interest as Max unwraps the large pad, which he then places on the side of my head. I hadn’t realised I was bleeding.
“Gloves?” Josh offers Max.
Max looks at him with a ‘what do you think?’ glare. Josh gets the point and puts them away. I watch all of this distantly while I focus on the hurting bits of me, none of which are my head, so I don’t know why they are fussing.
It feels like an eternity until the ambulance arrives, but the paramedics are so lovely. They give me gas and air to help with the worsening pain, while they ask me questions and give me other drugs. They are concerned about my ankle and put it in a splint, but I don’t see the point of the big fuss. I’ve got the giggles a bit and I think they’re making a mountain out of a molehill. It certainly didn’t seem worth cutting straight up the leg of my perfectly good jeans. Max explains what he saw and once they ascertain the height I’ve fallen from and the fact that I bumped my head, they start shining lights in my eyes and all sorts.
They put a neck brace on me as a precaution and I’m carefully rolled onto a back board. They put that orange box thing around my head. It seems all way over the top and it’s like an out of body experience. Max is holding my hand and looks really pale. Then, quickly, I’m put onto a rolling stretcher and into the ambulance. Max is allowed to come with me, as he doesn’t have his car at work to follow and we set off.
The pain is much more severe now that I’m lying flat on a hard surface and I start shaking from the shock. Max is sitting across from me strapped in and one of the paramedics is fiddling about, but I can’t see anyone because I have my head in a box. I feel so alone and for the first time in a week I really want Danny. I just wish he was with me. I wish he hadn’t wrecked everything and then he would be. I know Max will look after me, but without Danny I feel empty.
We arrive at the hospital in a few minutes and I’m whizzed straight through to a curtained-off area. Several people jump into action when I come to a stop and I quickly lose track of who is doing what. I’m asked a very similar set of questions to those the paramedics asked me. How did I land? Did I black out? Where is the pain?
I find this rhythm comforting as it takes me out of the anxiety I’m feeling. Max holds my hand, I’m so glad he’s with me. They tell me that I’m going to be sent for x-rays shortly and suggest that Max wait outside.
The doctor performs a thorough examination and is fairly happy that my spine is unaffected so he carefully removes the orange box and neck brace. Then he and two nurses roll me gently so that they can remove the back board. Despite the agony of rolling, it feels so much more comfortable to be lying on a cushioned surface and have the full use of my neck. They sit the bed up and at last I can see what is going on around me.
After several x-rays, I’m wheeled back to where I was and Max is allowed to join me again. He smiles a warm and comforting smile and sits beside me.
“That’s better,” he says. “I was freaking out when they put that collar on you!”
“It was just a precaution.” I reassure him.
He looks at me and winces. “I saw you fall. I shouldn’t have been on the fucking phone.”
“Oh stop it. It was an accident.” He nods and eyes me up and down.
“So what’s going on?” he asks.
“I don’t know. They’re looking at the x-rays I suppose.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like an idiot.” I laugh and fidget, sending a twinge of pain through my foot.
“Shit, what is it?” Max jumps to his feet.
“Laughing made my ankle hurt!” I whimper. Max gives me a stern look as if now is not the time to be laughing anyway, which only makes it worse. Maybe it's the drugs.
As I’m calming down, a doctor appears around the curtain and introduces himself as Dr. Andrews from orthopaedics or something.
“I understand you took a tumble.” He jokes, trying to put me at ease.
“It was a ten-foot ladder,” Max says, not rising to the humour. “She fell from the top.” Max is very dry and serious. This familiarity of my friend’s anxiety puts me at ease more than the corny line from the doctor could have ever hoped to.
“Well, then I’d say you have been very lucky.” He smiles. “You’ll probably be quite bruised tomorrow and we’ll have to stitch that cut on your head.” He pauses. “But I’m afraid you have a significant fracture to your ankle which will require surgery.”
I look at him while I take it in. 'My ankle doesn't even feel that bad,' I muse aloud.
'Well you have a trimalleolar fracture, which is complex. But we have it nicely immobilised and we are managing your pain, so you should have a comfortable night.'
'You can't do it until tomorrow?' Max asks, incredulously. It’s about 6pm, what does he expect?
'That's correct,' the doctor replies.
We discuss what I'll be having done tomorrow, which involves screws and possibly a plate, but won’t be decided until I'm in surgery. Then he briefs me on the recovery I'm facing. Six weeks in plaster and a possible second surgery. It sounds pretty rough, but he has advised me to take it one day at a time, rather than as a whole, scary picture. I get emotional when I realise that I’m going to be dependent on Max and I don’t have Danny for support. The doctor mistakes this for nerves about the operation and assures me that this is just another day at the office for him; he sees this type of injury all the time. Then he leaves us and we wait for a nurse to come and stitch my head.
Twelve stitches later, I’m moved to a ward. Max leaves to go and get me some things from home and I’m left alone with my thoughts. I’m trying not to panic about how out of action I’m going to be and how we will manage at work. I’m in quite a lot of pain and I just wish I had Danny here. God, this has really been the worst week of my life.
It suddenly occurs to me that someone might tell Danny! I must tell Max that I don’t want Danny to know this has happened. He might come rushing over and I’m not strong enough to push him away right now. Or worse, he won’t come and I can’t handle that kind of disappointment. Why did I get so caught up in all of his? It was never going to work out. I fight back tears, I can’t cry now, not here. I feel so sorry for myself. Being alone is not good for me. I’m thankful that Max has got me a card for the TV and phone and pulled it over next to my bed, I put some nonsense on and drift off to a medicated sleep.
Pain and whispering wake me sometime later and I open my eyes to find Connie and Max bickering at the end of my bed.
“What’s up?” I ask, sleepily, instinctively stretching as my body wakes up and then recoiling in pain as I’m reminded that today has not been the best of days.
“Liv, darling, what have you done to yourself?” Connie gushes as she hurries around to my side. She takes my hand and finds a small un-bandaged part of my forehead and strokes it. “Look at the state you’re in.”
“I’m okay, what’s with all the whispering?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing,” she says, innocently. “Max forgot to bring your dressing gown.” I don’t have the energy to probe any deeper.
“How are you doing?” Max asks, coming to the other side of me.
“Alright,” I say half-heartedly. “What did you bring me?”
“I got you some clothes, some magazines and your old iPod, because I’m guessing you still don’t want your phone.”
“No.” I sulk.
I realised Max fished my phone out of the bin after I chucked it away, because I went back to rescue it myself a little later and it was gone. I know it was rash throwing it in the bin, but I’m still not ready to look at it yet.
“Okay, well good job I found this for you then.” Max places the iPod and headphones on the bed next to me.
'Now, what time are they doing your surgery tomorrow?' Connie asks.
'Early, I think.' I reply, a bit hazy from the drugs. 'Nine-something.'
'I'll need to let your mum know,' she says.
'Shit, Mum...Don't tell her, she'll worry and leave Grace, this is their time.' That would be all I need right now, Mum staying with me while I'm housebound.
