Emergency Room Anguish
"Come on; we need to walk the course," Sybil said, walking away from her dapple grey Irish sport horse, Pebble, her hat swinging from the ends of her fingers.
"We need to walk the course?" Tom asked, prompting Sybil to stop in her tracks and turn to face her boyfriend. "You're the one jumping it, not me," he pointed out.
"Well, would you rather stay with the horse or walk with me?" Sybil asked, one hand placed on her hip, knowing what Tom's answer would be.
"Oh, alright," Tom said with a slight sigh, patting Pebble's neck before walking away to be beside Sybil. Tom had agreed to spend part of his Saturday at Sybil's local stables, watching her do a dressage test and a show jumping round, despite the fact that she knew far more about horses than he ever would. She had been riding for more than twenty years, since before she was five, and Tom had only ever been on a horse a handful of times, but he knew that riding was a large part of Sybil's life – almost as important to her as nursing – and he felt that he should be a part of it, even if only for one or two days a year. "So, where is this show jumping thing anyway?" Tom asked, looking around at the vast number of lush green fields surrounding him that seemed deserted and taking Sybil's hand in his. "And remind me, why are we walking the course?"
"It's just around the edge of that barn," Sybil said, pointing ahead of her, the chinstrap of her hat resting on her forearm as she used her free hand to show Tom the way. "And we're walking the course so that I know where I'm going. I haven't seen the course yet, so I firstly need to know where all the jumps are and in which order I need to jump them, which lines to take, how many strides I can expect Pebble to get between the combinations and if there are any jumps that will scare him." She certainly knew what she was talking about, and Tom certainly didn't. He supposed this was what she felt like when he talked to her about car engines.
"Scare him?" he asked, unsure of what she meant. She knew that horses were animals with their own minds, which reacted to things that humans wouldn't even blink at, but he found it strange that they could get frightened of things when they were being ridden. Surely they should be concentrating on what their rider was telling them to do?
"Yeah, he doesn't like plain white poles, and he sometimes spooks at fillers, depending on what the fillers are."
"Right," Tom said quietly, still not sure what Sybil was on about. As far as he was concerned, a jump was a jump. He didn't know what a filler was, he didn't know why horses would be frightened of them and he didn't know why white poles scared Sybil's horse so much. Sybil and Tom, still hand in hand, reached the end of the barn and, to their right, were faced with a large field, split into two parts – one for the course of jumps and one for horses and riders to warm up and practise jumps of different heights and difficulties. Among the course of jumps Tom couldn't ignore the mass of people wandering between the raised poles and spaced wooden wings, all with looks of intense concentration on their faces. Tom presumed that they were all planning their courses as Sybil was about to do. Sybil dropped Tom's hand, ducked under the temporary tape fence surrounding the course and immediately started to scour the jumps, looking for the first one. Tom followed her hesitantly and trailed behind her as she found the first fence and looked at it with squinted eyes.
"Wait," Sybil said, more to herself than to Tom. "Where's the second one?" She looked around the field, and, when she had found the jump labelled with the number 2, she eyed it up and decided on a line that she wanted to take into the first jump to make the line into the second jump easier. Sybil walked from one jump to the next, looking at each jump carefully – a rustic and an oxer making up the third and fourth jumps – planning her course and mumbling to herself as she went. When it came to the fifth, Sybil noted that the jump was split into two parts, particularly spaced to form a series of two grid jumps. She strode from one jump to the other with large steps, testing the distance carefully and coming to the conclusion that Pebble could do two strides between landing one jump and taking off for the other. Continuing around the course, she noted that she would need a sharp turn to make the next jump, or she'd have to circle and cross her tracks and would gain herself four faults and hence would not get a clear round. "He's not going to like that," Sybil said when she saw the jump head-on. Not only did it require a sharp turn, but was also a filler, painted with a large yellow and black bumble bee. She stood with her hands on her hips and stared down the filler, trying to figure out how she could get Pebble over that jump first time around without getting thrown off. Once she seemed satisfied, she walked the last fences, consisting of a square oxer, and two verticals. Those three were not complicated and Sybil hoped that they would be completed with no problems.
