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Chapter Eight
God, he was bored. It was 3am, and he couldn't sleep. His back was still throbbing, and he was desperate to turn onto his stomach, bury his face in his pillow and ignore everyone, but that wasn't medically advisable or physically possible. Even an attempt would more than likely result in Hannah running to turn him back over and a bollocking from Mr Albion. He sighed, his fingers playing with the sheets. He wanted his own bed. It was nothing fancy, but it was comfortable, and didn't smell of disinfectant like this one did.
Why couldn't he sleep? The beeping of machines, footsteps and snoring of other patients weren't stopping him. He had always found drifting off quite easy, and was so used to the sounds of a hospital that he'd somehow found them relaxing in the evenings during his stay so far. He was exhausted, and he wasn't in too much pain to stop him sleeping. His brain just seemed to be blocking him.
He grunted, trying to change position. He'd stretched his toes for something to do, and now they were cramping horribly. God. This was awful. Ordinarily, sleeping never really posed a challenge, given the rigour of ED shift patterns, but if he ever did have a problem, he could find a new sleeping position, go to the toilet or read.
Well, he was currently fixed flatly on his back, catheter attached to the bedside, and his glasses and reading material well out of reach.
It wasn't that he didn't feel shattered; he did. Almost too tired to fall asleep.
When sleep came, it was in jolts. His dreams were repetitive and focused on the alarm clock usually kept next to his bed. In his sleep, he constantly saw he was late for work, waking up panicked and confused. Throughout what seemed like an endless night, he worked out he'd slept for ninety minutes undisturbed.
He was moved back to orthopaedics in the morning, where Connie was waiting for him. Her face was already steely, but stiffened when she saw him.
'Good morning,' he tried, breaking eye contact as quickly as he could. A nurse moved him and his various wires onto the bed with her help. He'd been given painkillers to make the move manageable and was so tired that he was no longer particularly interested in his back.
'Good morning.' Her reply sounded cold, and he almost flinched. What had he done to upset her?
She waited until the nurse left, and shut the door behind him. 'You look grey, Dr Hardy.'
'Sorry,' his voice wavered, and he stole a glance at her.
'You've nothing to be sorry for,' she sighed, taking a breath. 'Have you eaten?'
'Not today.'
He sensed she was irritated again. 'I'm going to get us both breakfast.'
Waiting for her to get back, he closed his eyes, beginning to feel the first sensations of a headache coming on at his temple. He reached up his hand and massaged his forehead roughly, glowering down at his feet.
Connie returned, a coffee in her hand, and some dubious looking foil-wrapped packages in her bag. 'Muffin. Not NHS standard, but good enough.'
'I'm fine, thanks.' The smell of the strong coffee made him miss the staffroom. And Cal.
'Eat it, Ethan.' Connie yawned, coffee sloshing over her fingers. She swore, walking to the sink to rinse her hand. He shut his eyes tightly, the sound of the running water strangely soothing his headache. He left the muffin next to his hand, fighting the urge to crush it or throw it to the floor.
After a minute, she came out of the bathroom. 'Do you need help?'
'I don't want it.'
Her voice was getting strained. 'Ethan, you're eating something. You've got a stomach-full of tuberculosis medication about to turn up. I'll help you. Come on. I can see you're tired. I am, too.'
'Go home then.' He regretted it, flinching before his words had even hit her.
She sighed, walking round to get it. He moved his hand, trying to hit it onto the floor before she could reach it, but was unsuccessful. 'Ethan! Look, it's blueberry. Small bites.'
'I don't want it!' he repeated, loudly. He screwed his face up.
She was beginning to lose patience, and it was starting to show. 'You've got to eat for your treatment. Come on. You can sleep after.'
'Leave me alone!' he shouted, something snapping in his head. 'LEAVE ME ALONE.'
His body was starting to shake a little. Connie looked startled. 'Go away,' he said, his eyes meeting hers. She opened her mouth to reply.
In one movement, he kicked out, trying to turn himself over, a sound half-screaming, half-roaring coming from his mouth. His breath was coming out as ragged, angry. His head was splitting. Connie stopped him almost instantly, her hand on his chest all it took to stop him. He almost bit her with anger. 'Let go of me!' he screamed, but she didn't. She briefly moved her hand, pulling the emergency cord. He was at risk of being a danger to himself- and her, potentially. The monitors next to him started a warning beep, as his heart rate neared 150 bpm.
