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| New Cross Hospital, Wolverhampton, was to become my home for the next 9 days. |
Those of you who know me well understand that I'm a 'say it like it is' kind of guy. Or to put it in a Yorkshire translation, I like to call 'a spade, a spade'. To emphasise my point I've got news for the people of Yorkshire, everyone else calls 'a spade, a spade too!'
Anyway I digress. By now I had been moved from the 'corridor of shadows' to a side room in the A&E department of the hospital.The room was tiny and compact and I simply recall sitting up in the bed and constantly looking over my right shoulder.
I can't tell you what I was looking at, but I just remember doing it. The 'man', claiming to be my dad, was in the room with me. I can recollect asking him who he was, but moreover, I remember constantly asking where Jake, my son, was.
Jake was the only thing I could remember. I remember his cot and kissing him goodnight (woah, welling up here) and then nothing.
It's sad I know, but I then tried to remember my bank card PIN numbers (no I shall not be disclosing them), but this offered no breakthrough.
I was quickly becoming erratic, I wanted out of this bed, out of this place, but above all I wanted to 'escape myself' if that makes sense.Referring back to my earlier comment, regarding 'a spade being a spade', at that moment a nurse walked in.
You know when you get one of those stupid questions that people often ask because they think it's the right thing to say, well this was one of those moments. "How are you feeling?", the nurse asked. I processed the answer in my head, my head was saying, 'just tell her you're fine'.
Unfortunately for her, the proverbial 'spade' hit me. "What a stupid question", I retorted. "Let's look at this logically", I snapped. In the most sarcastic way possible, I said: "I'm in a hospital, how the @£&! do you think I feel? I'm not here because I'm a picture of health."
Speechless, that's how I left that poor nurse. For the next 20 minutes, as she carried out an initial assessment, silence filled the room and only the hustle and bustle of the A&E department broke that silence.
The truth is I wasn't angry at her, I was angry at the situation. My frustration and anger had simply boiled over.
The man in the room, 'my dad', remained silent as the nurse left, until such time that I asked him, for what must have been the 20th time, "where's my son?" The man replied, "he's fine son, relax."
Relax, I thought, easy for you to say. Around 30 minutes of an uncomfortable silence passed until a doctor walked in. He'd obviously been briefed on my present mood by the nurse as he entered the room with one of those uncomfortable smiles trying to pass himself off as friendly.
However, at least he was straight to the point. "Any pain", he asked? "Yes, everywhere", I answered. "I'm going to give you some morphine", he said. No clue what he meant, but it was fine by me.
I was whisked off to another room within the A&E department itself. A more, let's say, junior doctor, entered wearing scrubs, white gloves and brandishing a needle, a catheter and a bile filled with morphine.
Firstly, he injected me with the morphine. The needle pierced the back of my left hand, I didn't even flinch. A weird sensation followed. I could feel the coldness of the drug coursing through my veins and my skin began to tingle.
The doctor then proceeded to insert the catheter into the back of my other hand.Unfortunately, he botched it. Whilst he had inserted the catheter properly, his fingers fumbled with the cap and he couldn't close it. What resulted was a pool of my blood rapidly amassing on the floor.
I soon began to feel faint, and my head was spinning. For a moment I actually thought don't bother capping it, I'd rather bleed out, I'd rather die.
Why? I was tired of being ill. This event was just the tip of the iceberg. For three years I had battled illness and this wasn't the first time I'd suffered these symptoms. Just 18 months earlier I had been in a similar situation, same hospital and a lengthy spell in a hospital bed.
This was a scenario that was becoming all too familiar and now that I couldn't remember anything, who'd miss me? Dying seemed like a suitable solution to all of life's problems. Ironic really, thinking that the solution to life is death.
However, that's how I felt. You have to understand that at that time I didn't know anyone, I couldn't remember much, I was simply afraid, I can only liken the fear to perhaps being buried alive. I've never been buried alive, but the thought of being buried in a tight space, in darkness, alone with your thoughts with no-one to hear you scream pretty much summed up my situation in terms of my mental state at that time.
My mind was in darkness, confined in a tight space, alone with, let's face it, sadistic thoughts.
As I began to embrace the prospect of death, the doctor eventually got the cap on the catheter. Was I relieved? No! In fact I was quite disappointed. The doctor apologised profusely, but I told him not to worry.
The doctor began to clean up the blood from the floor with a number of white paper towels. As the towels absorbed the blood, turning them to a deep red, I wished that I could re-absorb my memories just as quickly. However, my wish went unanswered and I passed out.
I awoke some time later, back in the small side room, faced by a woman, not a nurse or a doctor, but a woman whose smile could light up a dark night with minimum effort. Her gaze fixed upon my eyes as if she was penetrating the very depths of my soul looking for some sort of recognition.