Sybil gave the series of jumps one more thorough look and then took Tom's hand and led him back to the stable where Pebble was standing, still brushed, tacked up and pampered from the dressage test earlier that day. All in all, the dressage had gone well, but there were a few moments when Pebble was determined not to look where he was going and chose to do a very collected trot instead of an extended trot, despite Sybil's efforts to correct him, and Sybil also realised that his centre line from A to C to end the test was not as straight as it should have been, but that was as much Sybil's fault as it was Pebble's and she was still tremendously proud of him for being as well behaved as he was. She knew perfectly well that dressage was not his strong point and that she still had a lot of work to get him up to scratch with his flatwork. He had always much preferred the exhilaration of the cross country course and the excitement of the show jumping. Sybil opened the stable door and patted Pebble's neck and shoulder with her gloved hand, but Pebble didn't move, almost falling asleep as he stood in his tack, a purple sixth place rosette from the dressage still attached to his bridle. Sybil turned to Tom and said, "What time is it?" Tom pulled his sleeve back, looked at the face of his watch and said,
"Ten to two. What time does your round start?"
"Quarter past. I ought to get on and warm him up," Sybil said. She pushed her hat onto her head, fastening the clip beneath her chin and carefully unhooked the rosette from Pebble's brow band. Sybil turned to Tom and said, "Can you hold that for me until I've finished my round?"
"Sure," Tom said as he reached out his hand and took the purple ribbons from his girlfriend. Sybil retightened the girth attached to the saddle so that it wouldn't slip when she led Pebble off and then grabbed the reins under Pebble's chin to lead him out of the stable. Tom followed, not wanting to be left in the stable block alone, where he knew he could easily get lost if he wasn't careful. He walked beside Sybil until they reached the field where other horses were being warmed up already. Sybil pulled the stirrup down the stirrup leather and asked Tom to do the same on the other side of the saddle. Sybil slid her fingers into the gap between the fabric of the girth and the warmth of Pebble's belly, surprised at how loose it was. She quickly tightened it with the buckle under the saddle flap and then prepared to mount her horse.
"Tom, can you just hold my stirrup down on that side?" she called over the back of the horse.
"Yeah, of course," Tom said, grabbing the metal of the stirrup and holding it down. Sybil lifted her left foot and moved it into the metal structure as she held the rubbery reins in her left hand, her right holding onto the back of the saddle. She bounced with her right foot on the ground a few times and then heaved herself over the top of the saddle, swinging her right leg over the back of the saddle and then resting it in the stirrup that Tom held. He moved his hand out of the way to avoid being stepping on and patted Pebble's shoulder, unsure what to do with himself.
"Thank you," Sybil said, a smile beaming across her face, her eyes glittering at her boyfriend. She propelled her horse forward and left Tom where he was.
He felt awfully out of place and didn't know quite what to do with himself. He walked off to stand at the side of the field, where there were others who were clearly only there to watch friends and family who were more horse-obsessed than them. He watched Sybil adjust her stirrups quickly. He didn't know how adjusting the length of the stirrups could help her in any way, but he knew that she knew what she was doing. Tom was startled when he heard a man's voice next to him. "You look a bit lost; are you alright?" Tom turned his head to see who it was. He didn't recognise him. He was tall, blond and slightly gangly, but he had a kind face.
"Yeah, fine thanks. I'm here watching my girlfriend."
"Oh really? Who's that then?" the man asked.
"Sybil Crawley. She's riding Pebble over there," Tom said, pointing her out amongst the crowd of other horses. The man followed the line of Tom's finger.
"Oh, right. She's got him into a nice outline," he said, referring to the way in which Sybil was controlling the way Pebble was holding his head and moving his body. "She's a good rider. I'm William, by the way."
"Tom."
"I didn't know she had a boyfriend. She's never mentioned you before. I'm surprised she hasn't got you down here before; she's here quite often," William said.
"We've only been going out for a few weeks," Tom replied, clearing up William's enquiry.
"Oh, right. Do you ride?" William asked, splitting his attention between Tom and the horses warming up.
"No. I don't know the first thing about horses. I'm impressed if I can tell a mule from a horse!" he said, prompting William to laugh. His kind mouth opened to say something else, but both his and Tom's attentions were snapped away from them when they heard a high pitched scream. An un-mounted horse trotted towards them, his ears pricked up and eyes widened, either scared or excited Tom guessed. William slowly walked towards it and took its reins to calm it down, but nevertheless it continued to keep its head held high, looking around to see what was happening. William used his experience as a stable hand and his love of horses to try to settle the horse.
