Another day – another chapter!

I know that I've incurred the wrath of some of you for what I've done to Tim, maybe this chapter will make up for it – maybe it wont. I hope you enjoy it all the same though!

Thank you for all your reviews, even the angry ones lol – I love them all and all of you who've kept on reading my witterings, so please do review should you feel inclined!

This chapter's song is:
Whiter shade of pale – Procol Harum

Enjoy x


"Line's in on the left cubital fossa, have we got pupil response Mike?"

"Yup, 4 on both and equally reactive."

"Excellent, sats?"

"Up to 48%."

"Great, how much oxygen is he on?"

"Umm … 10 litres."

"Up it to 15, and let's get an arterial blood gas shall we. Has anyone called the parents?"

"Maybe Dana?"

"Dana! Did you ring the parents?"

"Yeah, Dad's on his way in now … oh, he's just arrived."

"Right can someone bleep those bloody radiologists again!? When I said I needed an emergency X-ray I meant this week … Mike, I'll leave you with the blood gas, I'll go and speak to the parents. And Dana, keep an eye on those sats for me, he's all over the place."

"Right."

Patrick stared helplessly through the window of the bay at the two doctors and the nurse leaning over Tim, he looked tiny and helpless in the bed, the tubes snaking across his chest and mouth made him look like a something out of a science fiction film, a creature being grown from chemicals and embryonic goo. The older of the two doctors, a tall thin man, with fair hair and a shirt that was a little un-tucked due to his exertions turned and looked at the couple on the other side of the window. He saw a tired looking middle aged man, his greying hair raked away from his face with little success, and a blond woman, short and petite with thick black rimmed glasses, that put him in mind of Buddy Holly. Pulling off his pinny and balling it up inside his gloves he made a neat latex ball which he threw into the yellow bin beside the sink and carefully washed his hands as he tried to create a script in his head of what to say. For over 30 years Simon Phillips had been a paediatric doctor, and the only way he had found to give bad news was to create a script in his head and follow it, like an actor rehearsing his lines, drying off his hands he took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the bay.

"Mr Turner, good morning. Would you like to come into … Sister Shamar, could we use your office?"

"Of course."

"If you'd like to just come in here." He said gently, holding open the door behind the nurses station with one hand and ushering the couple in, "Now," he began. "Mr Turner, and, are you Tim's mother?"

"I'm his stepmother."

"Right, well … my name's Simon Phillips, I'm one of the paediatric consultants here. Now I believe you're both medical professionals? So … this morning I was bleeped because Tim was struggling to breath, his saturations had dropped to 30% I believe. We have him on 15 litres at the moment, and we're awaiting an emergency x-ray, it should be up any minute. This will hopefully confirm what I suspect, which is that the actual lung is fine, having percussed the chest I am happy that the lung itself has not deflated. I suspect that a fragment of bone from the broken rib has done some damage and Tim is suffering from an internal haemorrhage, we've a litre of Hartmann's running through at the moment which should help."

"On the phone … on the phone they said that he was on a ventilator?"

"Uh no, no he was, for a while being given manual ventilation with the bag mask, but he regained the ability to breath for himself. Although that's when we started having issues with his sats dropping … sorry, will you excuse me, I think that's my x-ray arriving. I'll be back as soon as I can."


"Hi Julie, sorry I didn't pick up before, how is she?"

"Oh she's fine, we're both fine. How's Tim?"

"Out for the count, he's had more surgery … a fragment of bone split off and … I don't know, they havn't really said, but he was haemorrhaging. He's stable again now, sats are all fine and … when he wakes up we'll know more. Patrick's going to stay here with Tim, I'll take the car home and meet you there OK?"

"Yes of course, if you're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, thank you so so much – we're both so grateful! I mean it was lovely of you to take her last night, but this morning too … well you're just a star really."

"It's no problem Shelagh really. You go where you're needed."

"Thank you."


Patrick watched Tim's chest rise and fall gently beneath the sheet, running his hand along his son's arm he felt his thin wrist for a pulse, strong and even he found it beating below the warm skin of the teenage boy's arm. Seeing him there, tiny and so vulnerable looking, Patrick felt a sense of terror deep inside the pit of his stomach, a sense of terror he hadn't felt since Clair had died and he'd sat in the living room, lost in the realisation that he was now solely in charge of raising his son. He had Shelagh, and now Nina and he was happy with that, more than happy – elated, thrilled and every other word in the dictionary. But they weren't Tim, neither of them were his son, neither of them were part of his life with Clair. Pulse: 70, respiration rate: 13, there was nothing remotely worrying in the numbers Patrick counted, and yet they concerned him for no reason, knowledge of normal parameters were all forgotten and every heartbeat terrified him, every breath could be his last. Exhausted, sweaty and stiff Patrick rubbed his eyes wearily and slumped back in to the chair, his fingertips barely touching the back of his son's hand, and closed his eyes wishing it all away.