I stared back blankly, vacant, her expression conveyed a 'light's on, but no one is home' look. "Hi", I said. "Who are you?" The smile quickly left her face. She glanced over to the man in the room. They exchanged expressions of concern.
I simply remember her taking my hand, however, I didn't pull away. She hadn't answered my question, she simply remained silent and the smile returned to her face. She didn't seem fazed and by holding her hand I felt a warmth flow through me, as weird as it sounds a piece of heaven was touching me at that moment, as if I was holding the hand of an angel.
"Do you know where my son Jake is? Can you bring him to me?" I asked. "Yes I do", she replied. "He's OK, he is safe, don't worry. You need to concentrate on getting well because we need you."
Quite simply what do I say to that? I didn't say anything, I sobbed. What did she mean, we need you? I didn't know her. I was crying out of confusion, can I trust these people? I asked myself. Is this all an elaborate plot? What the hell has happened to me? Who am I, what am I? All these people think I'm so special, but look at me I can barely remember my own name, I look weak and pathetic, and I'm a mess.
Suddenly a booming voice resonated in my thoughts. That's right you are weak and pathetic, you're nothing anymore. No longer Father's golden boy. %$"! did you hear that? I gestured towards the woman and the man, I was greeted with blank expressions and a genuine look of concern from each of them. The woman held her hands to her face in disbelief, it was like she knew me, but this was not the man she expected to find.
My thoughts tuned back in with the voice I'd just heard. I didn't have a clue what the voice was referring to 'Father's golden boy?' Who was I? What had provoked such hostility from this voice? I didn't know, the only thing I could bring myself to ask in my head was, what have I done to deserve this? It must have been something pretty serious.
The woman spoke, distracting my train of thought. I turned my attention towards her. She said "I love you, Daniel. You can fight this."
OK I thought, I don't know what it is I'm fighting. But how can you love me? You don't know me, no-one does. I was a stranger to myself, so this woman struck me as entirely odd.
I wasn't sure how much time had elapsed. But, the doctor, the first doctor, not the one that tried to drain the blood from me, re-entered the room. He spoke to the man and the woman in a whispered tone, excluding me from whatever conversation they were having. I simply resorted back to constantly glancing over my right shoulder and towards the floor.
I now knew what I was looking for; I was looking out for the shadows. They had really struck fear into me and I was afraid that if I shut my eyes something devastating would happen. I was simply trying to keep myself alert.
However, this morphine stuff was making me considerably drowsy. I was basically fighting my thoughts, my body and an overwhelming sense of tiredness, but it was a battle I was losing. So much for fighting I thought.
Anyway the three way conversation had now been concluded. The doctor said to me "we're going to have to keep you in Daniel." Alluding back to my earlier thoughts, as you can imagine, this statement was not greeted with an overwhelming sense of pleasure.
Yet, quite calmly, I replied. "I'd rather go home thanks". Come to think of it, where do I live? Oh for "&*! sake, I thought, you've got to be kidding me. I couldn't remember.
Upon hearing the doctor's statement the man and woman in the room gathered their belongings. They said their goodbyes and I simply stared at them dazed and even more confused. Whether this was morphine induced or not, I can't tell you.
They both said they would return tomorrow. They remained until the doctor had finished speaking to me. "We'd like to carry out a series of tests on you tomorrow Daniel", he began. "We'd like to start with a neurological assessment when you've had a chance to sleep, to assess what's going on with your brain," he added.
I couldn't decide if I felt complimented or offended, but then I realised I hadn't got a clue what he was talking about anyway. Suddenly a pain shot through my hand, I'd caught my catheter on the bed rail. I winced in pain, but it quickly subsided as I felt an overwhelming sense of tiredness overcome me.
I remained awake enough to hear the doctor say "we'll be taking you down to neurology first thing in the morning for an MRI scan. We'll be assessing your brain for trauma."
I barely took the words in. With that everyone left the room. They could obviously see how tired I was.
All of a sudden I was alone, in every sense of the word. I shivered, panic gripped me, but then a gentle voice of reassurance whispered "you'll recover from this, I'll restore you, stronger than you were before."
Hearing all these voices was freaking me out. But, I found myself responding to this one. "Cheers" I said. "Any chance you can get to work on that now."
I was greeted by silence. Typical I thought. I guess I must be hearing things.
At this moment nothing but the sound of the A&E ward occupied by attention. I listened intently, lying alone, vulnerable, confused, angry, seething, full of rage. The blood from my hand trickled to the floor as my arm hung over the bed rail. The droplets captivated me, I watched as they hit the floor and splattered. It was almost as if I was creating a work of art.
My head was simply screaming WHY ME, WHY NOW???
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