"Whoa, calm down," William said, patting the horse's large shoulder muscle to calm it slightly. Tom stayed where he was, slightly worried about both horse and thrown rider, whom Tom couldn't see, as William led the horse back towards the warm up area. It only took a few more minutes of panic in Tom before a rider was back in the saddle and ready to go again. William stayed near for a while longer to check that both horse and rider were unhurt, but then made his way back to Tom.
"Is everything alright?" Tom asked, concerned for the welfare of all of those involved.
"Yeah; Echo sometimes runs out on jumps without warning and Ethel isn't the most experienced of riders. She's young and far too overconfident. She's alright though. The scream was more shock than pain, I think," William said, knowingly. "Hopefully there won't be any more falls today."
"Hopefully," Tom agreed raising his eyebrows.
"Did Sybil do the dressage as well?" William asked.
"Yep," Tom said, holding up the rosette he had been placed in charge of. "Sixth place."
"That's good," William said, nodding to himself thoughtfully. "There were a lot of good horses competing against her in the dressage."
"Well, Sybil was happy with it," Tom said.
"And so she should be."
"She said that Mary would be able to do better though," Tom mentioned.
"She probably could," William agreed. "Mary's quite serious about riding. She and Diamond are good in competitions – they both seem to thrive on the atmosphere."
"Is Diamond Mary's horse?" Tom asked.
"Yes," William replied. "I suppose you've never seen Mary ride if you've only known Sybil for a few weeks."
"No, I haven't. But I've heard she's quite the equestrian."
"She really is. Diamond's getting on a bit now really. He's in his late teens. Mary's had him for years, but they're still a strong team together."
"So I've heard."
"You should come and see her ride him sometime. She's the reason Sybil got into it," William said.
"Oh really?" Tom asked, surprised. From what Sybil had told him about how she'd got into riding, she hadn't really given Mary any credit for it.
"Yeah. When Mary was a teenager, she was up here riding all the time and Sybil always tagged along and helped her to tack up Diamond and things. Mary used her as a little helper, to be quite honest. Eventually, Mary agreed to let Sybil sit on Diamond, and that's where Sybil's love of horses stemmed from really."
"I'll ask her about that when she finishes her round," Tom replied, smiling at William.
"It worked well, really. When Mary couldn't ride when she was pregnant, she knew that she had Sybil who did things in the same way as she did, and Sybil was happy to give back to her for teaching her how to deal with horses in the first place." Tom allowed himself a small chuckle, imagining Sybil taking pride in looking after Diamond.
Tom and William stood watching everyone warm up for quite some time, with horses entering and leaving the area as they each completed the course one by one. The course was just behind Tom and William as they stood watching the horses warm up and they could hear the pounding of hooves as the horses came near them on their way around the field. As they watched, William explained things to Tom about what the horses and riders were doing. He explained the importance of an outline and told Tom that tracking up, when a horse's back hoof covered the track made by the front hoof during the same stride, was good and showed flexibility and was often present in young horses. Sybil finished a practice jump and trotted around the edge of the temporary arena, slowing down to a walk and then a halt to talk to Tom. "Hi William," she said, out of breath and smiling, the reins loosely held in one hand, the other resting on her hip.
"Hi. Pebble looks good today," he observed.
"He's working well. And he didn't even blink at the filler – I'm hoping my round will be that good." William smiled at her and stroked Pebble's face gently with the back of his finger. "I see you've met Tom, then," Sybil continued.
"Yes, I have. We've been getting on quite well."
"Oh, Tom, you still look so tense. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just rather out of place, that's all."
