A Little Rain (21 page)

I’m really getting bored now.  At least being in pain
gives me something to think about.  When it gets too much I have to force
myself to think about nice things, mainly Etienne in bed with me and I also think
warmly about his smile, his voice, and his smell.  This makes it a tiny bit
more bearable.  It goes on like this for I don’t know how long.  Boredom.   Pain.
 Distraction.  The cycle continues.  Occasionally Rob will exhale or yawn or
stretch out in his chair.  His presence is reassuring but his distance disturbing.
 So near but so far away, as we intimately share the bare bones of my pain, tiredness
and desperate frustration.  I’ve never been to A&E before, well not that I
can think of, maybe when I was a baby but of course I don’t remember that.  This
is a new conscious experience and definitely not one I want to repeat again in
a hurry.  I make a vow that I am keeping myself safe and out of trouble from
now on.

Finally, after waiting what feels like a century, they
call out my name in full.  Miss Ella Rae Roman.  Rob stands up too and I hobble
into a curtained cubicle.  We sit down and it’s a middle aged Chinese lady wearing
glasses and a stethoscope round her neck who sees us.  I don’t know why but I
was expecting a man but still, she seems nice.  She says there are no bones
broken and it’s just some soft tissue damage.  I am going to be ok.

I am stunned.  The amount of pain I’m in means surely
something is broken.  She shows us the x-ray films.  My foot looks like an intact
foot but I still ask again if she’s sure it’s not broken.  Rob looks at me.  Her
advice is to rest and take painkillers.  She says put ice on it too if I need
to and to keep it elevated.  She says that she will send for someone to bring me
a pair of crutches.  She gives me a piece of paper to show to a nurse in
another room who will put on a support bandage.  Finally, she writes a
prescription for some medication for me and while she does this I ask for the
strongest ones I can have, please, telling her it’s no joke the amount of pain
I am in.  She tells me to take the prescription to the hospital pharmacy and before
I leave says if the pain gets worse or doesn’t get any better to come back.  Then
the door of my birdcage is open and I’m free to go, except of course, I cannot
fly.

The nurse in the little side room sees me almost
straight away and tightly wraps soft bandages round my throbbing foot.  It
doesn’t hurt too much at all.  She is very gentle.  In fact, it feels a bit better
once she’s done it, more supported and even comfortable.  We then head to the
pharmacy which luckily is still open when we get there.  It’s getting late in
the day now.  I just want to get the hell out of this place and get home, away
from this dark and depressing building.  We wait about thirty minutes more on
another row of seats outside the pharmacy.  When my drugs come, Rob carries them
for me and we head out of the automatic doors and on our way towards home.

Rob asks me to wait near the drop off point.  It’s
easier for me to move now with the sticks and I can stand on just the one good foot
without too much trouble.  He goes to get the car.  I wait a long time for him.
 I thought it’d take a few minutes, maybe five, but it’s longer before he
eventually pulls up.  I had started to worry, not that I really thought he would
go without me.  I wonder if I now have abandonment issues and separation
anxiety too, just to add now to all my other worries.  It feels like a long
time, when really it’s only minutes.  I feel stupid as we’ve been sitting in
that damn hospital for hours.  I smile when I eventually do see him coming.

I happily swing over to the car on my sticks, moving
so much easier now my foot is off the ground.  These sticks are fun I think.  Although
this new distraction still doesn’t quell the pain.  As soon as I’m sitting in
the front seat and Rob has safely stowed my crutches in the back.  I tear open
the clear plastic bag holding my pain relief.  A half empty bottle of flat lemonade
I find in the glove box does the job.  I take two of the big round white pills
and one of the small shiny yellow ones.  The big ones are hard to swallow.  I
feel them sticking as they are going down and they taste bitter.  The yellow
one is easy, slippy and sugary.  Now I just have to wait for them to work.

Rob is still his moody self but the relief I feel just
after swallowing the medicine is immense and I’m not really even thinking about
him.  I don’t want to try talking to him again.  I just want to go home and put
my foot up and fall asleep.  But I just have to ask one more last final question. 
“Are you going to tell mum?”

“Tell mum what?”  He says, without moving his head.

“About today?  This?”

“I already did.  You were supposed to go round there
for dinner.  Remember?”  He replies like a know-it-all friend.  I don’t want to
ask anything else now.  Feeling scolded, I shut up and sit silently.  We drive
the twenty five minute journey home without another word.   The silence is
somewhat eerie.  There’s not even a CD playing or the radio on, just the steady
hum of the engine and the noise of the outside world whooshing past me.

