Chapter 23
Can you hear me?
“Oh my God!”
“Are you alright, love?”
“Does anyone know first aid?”
I’m not sure where the voices are coming from, but they sound distant and muffled. Maybe I’m underwater? I’m certainly finding it difficult to breathe, and my head feels wet. I try to open my eyes, but the bright lights above me cause my head to pound, so I shut them tight.
“Don’t move her!”
“Does anyone know her name?”
“Where’s that first-aider?”
Despite my eyes being closed, fireworks spark in my vision. I flinch with each explosion of colour.
“Matilda?”
I recognise the deep male voice, but I can’t for the life of me figure out where from. Firm hands land on my shoulders and give them a gentle shake. Why is he shaking me?
“Matilda? Can you hear me?” asks that same voice.
I try to answer, but the words won’t form. The man’s hands shift to my sore neck, and I feel two of his fingers press into the hollow.
“Her pulse is fine, but she should be waking up by now. Someone call an ambulance!”
The man sounds panicked. I try to speak to him again, calm him down, whoever he is, but I can’t pull in a deep enough breath.
Once again, everything fades to black.
The next time I wake, I’m not lying still like before, but I seem to be moving. I try to move my arms, but they’re strapped down, my legs too. To what, I’m not exactly sure. Or why. I move my head to the side and suddenly remember why.
I’d gone dizzy on the stair climber, missed the step and fallen. I must have hit my head somewhere along the way, judging by the splitting headache I have, and I’ve at least bruised my chest. I gingerly open my eyes and realise I’m inside an ambulance.
“Mat?” Rhys is sitting on a bench on the other side of the vehicle, his face pale and etched with worry.
“Ah, you’re awake!” says a jolly woman to Rhys’s right.
She looks to be in her fifties. Her greying hair is pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head, and her paramedic uniform is pulled a little tight over her tummy.
She’s holding a clipboard, which she waves at me when she speaks.
“You gave us quite a scare, young lady!”
“Sorry.” My voice is forced and sounds more gruff than usual. My lungs burn with the effort.
“No need to apologise. I’m just glad you weren’t any further up that blasted machine when you fell, or you’d have been in even worse shape than you are now. We’re on our way to the hospital so you can have some x-rays and scans et cetera. They might even want to keep you in for a little while.”
I feel like I’m being bombarded with information, and my head swims, my chest constricting impossibly tighter with fear.
“Rhys?” I call out, unable to turn my head enough to see him properly.
“I’m here, Muffin,” he says quietly. He reaches out and takes my hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.
It’s alright. Everything will be fine. I’m not on my own – Rhys is with me. He’ll look after me.
The jolly paramedic, who introduces herself as Joyce, tells us her life story on the drive to the hospital.
Occasionally, she checks a monitor I’m hooked up to or asks about my pain level, but otherwise, she’s focused on telling us all about her children and grandchildren and her upcoming holiday to Tenerife.
Joyce is just giving us her opinion on topless sunbathing in your fifties (she’s all for it, apparently), when the ambulance pulls to a stop.
The back doors open to reveal a young male paramedic who seems to be blushing.
“How many times have I asked you to stop talking about your tits, Joyce?” he says, climbing inside easily.
“Don’t be such a prude, Marcus! They’re only breasts. And mine happen to be particularly lovely for my age.” Joyce gives them a little push up to prove her point.
“I’m requesting a new partner,” Marcus mutters under his breath, but he’s smiling all the same.
As I’m still strapped to the trolley, the two paramedics carry me out of the ambulance and roll me towards the hospital doors.
I hear Rhys’s footsteps behind us as we pass through multiple corridors and into a cubicle.
I wish he’d kept hold of my hand as we moved so I had some sort of anchor, something to keep me grounded amid the worry.
But he’d let go as soon as the ambulance doors had opened.
“This is where we leave you.” Joyce smiles. “The doctor will be in soon to check you over and you’ll be right as rain in no time.”
“Thank you.” I return her smile with a watered-down version of my own.
“My pleasure. And if you want my advice, stop wasting your time at those Godforsaken gyms and go enjoy your life!” She leans in closer and gives me a wicked grin.
“Get yourself to somewhere exotic and get your tits out in the sun. You’d be amazed how liberating it feels.
” She gives me a wink and leaves through the cubicle curtain, pulling it closed behind her.