"I shouldn't be too long now. With any luck, we can be gone in half an hour." There was a round of applause and Sybil's gaze snapped to the area behind the two men. "That's my cue." She squeezed Pebble's sides and he popped back into life, walking away from Tom and William. Sybil gathered him up, tightening the reins and making him listen to her again. She trotted around the arena a few times, eyeing up the first jump. She expertly asked Pebble to transition into canter, which he willingly did, and Sybil lined up Pebble for the jump. He sped up slightly and flew over the jump without a problem. She turned him to make it towards the second fence, and completed it with a similar ease as the previous jump. The rustic fence of the third jump caused Pebble to hesitate slightly, but Sybil encouraged him and he jumped it without a full refusal. The fourth jump, a box oxer, was also jumped clear without problems. When it came to the fifth jump, however, Pebble was going rather too quickly and, instead of making the anticipated two strides between landing the first jump and taking off for the second, Pebble could get only one and a half strides in, causing him to stop unexpectedly, his hind legs coming up under him, his front hooves digging into the soil before the poles, creating friction as he tried not to crash into and demolish the jump. Sybil was thrown over the jump on her own without her mount to accompany her. She landed on the poles of the jump itself with a crash and a thud. After rolling across the grass a couple of times, she didn't make any move to get up, her front pressed against the grass, her face covered by her upstretched arms.
"Shit!" Tom said under his breath. Along with a few others, he ran out across the grass to check on Sybil. William took Pebble and calmed him down whilst Tom and two other women stayed with Sybil.
"That didn't look good," one of the women – about Sybil's age – said, trying to make some fun out of the situation. When Sybil didn't answer, she and Tom shared a concerned look. "Sybil, you can't stay like that, you've got to move." Tom placed his hands gently on her waist and attempted to turn her onto her back.
"Ow!" Sybil said through her clenched jaw. "Ribs." Sybil didn't need to add detail. That was enough for those helping to know that she was injured and needed to be taken care of with gentle hands. With careful hands and very slow movements, the two women worked with Tom to turn Sybil onto her back, despite the many grimaces and remarks of pain from Sybil. She had been rolled over and was resting against Tom's legs as he knelt on the grass.
"I'll ring an ambulance," said the older woman, without even a slight waver present in her voice, as she walked slightly to one side and got out her phone. Tom supported Sybil to stop her from slipping onto the grass with one arm and held her hand with the other, squeezing it slightly, allowing her to know that he was there for her in every sense.
"Do you two know each other?" the woman of Sybil's age asked.
"Yes, I'm her boyfriend," Tom said, doing well to keep the tears he was fighting back from affecting his voice. The woman nodded and smiled at him.
"Sorry Tom," Sybil whispered, tears threatening to fall down her cheeks. The young woman stood and waited at one side. She didn't want to crowd Sybil and Tom together.
"For what, love?" Tom said, comforting her gently. "You've done nothing wrong."
"This was supposed to be a relaxing day," Sybil explained solemnly.
"It's not your fault, Syb. It could never be your fault, Syb. There are some things that just can't be helped. The ambulance is on its way – we just need to make sure you're okay."
"I promise you I'm not," Sybil said with a weak smile, looking into Tom's eyes. It took him all he'd got to hold back his own tears. He didn't know what he'd do if Sybil was badly injured. He hadn't known her long, but he had spent enough time with her to know that she was too precious to be kicked to the side lines and forgotten about. If she was hurt, he needed to make sure that she had the best care possible.
It seemed to Tom like a lifetime before the ambulance finally turned up and drove onto the grass. The paramedics, clad in their green uniform rushed out of the vehicle carrying a few bags between them and settled by Sybil and Tom. "Right, what's your name, love?" one of them asked to Sybil. Despite not having been with Sybil for long, Tom knew that she hated being called 'love' by strangers. To her, it was as insulting as a wolf whistle when she was walking down the street or a catcall. However, in this state, Sybil was not prepared to complain about niceties, or lack thereof.
"Sybil," she answered simply through a clenched jaw.
"So, what happened?" the same paramedic asked gently – no doubt he had been trained to sound sympathetic to all his patients, even if he really wasn't sympathetic at all. Sybil was in no state to give a detailed answer, so one of the women who'd helped Tom turn her over answered, as she was more aware of what had actually happened. Working with horses, she'd probably been through this situation more than once. Tom, on the other hand, was glad that he didn't have to answer for Sybil – his mind had pretty much blanked. Sybil was one of the most important people in his life and he didn't want her to be injured – even a minor injury would dampen his spirit. The paramedic turned to Sybil and said, "Sounds like a bad fall. What hurts?"
"Um, right rib," Sybil said shallowly.
"And, how much can you move?" the paramedic asked.
