A nurse came by to take her temperature. Ronnie shivered uncontrollably. Her skin was bloated, her belly especially. The pain in her abdomen was unreal.
Her body had changed shape while she was asleep. She had never thrown out her back before, but if she had, she imagined it would feel like this.
The room had a window. Light changed from one shade of cream to another, then passed through yellow and orange to blue.
Sleep eluded her. Nurses kept waking her up.
“Are you comfortable?”
No, I am not comfortable. I feel like I’m in labor with a demon that’s trying to claw its way out of me.She rubbed her ribs, which didn’t help, because some of them were cracked.
They gave her pills to swallow and clear liquids through an IV.
Absolute hell.
A whiteboard on the far wall said Thursday 16 April. A familiar man leaned over her, talking to her. Reg.
No, not Reg.
Mattie.
Ronnie furrowed her brow, confused. Her older brother only visited sometimes for Christmas, never during rugby union season. The Super Rugby round robin ran every weekend for twenty-one weeks. She couldn’t remember whether his team, the Hurricanes, were playing tomorrow.
Mattie put his arm around her shoulders. She rested her head on his hand and closed her eyes. Someone made comforting noises, adjusted the blankets over her legs.
Gas bubbled in her gut, then grabbed and twisted. She blew air out in short puffs between pursed lips until the worst of it passed. She rubbed her sore ribs.
Reg came in.
“How is she?” he asked.
“Like me the morning after my birthday.”
“Did she eat anything?”
“She’s been sleeping.”
“I’m awake.” She didn’t open her eyes. Reg was there. Mattie was there.
“How was the flight?” Reg asked him.
“Average.”
“How’s Luca?” Mattie’s two-year-old son who lived in Madrid with his mother.
“Brilliant. I’ll show you videos later.”
“How’s what’s her name? Talk to them much? Have you tried to get back together with her recently? How’s that going?”
“Is this a barbie or a sausage sizzle, because you’re grilling me, old man.”
She tuned them out and slept.
Her dad and brother waited in the hall while nurses removed her catheter, got her upright on the edge of the bed, then helped her shuffle to the bathroom with a pillow pressed to her incision. Walking felt dangerous. The room spun. Blood rushed out of her head.
The hospital had put her in the Maternity Ward, which might have been upsetting but wasn’t. The staff had removed everything for newborns that wasn’t screwed to a wall.
“I didn’t want it, anyway,” she said to no one in particular.