'Ethan Hardy. Spinal TB immobilisation. He's become very distressed,' Connie garbled, as the door opened and the response team raced in. 'Page Mr Albion, now. I've got his head. Do not let him move.'
Ethan was still trying to fight Connie and the others off him, twisting as much as he could. He was still screaming at her, but also within his head. What was happening? He felt utterly terrified without fully knowing why. Every touch felt like a blow to his body. His voice was ragged and shaking, but he couldn't stop. The shaking became more and more violent, so much so that he was forced to stop shouting. Where was Cal? Why wasn't he coming?
'Mrs Beauchamp?' Mr Albion raced through. 'Panic attack?'
'I think so. He's extremely distressed and agitated. He's hardly slept. Recently he's had more than his fair share of panic attacks, but not like this.'
'Ethan? Ethan? Can you open your eyes for me?'
Gasping, and choking on fear, he didn't. He didn't want to see anyone. He took the opportunity to try to roll onto his side and further from the voices, but had only moved an inch before he was stopped. 'Sedate him. He's putting his spine at risk. Harriet, protect his airway.' Mr Albion said. He practically climbed over Connie to hold Ethan still. Gently but firmly, he held his back stable. Ethan screamed, fighting Connie's hands around his head to turn on Mr Albion. Another set of hands took his own hand, and firmly held it. The click of the syringe was the last thing he heard before the drug took effect.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
He heard a whine in his throat as he woke up and took a deep breath. His body felt heavy, as if concrete had been pumped through his veins. Sluggishly, he opened up his eyes, trying to remember where he was in the hospital. The smell and the beeping were enough to let him know he was in Holby City Hospital.
'Ethan?' A clipped, male voice. Dylan. Was he in the ED?
'Hello.' He flinched automatically, remembering his reaction to Connie. He stared ahead, not looking at him. Was she furious with him? Had he hurt her?
'How are you feeling?'
'Heavy?'
'What?'
He turned his head to Dylan automatically, unable to stop an automatic reaction. 'My body feels strange.'
'I'm not surprised.' Dylan got up, slipping his stethoscope in his ears. 'Are you happy for me to check you over?'
Ethan nodded, feeling apprehensive. 'Where's Connie?'
Dylan eased a thermometer into his ear. 'At home. Grace's school's got a burst pipe and Sam's in theatre. She'll be on tonight.'
'What time is it?'
'Three. You were sedated for about an hour, and you've been asleep since. How do you feel?'
'Alright.'
The penlight scanned his eyes. He blinked. 'Is Connie angry?'
'Nobody's angry,' Dylan cleared his throat, listening to Ethan's chest. 'She's been upset. You gave her a bit of a fright. But you're quite unwell, Dr Hardy. I think you can be forgiven.'
'What happened to me?'
'Panic attack. Your body has had a shock. How's your spine?'
'Sore.' Ethan looked up at the ceiling and exhaled hard. 'I feel like an idiot.'
'You've got a bad case of spinal TB and you're stuck in hospital for weeks on end. I think you can be forgiven. Breathe in for me.'
After examining his patient, Dylan sanitised his hands, and turned back to him. 'No long term damage from what I can see. Mr Albion wanted a spinal MRI in a few days, apparently, so he's bringing it forward to have a look in case you have done something. Luckily, you didn't move too much. I know panic attacks come on quickly. Ethan. But next time, if you start feeling anxious, for goodness' sake, please call for one of us.' Dylan fixed his eyes on Ethan's. Ethan swallowed. 'This is going to be over. And after that, you've got a career to get back to.'
Ethan swallowed again. 'If I can get back.'
Dylan sat down on the edge of the bed, something he hated other doctors doing usually. 'Is that what's been worrying you?'
Ethan fiddled with the oximeter on his finger. 'Maybe.'
'It's not going to be immediate. You know that. I mean, it's not a common illness anymore, by any stretch of the imagination, but you must know it's treatable. Especially at this stage.' Dylan cleared his throat. 'Mark my words. You're going to be back.'