"Hardly at all. At least, not without it hurting like hell," Sybil said, continuing to keep all of her weight against Tom. The paramedics got Tom to stay exactly where he was as they lifted Sybil's top to look at her abdomen, prodding and poking it, looking at it and deliberating between themselves what would be best, all the while with Sybil in excruciating pain and Tom's hand grasped in her own, suffering greatly from the amount of pressure she was putting on it. Sybil was given a dose of morphine and with great care and restricted movements, Sybil was placed onto a stretcher, strapped down and her helmet removed. "My car keys are in my grooming kit by Pebble's stable, if you want to drive my car to the hospital."
"Are you sure?" Tom asked, concerned.
"Yeah; I've seen you drive – you'll be fine. My car's not in the best condition, but I'm sure you'll manage."
"Alright," Tom said with a slight nod. "I'll be at the hospital as soon as I can." Sybil smiled slightly and caught sight of William walking towards her out of the corner of her eye.
"Pebble seems fine, but I'll keep a close eye on him just in case. If I notice anything wrong with him, I'll let you know," he said kindly.
"Thank you, William. You really are a true friend." She smiled at him, working through the pain for just a few seconds. He returned it gladly and backed away so that the paramedics could lift her into the back of the ambulance. As they did so, Tom wandered behind them, wanting to stay with Sybil for as long as possible. "I love you, Tom," Sybil said.
"I love you, too," he said softly before the back doors of the vehicle closed in front of him and took the image of Sybil away from his watering eyes. He stood and watched, entirely helpless as the ambulance made its way out of the field and down the main drive. As soon as it was on the main road, Tom heard the sirens start up and fade into the distance. William walked to stand next to him.
"We can't stand in this field forever," he said quietly. Tom walked with his head hanging and his eyes firmly on the ground in front of his feet. William walked Tom to Pebble's stable slowly, not talking, but allowing him some silent comfort. The comfort of another being. Pebble stood still in his stable, seemingly oblivious to what had just happened because of his refusal. Tom stood looking at Pebble for a few lengthy seconds, and then bent down, leaning on the wall of the stable to search Sybil's grooming kit for her car keys, which he found on a key ring holding a set of car keys, multiple house keys – Tom guessed for Sybil's family's houses – and a photo key-ring, on one side showing Sybil and her two sisters when Sybil was in her early teens, and on the other side holding a photo of Sybil holding George, her nephew, when he was only a few hours old. Tom made a mental note to look at the photographs more closely when he was alone. Next to where he'd found the keys was Sybil's mobile phone, which he thought he should also take with him, so that she wouldn't have to send someone back to the stables to bring it to her. Turning to William, he said, "Thank you."
"It's really no problem, Tom. I've got Pebble – you go to the hospital and be there for Sybil. You do know the way to the hospital, don't you?"
"Yes," Tom said, thinking well of William for really caring about not just Sybil, but Tom as well. If anything, Tom was more vulnerable than Sybil at this moment in time. Sybil, although injured, was with professionals who knew what they were doing and knew how to react. Tom was alone, not knowing what to do or how to react or even what was really going on at all.
"You must be careful," William warned Tom.
"I will," he replied with a smile. "We'll keep you informed once we know what's actually going on with Sybil."
