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Hospitals
Then
People are running everywhere. Just running, endlessly, and I don’t know why. Henry is shouting at everyone he sees and time is ticking so slowly it feels like this day of noise, screaming and fire is going to last for all eternity.
I’m sat on one of those plastic chairs drilled into the floor, and by my side, silently holding my hand, is Mr Bale.
I don’t know where Freddy is.
Every time I think of his absence, this suffocating iron grip surrounds my chest, and my stomach gets this empty sensation as if there is something missing. Something I’m not going to be able to replace. Something essential to the fabric of my being.
I don’t know where Freddy is.
A sob builds in my throat. My other hand is squeezed, and I look at Dani, my expression probably reflecting the shock I’m feeling. Tears glitter along her lashes, but I frown at her. “Don’t,” I warn and then my throat closes again, and I concentrate on breathing.
Henry storms back into the relative’s room. I guess it’s supposed to make you feel warm and sunny judging by the puke yellow colour scheme and the flowery blue curtains. “No one is saying anything,” he growls.
Mr Bale looks up at him, his face worn and creased. “What do you want them to say?”
This doesn’t help simmer Henry’s anger. “I don’t know, Dad, anything.”
“No news is good news right now, I think.”
“Bollocks,” is the quick reply.
A man in pale blue scrubs catches our attention. He’s got one of those kind faces, perfect for breaking bad news to heartbroken families. Walking up to Mr Bale, he offers his hand and bile instantly rises in my throat. It’s the sympathy handshake.
“I’m Dr Jenkins,” he says before swiftly continuing, his experience in these situations probably telling him dawdling is not best. “The good news is Freddy hasn’t suffered any head injury; he’s been incredibly fortunate not to receive any brain contusions.”
It sounds like he is talking a foreign language
He knows where Freddy is. It’s all I can think.
“And the bad news?” Mr Bale asks, his voice hoarse and tight.
Dr Jenkins sighs, then sits on the seat opposite. Now the only person standing is Dickwad, but I think he has lost all use of his limbs. He’s just stood there like a statue carved from ancient stone. “Freddy has suffered extensive injuries to his body, and at the moment we are keeping him in an induced coma, so he has time to heal before he wakes.”
His words meet dead silence.
“Freddy is going to find it very distressing when he wakes, so the longer we leave him under, the better.”
Still silence.
Finally, Henry speaks, “When you say extensive, what do you mean exactly?”
There is a beat of expectation and then Dr Jenkins crushes my world and my future. “Freddy has damaged his spinal column. We don’t know what the severity of this damage is yet. We need to wait for him to wake up, but before we do that we need the rest of his body to come out of shock. Did you know Freddy has a very rare blood type?” This last question is thrown out there as if it’s more important than anything else we have been told.
Mr Bale looks around in confusion. “No.”
“Oh yes, AB Negative, we’ve ordered a supply in case we have to operate again.”
My stomach rolls with his words.
“And the burns?” Mr Bale seems to be coming out of his silent daze. His knees are bouncing, his body agitated.
“The burns are superficial; he was lucky on that front. They look severe, but only the top layer of epidermis has been damaged. They will heal.”
There seems to be an elephant in the room that no one is addressing. I cough, warming up my vocal chords that I haven’t used in hours. “Freddy’s spine. Does that mean he won’t walk again?”