"Mr Turner?" Patrick felt a hand on his forearm and snapped his eyes open, he had barely blinked but time had crept up and the gloom outside the window told him that it wasn't three pm anymore.

"Mr Turner, you fell asleep."

"Yes … sorry, what time is it?"

"Uh, a little after six, you're wife's here." Said the nurse with a smile, standing up from her squatting position to reveal Shelagh stood at the door to the bay,

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a dump like this?"

"Just passing by – you know, thought I'd check it out." she replied, walking over to him she slid a hand around Patrick's shoulder as he rested his head against her hip. "How is he?"

"Fine I think, or as fine as he will be for the moment. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Taking you home Patrick."

"I can't Shelagh, I have to stay."

"No Patrick. You're coming home, that's final. You look like crap and you haven't eaten in days – man cannot live on NHS coffee alone .. however hard he tries. Come home, have a shower, have some food and have a proper sleep in your own bed … proper coffee in the morning, full monty. There's no use running yourself into the ground, Tim won't thank you, I won't thank you, Nina and your patients won't."

"You're pretty bossy really aren't you."

"Yes. When I'm right and you're being stubborn then yes." Casting a final weary look at his son, Patrick picked up his coat and bent down slowly to kiss Tim on the forehead before lacing his fingers through his wife's and walking out of the ward, for the first time in two days.


"Sausages a la spaghetti hoops. You're a lucky man, my Cordon Bleu cooking is legendary."

"It's why I married you to be honest. Any chance of some tea?"

"It's in the pot – give it a minute. Are you feeling better? You look more human at least."

"Yeah, you were right, of course. A shower and some food – I needed it. I just feel so … guilty leaving him, but then I feel guilty leaving you and Nina! It's just a vicious circle of guilt and more guilt."

"Well don't feel guilty, you have nothing to feel guilty for. Your son is recovering from major surgery in hospital – why wouldn't you be there; I'd do the same in your position. You go where you're needed."

"And that, is why I married you. How did I find someone so understanding?"

"You were on the right road … you found me when I was lost, rescued me from a lifetime of spinsterhood."

"You would have found someone eventually."

"I didn't want someone, I wanted you, in the immortal words of McFly … it's all about you!"

"Do not start quoting Mc-bloody-Fly at me Shelagh Turner."

"Excuse me Patrick Turner, at my birthday … ages ago, we danced in the kitchen to that song! You weren't complaining then."

"Yeah – I was still trying to woo you at that point; I've got you legally now. No escape."

"Charming! I'm trapped am I?"

"Yup, I'm never letting you leave … I don't think I could manage without you."

"Och you old softy Patrick."

"I'm serious … Shelagh, I'm serious. All this with Tim, it's only bearable because I've got you, without you here with me … I'd be a mess. I'm terrified and … the only way I can carry on is because I know I've got you here with me. Sorry."

"Don't cry … no, don't cry. We've nothing to cry over, listen to me Patrick. I will always be here, thick and thin … everything life throws at us, we will tackle … together."

"Thank you. Is that tea brewed yet?"


We skipped the light fandango, turned cartwheels 'cross the floor. I was feeling kinda seasick, but the crowd called out for more, the room was humming harder as the ceiling flew away. When we called out for another drink, the waiter brought a tray. And so it was that later, as the miller told his tale, that her face, at first just ghostly turned a whiter shade of pale.

Shelagh poured the coffee into a flask and humming along to the radio spun around the kitchen to get milk. The rays of cold spring sun were peeking into the kitchen through the French windows making glowing shapes on the tiles as Bernadette lazily flicked her tail as she slowly chewed her food. Humming along to the radio, Shelagh sealed up the Tupperware box and tucked it inside the rucksack that was sitting on top of the counter,

"Morning love, you're up early."

"Greetings! Well me and Nina got up early and have made you a packed lunch and a flask of coffee, obviously I say me and Nina, she mainly watched – lazy bugger!"

"Kids these days! You didn't have to, you've got enough on your plate."

"No I haven't, I have a … perfectly appropriate quantity on my plate. There's a change of clothes in the bag and stuff but I want you home for your tea tomorrow night if Tim's stable. I'm determined that you'll get some sleep."

"But what about you?"

"I can't go in with Nina, and if I leave her at home with you then you won't sleep through the night. This is just easier, at least until Tim's on the mend."

"You're brilliant."

"No – I'm efficient and in love with you – there's a difference."

"If you say so."

"I do – now, breakfast. Bacon?"

"Godess."

"No … I'm pretty sure it's made from pig."


*Why did the scarecrow win an award? Because he was outstanding in his field. Px*

*How much does a hipster weigh? An instagram. Sx*

*What? I don't get it? Px*

*You're so middle aged sometimes! Sx*