"Thank you," William said with a nod. Tom looked down at the floor, then back at William, smiling at him crookedly before beginning to walk away. He walked through the stable block, horses hanging their heads out of the stable doors, some of them chewing hay. He walked past a dog which was walking the other way with a rope toy in its mouth. There were a few small children running around the yard, clad in jodhpurs, pristine white shirts and pony club ties, swinging crops and hats from their hands, laughing as they headed towards their horses. Tom kept on walking, with his head not clear. Neither clear, nor full. He was thinking of too many things, but at the same time, he was thinking of nothing in particular. When he reached the car park he pressed the button on Sybil's car key, making the lights of her small car flash orange. Tom walked around to the driver's side of the car, opened the door and lowered himself into the seat, bending his head so as not to catch it on the frame. Before he started the engine, he looked at the photos he'd seen on Sybil's key-ring. The photo of her and her two sisters had clearly been taken some summer long ago. Sybil was in her teens, aged fourteen (he was later to find out), Edith seventeen, and Mary eighteen. They were in a field somewhere, it looked like. Sybil was in the middle, wearing what looked like a light blue dress that fitted the curves of her bust and waist perfectly, but it was hard to tell what the dress looked like completely, as the photo stopped at her waist. Her wavy dark hair was draped mostly behind her back, a few strands let loose, uncontrollably blowing in the breeze; her smile flashed her white teeth and created innocent folds by the sides of her eyes. To Sybil's right was Mary, taller, and clearly looking older and wiser. She was wearing a red vest top and jeans of some description. Her dark hair, though shorter and straighter than Sybil's, blew gently as well, a small strand across her face. It looked as if she was laughing at something or other and was enjoying herself. Edith, to Sybil's left, was wearing a fitted orange, flowered shirt tucked into what looked like a high-waisted black skirt. Her shorter hair was put up in what Tom guessed was a small bun behind her head, and her arm was wrapped around Sybil's waist, crossing Mary's behind her younger sister. She, too, was smiling brightly, and looked extremely cheerful. Tom smiled at the old photo. He wished he'd known Sybil when she was younger. The stories he'd heard from her so far in the two weeks they'd been together led him to believe that he would have liked her just as much then as he did now. He turned over the plastic covered photo to see the image of Sybil holding her nephew in her arms. Sybil's face wasn't very clear, as she was looking down at him, but it was obvious that she loved her nephew immensely. It looked as if Sybil was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a purple and grey striped top, her hair brought back into a messy bun behind her head. From the parts of her face that the camera had caught, Tom could tell that Sybil wasn't smiling, but instead had a look of wonder on her face. George was now only four months old, so the photo had not been taken long ago, and Tom could tell. Sybil didn't look any different back then than now. In her arms was a bundle of white blankets, with a tiny hand reaching up. Tom smiled at the thought of Sybil with children. It wasn't anything that he had discussed with Sybil. Two weeks of knowing each other didn't really bring up the urge to talk about children, but it was a hope of Tom's for the future. Perhaps not with Sybil; he didn't know what the future held for the two of them as a couple, but he knew that he wanted children. He'd been brought up in a family dominated by children, and he wanted to chance to have his own.
After a few moments of silent contemplation, Tom slotted the key into the ignition and turned it, causing the engine to jump into life. After cautiously making his way through the narrow and unfamiliar country lanes surrounding the stables, he found himself on a main road that he'd driven often. He knew the city well and drove absent-mindedly, not really aware of his movements. It seemed to simultaneously take both a lifetime and only a few minutes to arrive at the hospital car park, and Tom was reluctant to get out of the car to start with. Did he want to know if Sybil was alright? Did he want to know if his idea of the worst case scenario was a reality? Yes and no. He wanted the reassurance that she was absolutely fine. But if she had broken something, if she was in critical condition, he didn't want to know. He didn't want to be told that she was in some sort of danger. He wouldn't know what to do and he knew he'd blame himself. He couldn't have done anything to stop her from falling, but that didn't mean he wouldn't find something to blame on himself. But he needed to know. Whether he wanted to or not, he needed to know if she was okay. He'd never forgive himself if he didn't find out. With that decision, he took the keys and Sybil's phone in one hand and opened the door to get out of the car. He pressed the button on the keys twice to double lock the car and began to slowly walk towards the entrance of the hospital, slipping Sybil's keys and phone into one pocket. He wasn't as upset as he thought he'd be. The rational side of him was telling him not to worry about things when he wasn't even sure anything was wrong, but at the same time, the human-nature-fuelled side of him was thinking of everything bad that could have happened. Has she broken a bone? Is she bleeding internally? Is it just her ribs as she thought, or did she injure something else? Maybe she has a concussion? Perhaps she'll go into a coma and go into critical condition? Is she alright? How long will it be before she can come home? He shook himself out of his trance when he reached the reception desk. He smiled weakly at the receptionist. "Can I help, dear?" the woman asked. Her hair was greying, and wrinkles were beginning to form on her face, but her smile was friendly and experienced.
"Um, Sybil Crawley has just come in. She fell off a horse. Can I see her yet, or…" he trailed off, not really sure what the protocol for this type of situation was.
"Let's have a look," the woman said kindly, and began rifling through folders. "Ah, here we go. She's being tested for various things, but, if all is alright, you should be able to see her in half an hour or so. If you'd like to sit in the waiting room, we'll come and get you when she can accept visitors." Tom nodded. "What's your name?" she asked, still soft and kind.
