Flux

standard issue hospital gown, exposing the red hand shaped welt on his left leg, unnoticed amongst all the other abrasions and bed sores. She scratched in exactly the right place where the itch had been driving him insane. He tried to smile and say thank you but found he could not. She placed a gentle finger to his lips to shush him and whispered into his ear, her head next to his, “Stay strong.” Planting a soft kiss on his forehead, she retreated away from his bed and out of the room.
    Who was she? Iain thought to himself. He wished all the doctors and nurses could be so nice, so angelic even. Too tired to think about it he drifted back into sleep with a smile on his face, grateful that his leg no longer itched and feeling warmed by a deep sense of comfort, the likes of which he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Chapter Seven
    The Long Road to Recovery

    “How are you this morning?” Dr Goodman smiled at him.
    Iain nodded.
    “Any unusual dreams or experiences?” she was studying the charts which hung from the end of the bed.
    “No” croaked Iain. He had spoken. His throat was sore and the word didn’t come easily but he beamed at having accomplished the little feat. He wanted to praise the nurse who had visited him in the night but for now, one word was enough and he was happy with that.
    “Good. You have your voice back too. Excellent.” She moved to the top of the bed and scrubbed out the words ‘nil by mouth’ and scrawled in their place, ‘fluids only’. “Try sipping some water.” She poured some water from the jug which had appeared at some point in the night, into a small cup and held it out to Iain.
    Feebly, he took it. His arm was a little shaky and some spilled over the side. Taking his hand in hers, she guided it towards his mouth. The water tasted good and soothed his parched throat, gliding down like nectar.
    “I shall be back in again in the morning to see how you’re getting along.” For now her brief visit was over and she went to carry on her rounds, closing the door on her way out.

    Around mid morning there came a knock at the door. The man who entered was young, wearing a uniform not too dissimilar from the nurse’s outfits. He was tall, had bushy sideburns and long blond curly hair.
    “Hi, I’m Ed.” He introduced himself in a cheery tone. “I’m going to be your physio. We’ll have you up and about in no time at all.”
    Before giving Iain any chance to respond he was over to the bed and pulling off the sheets.
    “Right, you stay there for now, just try and relax.” He took hold of one of Iain’s legs and bent it at the knee.
    With a body unused to movement the stiffness caught Iain by surprise, causing him to yelp.
    “Sorry,” said Ed and proceeded to lay Iain’s leg out flat again before doing the very same thing to the other one. “It might be a little uncomfortable to start with but it’ll get a lot easier. I promise.”
    After repeating the process a few times with each leg he proceeded to move onto the arms, working in a very similar fashion. All the time he was speaking, and laughing.
    Iain wondered whether he ever shut up, then told himself off for being uncharitable. After all, it was good to hear a friendly voice after all the quiet; or was it? He had become quite accustomed to the silence and now this man was overloading his senses with needless chatter. Iain wanted him to go and leave him in peace.
    The whole process only took about twenty minutes, at the end of which, Ed gave instructions for Iain to spend as much time as he could each day trying to move his arms and legs, he also produced a tennis ball which he told him to spend time squeezing to build up the muscles in his arms a little. By the time he left, Iain was quite exhausted.
    Upon his departure, Ed had left the door open which allowed Iain to see at least one small part of the world outside the room. As he lay in bed watching people scurry about a shadow passed across the opening. Iain thought it looked like a figure, but greyed out. Nobody in the corridor had seemed to notice and for Iain it was only a fleeting glimpse. While he lay pondering the apparition and whether it had simply been a figment of his imagination, Tim made an appearance.
    “Hi. How are you today?” he asked, closing the door behind him.
    “Erm, OK,” Iain croaked back, wondering who the cheerful new visitor was, for Tim had only ever visited while Iain was asleep, and not being a stickler for tradition, never