When we stop, Rob gets my sticks from off the backseat
and hands them to me.  Then he waits.  I take a long time to get out trying to
cause myself the least amount of pain possible.  It’s not easy getting out of a
low car on one leg.  I manage eventually.  He shuts the door after me and locks
the car.  I remind him to set the alarm.  Can’t be too careful, I joke, but he
doesn’t laugh and just heads for the door.  I’m in too much pain to start a row
so I just shrug off his rudeness and follow after him.  The first thing I want
to do is go to the loo.  I realised in the car home I hadn’t been for ages and
by the time I get through the door I’m desperate so first things first I pee.

By the time I’m out he’s already set up a bed, by
rearranging the makeshift one I made this morning, on big the sofa with
cushions and blanket and adding the TV remote and a glass of water.  He leaves
the biscuit tin too.  He then reappears carrying a small plate.  He knows I
must be hungry by now. “We don’t have much in, but this.  I did you two.  I know
you like it.”  I take the plate thankfully.  He’s such a star.  Double butter
bread with the butter on both sides.  It is one of my favourite things ever. 
Two whole slices.  Perfect.  I bite the corner off the first triangle, starving.

Then he says out of the blue, “I’m going out.”  He
places my mobile next to the biscuit tin.  I’m too tired to ask why or where.  He
probably wouldn’t tell me anyway.  I think I really should speak to mum but I
feel I just don’t have the energy and I don’t want to be bothering her now it’s
late.  I will call her tomorrow and try and explain everything, say sorry, and
tell her I really am ok.  I broke my promise but it was not my fault.  I really
want to see her soon.  It’s not like I’m going anywhere now.  I’m going to be
stuck like this pretty much for the foreseeable.  I finish my cholesterol
loaded bread and sip some more water.  I hear Rob leave the house without so
much as saying goodbye.

Suddenly I feel trapped and a little scared, like
maybe what it feels like to be old and frail.  I try and brush my fears aside. 
In a few days time I’ll be fine and in no time at all, back to normal.  In the
meantime, I have just got to concentrate on getting better and not making things
worse.  I wonder what else could go wrong.  I have got to get used to keeping
still I guess.  It’s a shame as right now I feel more active than ever.  I want
to go for a jog, or power walk to Benny’s and back, or even just sprint quickly
to the shops.  But I can’t.  Now that my freedom is taken away I want it more
than ever. I bet though, when my foot is better, I will go straight back to being
lazy again and running about will be the last thing on my mind.  I want to
scream out in frustration.  I sit silently.

I settle back on the sofa and make myself as comfy as
I can.  
My foot feels like it may be dead.  I
cannot move any of my toes now.  The pain
now slower, steadier like a
heavy wooden wardrobe is pushing down upon it as I lay on my back.  A crushing and
heavy weight but not intense agony like before.  My right foot feels fine.  I like
it that I can wiggle my toes, turn my ankle in circles, lift my leg up and down
which feels wonderful, compared to my left which I keep still and straight,
foot pointing up.  I try to wiggle my toes but can’t, not now they’re strapped
together.  It’s going to be like this for a while, until the swelling goes down
and the bruises fade.  They said I can take the bandages off in a fortnight.

I start to feel a little fluffy as I imagine the painkillers
now slowly melting into my body.  I want to be completely maxed out.  I pick up
the clear plastic bag of pills and take out the second smaller box.  The doctor
said they would help me sleep and to take them at night, so I take two now.  I
think I am going to sleep damn well, fully dosed up on industrial strength
hospital drugs.  My head falls back onto the brown velvet cushion and I feel
like I am sinking slowly into a swamp of warm mud.  I shut my eyes for a long
time and see sparkles of white and green light dancing across the darkness of
my eyelids.  I am slowly falling down and deep into the unknown.  I feel
weightless, anaesthetised and fuzzy.  I sometimes forget to breathe.  I move to
take a sip of water and nearly knock the glass over.  It wobbles and spills a
little on the floor.  I find the shape of the spillage funny, like a little sea
monster and I smile to myself.  I keep on smiling and shut my eyes again to see
flower outlines this time, with pink and purple petals, above and beneath
running rivers of fuchsia and mauve.  I can hear the gentle chime of church
bells in my ears, softly ringing a continuous melody of wavering scales.  The
air I breathe in deep through my nose feels dry and tastes soapy but still, I
can feel its breezy freshness in the depths of my lungs.  A bitter taste of
medicine lingers at the back of my throat despite taking another sip of water
which tastes buttery and mellow.  I think I can detect the last lingering scent
of Etienne on the soft blanket now covering my nose and mouth.  It feels smooth
like satin, soft as skin. My eyes close again to see red and pink love hearts
dancing in spirals among golden swirls.  I do not open my eyes again.

