Chapter Fourteen: So it begins...

I was nervous throughout the X-Ray as the doctors and nurses conducted the necessary task. My foot, I could now see, was a dark blue colour on the edge of my foot emerging into a light greeny yellow shade as it spread up my ankle. It was protruding outwards like a balloon and was very sore; I can certify that conclusion.

Thankfully, I was finally dressed in my own pyjamas of which Martin kindly fetched for me. He didn't take long, but I could tell on his return that he had managed to have a quick shower himself and change his attire.

'There we are,' said one of the specialised nurses as she examined her finished work of plastering my foot.

It was lucky that the results showed no need for surgery and that a plaster would do the job.

'Thank you,' I said, and smiled weakly at her.

A sudden bell went off, while she was tidying the mess she had made, with one worried look she ran out into the ward. I spotted a load of medical staff rushing past the door of my room, all panting as they reached the emergency.

'How are you feeling?' asked Martin, ignoring the rush outside.

He sat on a chair next to me, clutching my hand.

'OK,' I nodded, 'I'm just glad that I'm alive.'

'Yes and me,' he said, emotionally, 'Can you remember anything yet?'

Lying, I shook my head and bit my lip, 'I'm trying to, but it seems slightly blurry still.'

Really, I could remember it now. Throughout this evening I had scooped up the scattered pieces and put them together. Now I knew full well what happened with Eric and John Boy and the way that they had treated me. I was not going to relive the memory by telling anyone what happened.

'Are you certain?' he asked, with a pleading tone to try and get me to speak.

'No,' I said

Martin let out a heavy sigh, 'Well, when you do, you need to tell the police or even tell me and I'll give the information on.'

All I did was nod and gave a smile whilst squeezing his hand gently. At that moment, a doctor entered, the doctor that I recognised as Doctor Palmer. He had a satisfied look about him as he strolled in, stethoscope around his neck and clipboard resting in his grasp.

'Louisa,' he began, 'I see your making a good recovery. Oxygen levels are creeping up and heart rate looks extremely positive. I must say thank you to Doctor Ellingham for carefully keeping an eye on you.'

He gave a narrow glare towards Martin as if to say that he was hassling the medical team too much. Of course, Martin didn't take much notice and prompted him to continue.

'What I need you to do, Louisa, is to try eating again,' he said, looking at me as I felt my face go pale.

I hadn't put any food in my mouth for nearly six days now, how was I going to manage that?

'You have been fed through a tube with the necessary solution to keep you going, however, you're still very weak. Since you are showing signs of successful improvement, I would suggest that you agree to this to enable you to fully recover efficiently and rapidly.'

I gulped silently and gripped Martin's hand. I knew what was going to happen and I hated the thought of it. I knew that as soon as I swallowed at least a slice of toast it was going to come straight back up again, and that was my worst fear. I hated being sick.

'Now of course,' Doctor Palmer swiftly carried on, like he was being chased by a heard of cows, 'I must warn you that you may vomit afterwards since your digestive system hasn't been working for almost a week now, so I would advise you to drink some water also, which is another task in hand.'

'I've actually had some water,' I reminded him.

I was so happy that I had actually drank something rather than relying on the drips that were attached to me. I couldn't have done it without the assistance of Martin however.

'Oh brilliant!' he smiled, 'Well, then it should be easier than I first suspected. Katherine will be here shortly with your meal and it is up to you whether you allow her to stay or not.'

He was dishing out the information so quickly that not even Martin could get a word in edge ways.

'She will be fine on her own,' Martin managed to say.

'OK then, I will be round to see you shortly,' he said, before picking up his pace and strolling out of the room.

I looked at Martin totally flabbergasted by Palmer's unwillingness to deal with a patient as a patient, but as somebody who was conducting his language speaking exam, where he arrived, quickly said what he needed to and then hurried out of there.

'He must be a second year qualifier,' Martin muttered as he glanced at the doorway.

'Oh well, he's got to learn,' I said, 'But eating is going to be a challenge, I know that I'll be sick, Martin.'

'Don't think of that, just try and get back into the habit of your appetite, which was good before this occurrence.' He said, reassuringly and then added, 'Apart from those days where you skipped breakfast.'

I giggled, 'Oh right, so are you going to convert to a dietitian now are we?'

'Simply not, ghastly job that must be.'

Again he made me laugh, something I had not been able to do in a long time, well what seemed like a long time. It was the greatest moment ever and for once I saw a large grin upon Martin's face!

…

Two slices of burnt toast rested on a small plastic plate, looking revolting to my opinion. They had been plastered with toast to give me extra nutrients, but I did not want to attempt to eat it.

'You can do,' Martin encouraged me, cutting on of the slices in half and handing it to me. I felt like a child.

'I can't do it,' I said, staring at the food in my hand disgustedly.

'Just think of how you will feel once you have eaten it,' said Martin, 'It will do you immense goodness to your health right now.'

'But its going to come back up,' I protested, 'I'm not good with being ill.'

'If you do, its just a sign that your stomach needs to get used to digesting food again.'

'How will it help?'

'Your stomach will get the message that you are willing to eat again, and will hopefully settle down. However, its hardly likely that it will come back up, unless you psychologically make yourself vomit.'

'Fine,' I sighed. I thought that it was for my own good.

Carefully, I took a small bite of the buttery toast, the salt concentration blended in wasn't pleasant, but it tasted good. I managed to swallow it successfully.

Martin was watching intently, looking for signs whether I was going to be ill. However I felt no urges, so continued eating. That was until I began my last slice and I felt my face drain.

Martin quickly helped me up and rushed me to the bathroom with assistance. I hopped awkwardly, but what came next wasn't at all very nice.

'Sorry,' I told Martin as he supported my balance as I washed my hands.

'No, no,' he said, 'It's fine, natural actually. I've seen that a lot in my days as a GP.'

I sighed and was taken back to my bed, where the sight of the toast almost made me heave again, so was hurriedly removed by Martin throwing it in the bin.

'How do you feel?' he asked

'Better actually,' I nodded and then thought that I best tell him what had happened.

I looked into his concerned eyes, took a breath and prepared myself.

'Martin,' I said, 'I haven't been honest with you. I can remember what happened.'

He shuffled closer and I began to explain everything, every detail…