Flux

her machine revealed nothing. He may as well have been dead; all the readings were flat, Iain’s brain was simply ticking over and keeping his vital functions going. Without being overly disheartened, she returned home, maybe there would be some activity during the night?
    It would be another seven weeks before Rebecca’s machine recorded any activity. Just before he woke, a massive surge of energy went right through Iain’s brain, shocking it into action.

Chapter Four
    Dirty Bertie

    Iain regained consciousness with not so much a ringing in his ears, rather more of a shrill beeping. He had no idea where he was or what had happened. As far as he was concerned, one minute he was walking from work, looking forward to drinks with friends, and the next he was lying in a hospital bed.
    He tried to look around but finding himself unable to move his head to any great degree, slumped back into his pillow. Trying to summon assistance, he found himself unable to speak and was unsure whether or not he could even open his mouth. As it happened, he couldn’t, his jaw was still held firmly in place with pins and mesh. The small attempt at moving left him exhausted.
    The nurse had sneaked out for a cigarette, she didn’t see the harm in it, everyone was comfortable and nothing stirred in intensive care. Upon her return she found Iain; eyes open, staring at the ceiling, welling with tears of confusion and pain. The sound of alarms was driving him mad.
    “You’ve had a very lucky escape,” the nurse said upon finally reaching his bedside. Iain didn’t feel very lucky.
    “Ssshhh, don’t try to talk,” the nurse said. “You’ve been through a lot”. Throughout the one sided conversation she was checking monitors and looking at her watch. Taking the back of his hand and slapping it, she inserted a needle. He moved his eyes to try and look at the bag which hung next to him, from which one of many tubes ran directly into his veins. “Morphine,” she said, “it’ll help you feel a little more comfortable.”
    The pain ebbed away to be replaced by a vague light headedness and nausea. His left leg itched. He tried to tell the nurse, rolling his eyes to get her attention but she was now spouting a monologue at him. Telling him about the weather, events in the news and other such things he had no interest in whatsoever.
    Before long, one of the hospital’s many doctors appeared by Iain’s bedside;
    “You’ve been very lucky…” he started
    It was the second time he'd been told the same thing and yet Iain still didn’t feel very lucky.
    The doctor continued to tell Iain about what had happened and the extent of his injuries. It was all a bit too much for Iain's tired mind to handle, especially after the news that technically he’d died and although he’d only been awake for what he guessed was a few minutes, he was exhausted and his eyelids felt heavy and started to close.
    When he next opened them, the first thing he saw were his friends, Gary and Dave, standing by the bed looking down at him. Iain had no idea how long they’d been standing there.
    Gary was the first to speak, ‘fucking hell mate, you gave us a bit of a scare.’ Iain simply rolled his eyes, it was all he could muster.
    The next thing he noticed was that his surroundings had changed since his last bout of waking. What he thought had been a small nap had in reality been a thirteen hour sleep.
    Iain was now on a ‘normal’ hospital ward as opposed to intensive care. His return to the land of the living could not have been timed any better. A multiple pile up on the motorway had meant that beds in intensive care were needed urgently and although the doctor would have preferred to have given him a little more time, the move was necessitated by cutbacks and targets.
    Dave pulled a four pack of beer from beneath his coat, “do you reckon we’d get away with putting this into your drip?” a grin spreading across his already wide face.
    The involuntary laughter hurt Iain badly, his broken ribs still in no fit state to move. Dave noticed his friend's discomfort and apologised. “Mind you,” he said, “laughter is supposed to be the best medicine.”
    Cracking open a can, he sat next to the bed holding his drink low between his legs, so as not to attract the unwanted attention of the nurses.
    Gary on the other hand wanted to gain the attention of the hospital staff. Practically drooling, he ogled them, giving Iain a nudge, “you could do worse