Chapter Five
Thank you for your reviews so far! I love reading them. The brothers certainly have a few challenges to face...
'The procedure went well. He'll be coming around in the next twenty minutes. We had to change from the original plan, but I'm pleased,' Mr Albion told Connie. He stretched his hands. 'He needs complete stability and rest around the site for at least six weeks, possibly longer. I need him to sit up for the next 48 hours, and then flat on his back for the future. We're going to start the anti-tubercular drugs this evening.'
'How long did it take?'
'Slightly longer than I thought. But he's going to be fine. The kyphosis was slightly worse than expected, but it shouldn't have any more of an impact long- term. It's often the case with Pott's Disease. Obviously the complications with spinal TB mean he's not in the best condition, but he's young. I'd like him to try to gain at least a stone, preferably two, before discharge.'
'He's always been thin, but this has taken it out of him.'
'For sure. It's tough when it's one of your own. Hang on, so sorry,' Mr Albion scrambled for his pager as it bleeped. Connie reached for her own was leaving that night, and wanted to know Ethan was out of theatre and doing well before he got into a taxi for the airport. They'd both had scratch tests which were negative for TB. Connie's research into Pott's Disease had both frightened and reassured her about Ethan's prognosis. Despite the pain mediation, he was clearly suffering immensely, and it was hard to watch. She was seeing him whenever she could, with Zoe, Dylan, Alicia and Lofty also visiting. He was struggling with fatigue, so they weren't particularly long visits, however.
'Do you mind if I go into the recovery room? I'd like to see him.'
'Alright,' Mr Albion said, placidly. 'My pager has just gone, so I'm off to find out what paeds want with me. I'll be back to see Dr Hardy in about ninety minutes. Is that alright?'
'Great. Thank you.'
'No problem. I've got my pager if you need me.'
Connie went through the multiple doors, her fingers closing around the metal handles. She pumped cool froth from the dispenser into her palms, and rubbed the alcohol sanitiser over her hands, all whilst taking a deep breath. She walked as calmly as she could to the bed where Ethan was having his ventilator tube removed, and was beginning to come around. 'How is he?' Connie asked, quietly. One of the nurses looked up. 'What drug did the anaesthetist use, if you know?'
'Propofol. He's coming around quite slowly. Temperature's fluctuating a little, but he's stable.' The nurse attached an ECG, which made Connie frown. 'We're going to run a few more tests, in case, just as he was under a little longer than planned. Because of the possibility of neurological damage in a spinal operation, we'll need to be careful he's functioning properly before he goes back to the ward.'
'Mmmm,' Ethan grumbled, sleepily. His eyes felt heavy, and he felt very sleepy. 'What time is it?'
'It's 11, Ethan. You've had your operation. It went well, don't worry.'
'Hmmm,' he groaned, and tried to roll over. He could feel the itch of bandages and gauze against his skin, as well as the hard plastic of the spinal support digging into him. He was tired and felt grumpy and uncomfortable. 'Mmmm.'
'Ethan, can you open your eyes for me?'
He groaned again. They weren't going to let him go back to sleep. He opened his eyes reluctantly, as they took his hand, and injected something. 'It's alright, sweetheart,' Connie said, 'Can you tell me your full name?'
'Ethan. Dr Ethan Michael Hardy.' He coughed, and it hurt. Tears pricked his eyes. He gave his date of birth, and answered other questions. Connie was holding his other hand, which was helping to keep him calm. He felt quite dizzy, and didn't know how to explain it. He let out a long, continuous groan, as his vision went grey and furry. He was still sat up, and almost fell forward. Connie stopped him, and gently pushed him back against the bed. He growled in pain, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. A continuous beeping began to sound, and Connie was gently but firmly moved away by the nursing team.
He could feel something uncomfortable building in his stomach, and heard the words, "anti-emetic", to his relief. He felt cold and hot at the same time, and couldn't control his upper body. To his terror, he remembered the pre-surgery risk discussion and the word "paralysis" floated into his mind.
'You're having a migraine, Ethan. It's very common after spinal surgery.' Someone told him. He had thought the pack pain was agony, but this took over his head, he couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. He went completely limp, but he was fully conscious, too conscious. He screamed, as feeling returned to his body, clawing out. Connie caught his hand.
'Try and get him sitting up, we can let him have his head back. We can't sedate, it's too risky. Entonox, please.' Ethan felt hands on his shoulders, and sharply drew in his breath as they grabbed him. He protested as he was gently but firmly laid back, and hands under his arms held him in a sitting position. Someone held his head so he didn't have to support the weight of it, and a hard plastic tube entered his mouth.
'Deep breaths, darling, that's it.' He shuddered, greedily drinking in the nitrous oxide. He whined, as a stab of pain from his back hit him hard. 'Relax. We've got you, you won't slip. Try and let your muscles relax, it'll make it much easier. Good. You aren't going to be sick, darling. You've got nothing in your stomach, and you've had Dexamethasone.'
He was sweating, shaking. The fog of the Entonox was helping ease the pain. Despite the anti-emetic, he suddenly retched violently, choking up bile. Tears stung his eyes. Connie had him, then, wiping his face. He groaned. 'Let me go,' he gagged. 'Please, Connie. I can't take any more.'