"Tom Branson," Tom said quietly, and as soon as the woman nodded to him and smiled, he began to make his way to the waiting area, a torturous room allocated to allowing stressed friends and relatives wonder about their loved ones fate. He sat down, ignoring the worried expressions on everyone else's faces and allowed his mind to wander. In any normal situation, he might wonder what everyone else was thinking. Were they here as a friend or a relative? Were they here because of an asthma attack of because of a fist-fight gone terribly wrong? On this occasion, however, he was not prepared to think about anyone else. As far as he was concerned, Sybil was the only person in the world that mattered. He went through the worst case scenarios again, getting himself even more worked up than before. He then allowed himself to wander to different realms. He needed to leave a note to the milkman changing his weekly order. He needed to ring his mother back in Ireland and organise to go and see the whole family so that he could catch up with family – cousins, nephews, nieces, siblings, aunts and uncles. His mother had been nagging him over the past few days about when she would get to meet Sybil, the 'perfect girl' Tom had told her about. He needed to remember to feed his next door neighbour's cat next week when they were on holiday. His house really was a tip – he ought to tidy it and throw out everything that he didn't need. He also needed to organise his cupboards – they were filled with so much rubbish that needed to be cleared away. A decent and therapeutic tidy would make him feel infinitely better about everything. He looked at the clock, watching the second hand tick around and around. One minute, two minutes, quarter of an hour, half an hour, three quarters of an hour, an hour and five minutes went by. Why hadn't he been called to see Sybil yet? He stood up to return to the reception desk. A man talked to him this time. He was smiley, but not as friendly as the other woman he'd talked to before. Something told Tom that this man was less experienced and hadn't quite mastered how to greet worried visitors yet.
"Hello," he said, looking at Tom.
"Hi. Um, I've been here for over an hour, waiting to see Sybil Crawley. I was told I should have been able to see her more than half an hour ago. Is she alright?"
"Are you a relative?" he asked.
"I'm her boyfriend," Tom answered plainly.
"Okay, I'll go and find out for you. Bear with me one moment please," he said and disappeared behind a wall. Tom waited patiently, ran his hand through his hair and leant on the counter. When the receptionist returned he held a folder and he began to look through some entries on his computer. This was agony. Tom twitched his fingers unknowingly. He felt the palms of his hands develop a layer of sweat, which he promptly wiped on his trousers. "Right," the receptionist said. "She's broken a rib, and there's the possible risk of internal bleeding. Her blood pressure is lower than it should be, so there are a number of things that could have happened. She needs to be monitored carefully and tests are currently being carried out. She's in good hands, though, and she's being taken care of."
"When can I see her?" Tom asked, beginning to worry even more now. The receptionist had told Tom what he had asked for, but Tom hadn't really wanted to know what he had asked for. He didn't want to know 'if she was alright'. He wanted to know if her nail polish had chipped and if she had any bruises that would slowly make their way through the array of colours with the decaying blood beneath the skin. He wanted to know if she was still smiling as widely as ever and if her laugh still sounded as heart-felt as ever. The little things were what mattered. The little things made the biggest difference to whether or not he could relax. But he knew he couldn't ask the receptionist about the little things. They weren't medically related. They were ridiculous things. But they mattered.
"You may have to wait another half an hour, but it's possible that she'll be ready to see visitors in ten minutes or so," the receptionist replied with a well-rehearsed, slightly sympathetic, yet reassuring smile.
"Okay, thank you," Tom said and returned to the waiting area, trying to hold back tears.
That wasn't what he wanted to hear. Sure, things could be worse. Sybil could be in a worse condition. She could be seriously battling for breath. Tom guessed that was an upside. She wasn't dying; at least, not from what he'd been told; at least not yet. He knew that if she was bleeding internally, she could lose enough blood to really risk her life. One of Tom's sisters – the one he was closest to – had haemorrhaged when she had given birth to her first child and had almost died because of lack of blood. Tom knew the dangers. At the time, Lucy was the most important person in his life. Now Sybil was the most important person in his life and the same was happening to her. He'd hoped that, at worst, it was just a badly broken rib, and that she would be able to come home soon and that, hopefully, the worst thing would be that she wouldn't be able to move much and Tom would have to spend every waking minute with her so that he could be the one to lean over and grab the remote control; so that he could cook for her; so that he could go and get her drinks; so that he could wait on her hand and foot until she had recovered. He wouldn't object to that one bit. He'd love it. He never needed an excuse to spend time with Sybil, but that seemed like a jolly good reason to do so. But no. There was now the possibility that she could die. And he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't do anything to change Sybil's fate at that moment. He couldn't rush to her and piece her back together with glue. He couldn't even ring her sisters and parents to tell them to come to the hospital so that they could be there when Sybil had recovered. Yes, he still had Sybil's phone, but he couldn't get into it to search her phonebook, as he didn't know her pass code.