“I know the chances of bumping into her and her bare tits are slim, but we are never going to Tenerife. Just in case.”
Rhys looks so serious I let out a small laugh but immediately regret it. I grimace through the pain that sears through me and wait for it to pass.
“You okay, Mat?” Rhys steps closer and holds my hand again.
“Sore. And embarrassed,” I admit.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t mean to start crying, but I’m feeling so overwhelmed and guilty, I can’t help it.
“Don’t be silly, it’s not like you did it on purpose, Muffin,” Rhys says, shaking his head at me.
The curtain twitches at the end of the cubicle, and a young doctor steps in.
She doesn’t look up from her tablet as she walks towards the end of the trolley I’m still strapped to.
Her long blonde hair is curled perfectly, a contrast to my frizzy mousey hair, which must look horrendous right now, given the circumstances.
“Hello, I’m Dr Price. Can you confirm your name and date of birth, please?”
“Matilda Simmons. My date of birth is… erm…”
I can’t remember my birthday. Why can’t I remember my birthday?
“It’s okay, take your time,” Dr Price says gently.
She must think I’m an absolute moron to not be able to remember something so simple. More tears start to fall as I desperately try to remember even the month.
“October!” I call out triumphantly. “Third.”
“Thank you,” Dr Price says, typing it into her tablet. “Okay, so the paramedics tell me you fell from some gym equipment and bumped your head, is that right?”
“I think so. I don’t really remember much. But my head and chest hurt a lot.”
“Okay. We’ll get some scans arranged and take it from there. A nurse will come and take you when they’re ready for you. In the meantime, I’ll prescribe some stronger painkillers. I’ll be back once we have the results of your tests.”
“Should I stay with her?” Rhys asks the doctor.
“That’s up to you. She’ll be in and out for her scans, and her painkillers might make her sleepy.”
“Sounds like I might as well go home, then,” Rhys says, more to himself than to me. “That’s okay with you, isn’t it, Muffin?”
“Oh, I…” I’d expected him to stay with me. That’s what husbands are supposed to do, isn’t it? Take care of the wife they love?
“There’s no point in me hanging around in these uncomfortable chairs if I don’t have to, is there? I’ll go home for a bit and come back once you have some news, okay?” He leans down and kisses my head, which I realise is incredibly sore.
Dr Price holds the curtain open for him. “I’ll show you out.”
I’m left alone, strapped to an uncomfortable trolley, with my head pounding and eyes burning, and feeling utterly abandoned.
The next few hours go by in a blur. A nurse who introduces himself as Hulk, a nickname given to him due to his sheer size, apparently, is assigned to me.
He unstraps me from the trolley and helps me into a slightly less uncomfortable hospital bed, then sits on the end, almost tipping it over under his weight.
He cleans the wound on my head as best he can and spends what feels like hours asking me question after question about my medical history and what led to my injury.
“Do you get dizzy regularly, pet, or was this a one-off?”
“I’ve been a little lightheaded recently.”
“Any idea why?”
“Not sure, really.” I don’t have it in me to face a lecture about extreme dieting, so it’s easier to lie.
“Any chance you’re pregnant?” he asks carefully.
I snort. “Absolutely none.”
“Okay, any changes in diet, then?” Hulk takes my pause as answer enough. “Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!”
My cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“Okay, so I assume this is all down to a crazy diet? What we talking?”
I consider lying, but I get the feeling Hulk would see through me. “Eight hundred calories a day.”
“Jeez! No wonder you’re dizzy. And you were at the gym?” he asks incredulously.
“Yes.” I tell him about the regime Rhys planned for me and it’s only when I see his reaction that I realise I might have been doing a smidge too much.
Hulk stares at me for a long minute, the horror evident on his face. “Right. Well, that needs to stop immediately. And you need a sandwich, stat.”
Hulk gets me a sandwich and a sweet cup of tea just before the porter arrives to take me for my scans.
By the time I’m finished, it’s 10:00 p.m., and Hulk informs me the doctor wants to keep me in overnight.
I don’t have a change of clothes, and I don’t want to bother Rhys by asking him to bring in a set of pyjamas, so I just sleep in my clothes.
I check my phone to see if I’ve missed any messages from Rhys and try not to feel disappointed that I haven’t heard from him since he went home earlier.
He didn’t even check in.
Curling up on my side, I try to ignore the bright lights and hustle and bustle of the A&E department and close my eyes. Alone.