Sam
I wake with a start, panicking because I suddenly feeling so hot. I toss the duvet off and immediately throw up in the bowl next to my bed. Dylan is next to me in seconds – having just arrived back. He hasn't even had time to take his coat off.
It's not the first time it's happened, but I'm so grateful not to have to rush to the toilet – worrying that I'm not going to make it in time. It never occurred to me to have a bowl next to me when I was at home.
Dylan thinks of everything.
Dylan
"Alright, alright." I whisper soothingly – rubbing her back gently. "Finished?"
"Yeah." I wipe her mouth with a tissue and she collapses against me. "Thanks." She mutters. "It's a horrible cycle. First I'm cold, so I wrap up, then I fall asleep and have awful dreams. Then I wake suddenly – far too hot and throw up."
"It'll get better, I promise." I reassure her. "How do you feel now?"
"A bit better a the moment, thanks."
"I get you another glass of water." I tell her and go back into the kitchen with the glass. Poor Dervla is sat there as patient as ever – still with her lead on. I was in such a hurry when I got back and heard Sam being sick. I take my coat off, remove Dervla's lead and put her a fresh bowl of food down – which she eats hungrily. I fill a fresh glass of water and pat her head. "Good girl, Dervla."
Sam is lying down under the duvet again when I go back in but she looks much more comfortable. "Thank you, Grumpy." She whispers shuffling into a sitting position and taking the glass off me. "I really appreciate you looking after me Dylan – you don't have to."
"Your welcome." I answer, sitting on the bed next to her. "I want to look after you. I take it you don't want anything to eat at the moment?"
"No, thank you – but I would like to talk." She suggests hopefully.
"I'd like that too – if you're not to tired?" I add, wanting to make sure she doesn't feel under any pressure to tell me, despite being desperate to know everything.
She suddenly glances at the bedside table and seems a bit flustered – as though she's forgotten to do something important.
"Hey-sssh." I say soothingly. "What's the matter."
"M-my rings." she stammers hesitantly.
"The box on your bedside table?" I ask – for the moment opting not to admit to opening the box. "It seemed important to you, so I put it in the bag." I lean over and pick the bag up, taking out the box and handing it to her.
"Oh – thank you. I just didn't want them to get stolen if someone broke into my flat." She mumbles, placing it on the bedside table next to her. "Ok. Um, where to start?" She mutters.
"Were the painkillers for your toe?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.
"No." She answers. "I had a shoulder injury – that's when I was given the painkillers. Things weren't good with Tom and I didn't want to be at home – so I went back to work too early. The painkillers allowed me to do that." She explains and pauses before continuing. "When you left Holby, things weren't good with Tom then. He said there were too many memories, so we left Holby to. A fresh start he said. somewhere completely new, but it didn't get any better. We just argued all the time and we weren't happy. One morning, we had a massive row and it all came out. He said that he was sick of me looking disappointed every time he walked in – because he wasn't you." She looks away. " 'I'll never be as good as your precious Dylan'!" He said. Anyway..." She continues. "When we were at work, we'd both calmed down and we agreed that we would have a quiet evening in to talk about it – like sensible grown ups." She laughs bitterly. "It was meant to be Tom's night for doing the dinner – but he didn't come back, so I made his favourite – roast dinner as an olive branch." She suddenly winces as a cramps on.
"Sssh-sssh." I whisper, leaning over to offer my comfort. She accepts it gratefully.
"Thanks." She says when they're over.
"Do you need anything?" I ask – ignoring my own need for her to finish what she's telling me.
"No, thank you – I'd rather carry on talking." She admits and takes a deep breath. "When Tom came back, he was so drunk. I'd been waiting like we agreed and he'd gone cavorting with the lads instead. Anyway, I was stood chopping the vegetables when he staggered in, sniggering and slurring his words." She shakes her head sadly. "Basically, we had another massive row – which turned physical. I don't remember much about it, but we were both wrestling on the floor and the vegetables were scattered everywhere – and the knife..." She trails off and shudders. "Anyway, at some point I yelled that he was meant to be doing the dinner and he was so angry that he tried to chop a carrot on the floor next to me. It was an accident..." She hesitates. "But he was so drunk and his co-ordination was completely off."
I hold my breath in horror at what I suspect is coming next.
"He brought the knife down with such force to make a point – but it wasn't the carrot he chopped. My little toe shot off and there was blood everywhere. That sobered him up pretty quickly. Tom stayed behind to try and find my toe while I went to hospital. Though he was still pretty drunk and I'm not sure if he knew what was happening."
"He didn't find it?"
"He did." She admits. "Eventually. It was under one of the units. By the time he found it, it was too far gone." She shrugs. "While I was waiting to be seen properly – after they'd initially taken me in, I was in the corridor, and there was this really poorly lady. She was just dumped on a trolley in the corridor because there weren't enough beds. The hospital was in chaos and I couldn't get anyone to help her. I wasn't in a position to do so myself and she died – right in front of me."
"That's why you whistle-blew?" I remark.
She nods. "I was so angry."
"What about Tom?" I question.
She sighs. "The police were called because it was a domestic incident, but I told them that I didn't know who had the knife when my toe got cut off. I was using it before him so it would have had both our fingerprints on it anyway."
"Why did you tell them that though?" I ask, incredulously – still sickened by the accident.
"Tom's a good doctor, Dylan." She says softly. "He might have lost his job and he would have got a criminal record at the very least. It was an accident." She insists. "An awful accident. Besides..." She adds. "I lost my job and my toe – isn't that enough?"
"Is that why you got divorced?"
She nods again. "I think it was over before that night anyway – but Tom was so devastated every time he saw my missing toe. He repeatedly threw up, that night once he'd sobered up and realised what had happened. There are some things you just can't get past." She admits.
That's very true. It makes me feel so sick when I think of how much I was drinking when we were married. Tom got filthy drunk once and caused an accident that physically hurt Sam. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to touch alcohol again with her around – but that in itself is a good thing.
"I moved away and trained as a paramedic." She finishes. "And they posted me back to Holby – but I never stopped taking the pain-killers after the shoulder injury and everything else that happened just encouraged me to keep taking them. It was something I could control." She explains. "Or so I thought - I don't think I realised how reliant I was on them until I found out about your alcoholism. That's when I realised that the painkillers were controlling me." She admits. "Up till then, I kept telling myself that I needed them for the pain – but there hasn't been any pain for a long time."
"That's what I used to think about the alcohol." I agree. I hesitate. "I know I wasn't very nice to you when I was drinking – but did I ever...you know." I can't bring myself to say the words and I can't imagine how Tom feels knowing he cut her toe off – even if it was an accident. If I did anything – anything at all to her-
"No Dylan." She says. "You shouted sometimes, but nothing else – and I've always felt safer with you then anywhere else." She adds, leaning her head against me. "You're my safe haven, Grumpy.".
It makes me so happy to hear her say that.