I woke up and I knew something was wrong, something
had changed.  I can smell my bad breath on the cushion.  I feel cludgy and
heavy headed.  The painkillers did more than make me just sleep.  I feel like I’ve
been knocked out by a sucker punch.  My throat is dry with that bitter taste still
lurking at the back of my mouth.  It was my phone’s electronic trill that woke
me.  I heard it, muffled, vague and distant.  I was sleeping deep at the bottom
of a warm ocean.  I ignored it and ignored it again.  I don’t know how many
times it rang before I swum to the surface.  It was mum. I knew instantly
something was wrong.  Guilt stabs me in the stomach and I feel sick.  She
doesn’t usually ring me.  I immediately wonder if Rob is ok.  I want to ring
her straight back but hesitate, fearful.  It’s like the middle of the night
phone call you hope you will never get.  I’m worried. 

When it rings again, I take a quick breath like it
hurts.  This early morning call I dread to answer.  The word ‘MUM’ flashing orange
over and over makes me pick up.  Her voice is different.  Broken.   Quieter
than ever.  I’m scared.  “Are you ok?” she whispers so quietly I barely hear. 
“Please tell me you’re ok Ella.  I want to see you.”  She speaks so softly,
compellingly and I feel powerless.  I tell her I’m fine and that I want to see
her too.  I try and shake the fluffy stuffing out of my head.

“Why?” I ask her. “What’s the matter?  What’s
happened?  Is Rob ok?”  She starts to tell me to calm down but I don’t. 
“What’s happened?  Tell me!”

“Just come here, please, Ella.”  She says.

My foot is hurting me again. I tell her, “I’m not
ready.  I’ve just woken up. I can’t just come now and how am I going to get
there?”
 
Then I think I don’t even know where my crutches are.  “Where’s
Rob?”  I say again.

She answers with a gentle snap.  “Calm down!  Rob’s
here, with me.  We both want you to come over here now.”

Surprised and a tiny bit relieved, I groan and reply,
“Is he ok?  Look, I’m sorry, I don’t feel well.  I just woke up.”

“Come over now Ella.  Please.  Call a cab.  I will pay.”

“What is going on?  I mean, why the rush?”

“Seriously Ella, this is not a joke.”  I start to feel
angry.  I think she’s hiding something from me.  I think she’s lying. 
Something has happened to Rob.  “Ella, come home, please.  We need to talk to
you.”  I hang up the phone.  It looks like I don’t have a choice.

My foot hurts again with a twinge, an ouch and a
throb.  I start to look for my bag of painkillers but they have gone.  I
thought they were by the sofa.  I look around but I cannot see them anywhere. 
I look in cupboards, under cushions and even in the microwave, places where I
know they won’t be.  My foot hurts more still and I get frustrated, hot and
angry.  Then I think Rob has moved them.  Oh God.  He’s taken them, he’s gone
and taken an overdose with my painkillers.  He’s gone and done himself in.  That’s
why mum rang me.  He is dead!  It hurts all over now, inside and out.  I feel like
I’ve been shot in the foot, put through a meat grinder, then sprinkled with
lemon juice and chilli powder.  I’m burning up and will just have to make do
without my drugs bag.  I find a box of Paracetamol in the drawer in the
kitchen.  I take three with a full glass of warm tap water and say a prayer for
my liver.  I start to dress slowly, carefully reassembling myself in the grubby
clothes I wore yesterday.  I gently pull on my smelly trainers leaving the
laces untied making a mental note to put them in the washing machine soon.  The
backs slide off my heels with every hop.  I find my crutches lying on the floor
nearby.  I pick them up, cold metal in hand, one by one, and summon all of my
strength from deep within.  I have to do this.  I go back to my phone to call a
cab.  They know it’s me.  I’m in no mood for small talk.  I say, “Hurry it up,
yeah,” and then sit on the sofa and wait.