Tom didn't have high hopes. He expected to be able to see her in three quarters of an hour at best, not ten minutes as he'd been told. He knew that hospitals were busy places and tests took time to carry out and he knew that they had to go slow to a certain extent just to keep Sybil as comfortable and as safe as possible. But that didn't stop the fact that the not knowing was absolute agony. Hospitals were great places – they provided care and comfort and life, but they were torturous too. Tom was in emotional turmoil, just waiting. With no extensive information being given to him, he didn't even know what he was waiting for. He needed to know what the hell was going on. Had she punctured a lung or not? Was she bleeding internally or was it a false alarm? Was she alright? Would she walk away today in one piece and on her own two legs or not? The sooner Tom knew, the better.
He didn't look at the clock for God knows how long. Perhaps only a minute, perhaps twenty. His internal body clock wasn't allowing him to keep track of time at the moment, not surprisingly. All his energy had gone into worrying about everything that could possibly be worried about in one day. Eventually a doctor, wearing clean blue scrubs and holding a clipboard, came over to him in order to take him to where Sybil had been lying, getting extremely bored with only the doctors and nurses for company. Tom walked in, his expression blank and his mind thinking of the worst yet again, only to find Sybil sat looking out of the window, seemingly in no pain at all. When she heard footsteps in the room, she moved her field of view and caught sight of Tom behind the doctor. "Tom!" she exclaimed rather too loudly for the small room, swiftly followed by a hand moved to rest between her bust and stomach on her right side. Tom smiled when he heard her cheery voice.
"Hi, love. Is everything alright?" he asked gently, sitting on the edge of the bed, seeking out her hand with his. The doctor left the room silently, no doubt planning on coming back before too long.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm unutterably bored, but I'm happy I guess. It's just a broken rib. They tested for everything they possibly could, but everything's fine. They were worried about a punctured lung, but my breathing's working perfectly normally and I think they were worrying about nothing."
"So, can you come home today?" Tom asked.
"Yeah, I think so. They need to finish doing a couple of things, but then I can leave. I just have to be careful of how I move because broken ribs really are incredibly painful!" Sybil said, still smiling and happy.
"Well, if there's anything I can do, let me know and I'll do it," Tom said, relief finally flooding his body.
"I really don't think there's anything. I mean, you're going to have to be the one to drive the car, and I'm really not going to be very agile at all, but other than that, there's not much anybody can do really. I just need to be cautious of what I do and how I move." Tom moved closer to her and kissed her forehead gently. He squeezed her hand tightly.
"You don't understand how worried I was, Syb," he said, tears once again threatening to fall.
"There was nothing to be worried about, sweetie. I'm fine."
"Yes," Tom said, one tear making its escape down his haggard face. "I know that now, but I didn't know that. And I had no idea what was happening, so I thought of the worse and it really worried me."
"Oh, darling, don't cry over me," Sybil said with a slight smile as she reached up with the non-painful side of her body to wipe the dampness from Tom's cheek. "You should never cry over someone who isn't crying themselves!"
"But you're important to me, that's all," Tom said sincerely and entirely honestly. "I love you Sybil, and that's all that matters.
"I love you, too," Sybil said in reply, cupping his cheek in her hand. She pulled him down to kiss her and managed to get a non-teary-eyed loving smile out of him. They were both together and were both, once again, happy in each other's arms.
So, a bit of a later addition, but this was for my May Rock the AU, for which the theme was 'Mayday, Mayday!' I hope you liked the story and please leave a review if you can. Thank you VERY MUCH to The Yankee Countess for helping me come up with ideas for the story and for coming up with the title. Without her, it wouldn't have been this good. Also, sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes - when I was proof reading it, I was doing it kind of half-heartedly.