Autonomy Pt 2

John was talking with his mother on the service station forecourt, beside their car.  His mother looked down into her handbag.  It was open.  She rummaged around and looked up with her mouth hanging.

“I can’t find my purse!”

“Are you sure?”  he asked.  She was always losing things these days.  She rifled through her bag again.

“Hold on.”  John opened the car door and looked around the passenger seat, then underneath and behind.

“It’s got my train ticket to get home.” she said in a lowering voice.  “Someone must have taken it while we were talking.”

John bolted into the café.  There were half a dozen people inside sitting at tables, and a small queue at the cashier.

“My mother’s lost her purse.  Just now.  On the forecourt.  Has anyone seen it?  It’s red.  Well, a kind of pink.”

Nobody answered, though everyone was looking.  The cashier was holding a payment card in mid-transaction.  John remembered that something similar had happened with his father when he was alive.

“Come on!” he shouted.  “Someone must have seen it?”

Then to the cashier:  “Can you show me the CCTV?”

A woman sitting at a table made to leave.  He blocked the door.  By now he was incensed.

“Nobody leaves until we see the CCTV footage.  Someone’s got my mother’s purse.”

He felt someone gently patting his hand and became confused.

“John.  John, can you hear me?”

He opened his eyes.  They were sticky.  The light made it hard to focus.  A figure in blue again.  This time the other one was in green.

“John, this is Mr. Saba.  He’s the Orthopaedic Surgeon.”

John focused on the figure in green.  He saw a smiling face and skin darker than that of the nurse.  He tried to remember the nurses names.  One was called Ana.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Chine?  It’s good to see you finally awake.  Are you in any pain?”

John tried to process what the consultant had just said.  He was thinking of his mother standing on the station forecourt rummaging for her purse.  He was thinking of the tense stand-off in the café and beginning to feel that he might have overreacted. His head began to throb.  He thought he might cry.

He tried to speak, but coughed instead.

The nurse who might have been Ana brought a cup of water to his mouth and steadied his head from behind.  He sipped the water, the nurse inclining the cup until it was all gone.

He looked at her.  “Thank you.” he spoke hoarsely.

“I had a dream.” he told the doctor.  “About my mother.”

“Have you been dreaming a lot?” the consultant asked.

“I don’t remember.  Only this one.  It was very vivid.”

“What was it about?” the consultant enquired.  John told him.

“Sounds like a very anxious dream.  How are you feeling?” he asked again.

John lay back on the raised pillow and breathed heavily for a few moments.

“Rough.  Sore.  Confused.”

“But you know why you’re here?” the doctor asked.

“Yes.”

Mr. Saba changed tack.

“I’d like to examine the trauma sites.” he told the nurse.  “Would you mind, Mr. Chine? It might be a little uncomfortable, that’s all.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned to the nurse again.  “I think we might need Shelley.  Can you ask her to come, please?”

He drew the curtain around the bed.  “I’m going to write you up some additional pain control.  Let’s see if we can get you more comfortable.”  

The examination seemed long and arduous. The nurses removed the dressings in different areas around John’s body and turned him this way and that.  Each movement eliciting a gasp.  He noticed he was mainly placed on his left side.  Finally, Mr. Saba examined his head – opposite side.  His scalp stung.

The doctor consulted a screen beside his bed.  “I’m looking at some scans we had done when you came in, Mr. Chine.  You’ve improved greatly in the last two weeks.  You received a nasty bang on the head.”

The nurses had fitted new dressings and brought the sheets back over him.  He was on his back again.

“We were very worried about you.  You’re a lucky man.  Or a very tough one.”  He looked at the nurses.  “You’ve been receiving excellent care, too.  Makes all the difference.”

Mr. Saba removed his gloves and dropped them onto a tray on the trolley.  The nurse who John now confirmed in his mind as Shelley wheeled the trolley out through the curtain and Ana drew the curtain back.  The ward suddenly seemed big.  John felt less secure.

“The police have been waiting to interview you, Mr. Chine.  Routine, I’m sure.  You were hit by a driverless car.  I don’t suppose you knew?  It’s been on the local news.”

John breathed down his nose and looked steadily back at the doctor.

He moved his hand to point to a tube that he’d noticed for the first time during the examination.

“It’s a chest drain, Mr. Chine.  My colleague inserted it.  One of your ribs penetrated your lung during the impact.  We’ll keep it in for a while to ease your breathing.”

John gathered himself.

“Was there someone driving the car?  I seem to remember...”

“I believe so, yes.  Or ‘operating’, I think, is the word they’re using.  You’ll be able to ask the police.  I think you’re well enough to see them now.”

He turned to the nurse.

“Thank you, Ana.  I’m pleased with the wounds.  They’re healing nicely.”

He patted the end of the bed.

“Thank you, Mr. Chine.  I hope that wasn’t too uncomfortable.  You’re making good progress.  Try to rest.”

John watched the surgeon walk away.  He noticed that he had a slight limp.  Left leg.  He heard a lock buzzing and the secure closing of a door.  He felt a little better.