wrap the band around the top of it. All I can hear is the scratch of the Velcro. It tightens. A beep.
‘How are you feeling, Lucy? Any nausea? Pain?’
‘I feel drunk.’
She laughs and it’s a welcome, joyful sound in a room of machines and panicked phone calls.
‘Well, Beth did joke that we should push neat vodka into your cannula. That would wake our Lucy up for sure.’
I glance over at Emma. ‘I bet they freaked out, the family…’
