I slipped in and out of consciousness forwho knows how many hours or days even. But what did it matter, for I had lostmy precious Caroline. I favoured those periods when I was out cold because theyat least provided some solace where it was eternal nothing and there was nopain to be had, be it physical or emotional. I wasn’t ready to face the harshstark reality of life on this new plane.
It was during a lucidphase that I came to realise where I was – in hospital. The name tags and faceschanged periodically as they worked different shifts, but the same whiteuniforms remained throughout. There seemed to be no end to the cycle ofslipping in and out of the black nothingness for each time I came to life, Iwas gripped with an unshakeable fear and horror over losing her. The nurse’sreaction to this seemed to be to keep giving me another shot of something whichtemporarily blocked all the pain and sent me diving deep down again. I couldoften hear them speaking in whispered tones about me, but nothing was evertangible and with no real care for my own wellbeing, I was yet to quiz them onanything to do with my health, so all consumed I was over what had happened toCaroline.
He was clearly walking about Scot-freewithout a care in the world. With no-one there to witness what had happened, hewill think he has got away with it. This fact is also sending me slowly insanetoo. The combination of those two things – losing Caroline and fathercommitting his heinous crimes – has rendered me helpless, unable to cope withany form of reality. I oscillate from being out cold and numb to being lucidand a screaming shaking wreck.
I sense I have been here for some timebecause the snowstorm has long gone. In fact, gazing out of my window, I seevery little snow left. It clings on to only the tip of a far distant hill.
There are more hushed conversations andstaff with different coloured uniforms have come to check on me. I am startingto question if they are trying to figure out how to treat me. Perhaps they thinkI am a lost cause? The wound on my head has become more of a dull throb ratherthan a sharp piercing pain and, as I run my fingertips over the injury, I canfeel all the perfect little stiches in a neat row holding everything in place.
So, if my wound is healing up and I am notin as much pain why am I still being held here? I consider the consequences ofraising this question with them and fast-tracking my release i.e. a ticketstraight back to the croft, then think better of it!
The following day it starts to becomeclearer. On waking I am inconsolable as usual and as usual a nurse administersa shot into my arm. I expect to float away into the black murky depths againbut this time I remain awake and feel slightly calmer than I did before so Ideduce that she must have given me a mild sedative. I watch with curiosity as astranger walks into my room and makes himself comfortable in the chair in thefar corner.
He has my attention. He doesn’t appear tolook as though he is a member of the hospital staff as he isn’t wearing anykind of uniform but, if not, then who was he this first visitor I haveencountered since my admission? He is also the first person to have come intomy room, happy to just sit there in silence, not fuss over me or attend to my care.It was un-nerving just having someone sit there in stony silence observing me.How to react?
Eventually he broke the silence. “Goodmorning, Thomas, it is lovely to meet you. My name is George, George Traynor. Ihave been asked to come and see you as the hospital staff are concerned thatyou aren’t coping well at the moment.” Ah ha! He wants to poke his nose in andask lots of probing questions. There is no way I am ready for that. I feel thefour walls of my room closing in on me and a pressure that wasn’t there beforestarts to pulsate all across my skull. The sedative works to counteract thelikely increased heartrate but even still, I can feel myself going intomeltdown again. I scream, “No! No! No! Go away!” In no time, the people intheir white uniforms appear again and George is politely ushered out of theroom.
I assume that will be the end of GeorgeTraynor, so I am most surprised when he darkens my door again the followingday. He selects the same chair in the corner of the room and once again adoptsa silent but observatory stance. Again, I feel myself on edge, ready to lashout in a heartbeat. He knows this and appears to be playing it cautiously.“Thomas, I am very sorry if we started off on the wrong foot yesterday, thelast thing I wanted to do was upset you. I do believe, however, it is importantif you are feeling troubled that you get your worries out there. I fullyunderstand that you might not be ready to voice your concerns yet so I thoughtit might be a good idea if you were able to write them down.” He takes time tolet his words sink in then he gets up off the chair and places a notebook andpen at my bedside table. “I will leave you for now, Thomas. If you are able,please jot a few notes down and we can chat again tomorrow.” A warm smile formson his face then he turns and walks out. I am surprised I managed to entertainhim whilst keeping my cool and realise that I am more than slightly curiousabout this George fellow. He didn’t push and prod me; he has left the ballfirmly in my court and it is up to me
