Chapter 13:
She'd barely slept a wink. The pull-out bed was probably designed, she decided, to ensure that relatives stuck around for as short a time as possible. Unfortunately, Connie was slightly harder to get rid of than the average relative. Like a cold sore.
'Ethan?' She sat up, pushing hair from her eyes. What time was it?
He was fast asleep. The two black eyes from hitting his nose on the way down to the floor were beginning to yellow around the edges after four days, which made them look worse. She checked him, quickly, adjusting the quilt over him. Cal had brought it from home. It usually lived on the sofa in their living room, apparently, and had been made by their grandmother when they were children. It was patchwork, with burgundy and navy and teal animals on it, and Ethan had been more enthusiastic upon seeing it than he had when he'd seen Cal again.
She glanced over his various tubes and wires, as well as his head. Guy had allowed the removal of the majority of the bandaging, although some still stuck around to protect the scar. It was an ugly one, she had to admit. His hair would grow back around it and cover it within months, thankfully. Ethan wasn't vain, either. She didn't want to imagine Dr Knight's reaction to waking up and finding a fairly large chunk of hair shaven off and two black eyes. Though knowing Cal, he'd enjoy the clout.
Ethan murmured something in his sleep, before pushing his nose down into the pillows and attempting to burrow into them. She'd noticed it was a regular habitat of his as he slept. Cal had only been able to leave when he'd been asleep. There was no mistaking how beneficial having his brother back had been for Ethan. Cal had helped (or done it while stopping Ethan from sticking his fingers in the wrong place) him to shave and brush his teeth that evening. Small steps.
He'd woken a few times during the night, and asked for water. The hip brace had confused him, but given the confusion amongst quite a few medical professionals about bovine TB, Connie hadn't bothered trying to explain it. Ethan had seemingly accepted it without much question, to everyone's surprise. She'd had visions of him attempting to escape it again. Ethan had growled at her, sleepily, as she'd checked the operation site for infection the day before, but he hadn't put up much of a fight.
Other things, however, he had. Nobody had wanted to discuss the apparent changes to his personality. He was more aggressive and ill-tempered, although Cal and Connie both optimistically decided this was down to pain. 'He's just had brain surgery,' Cal had announced, unhelpfully, as Dylan gritted his teeth and wiped up the bowl of cereal that Ethan had deliberately knocked to the floor, demonstrating more motor skills in ten seconds than Guy Self had coaxed out of him in an hour of therapy that morning. 'I don't think I'd be feeling too cheery either.'
Dylan was struggling with the situation, more than the other two. His instincts to protect Ethan were much more clumsily formed than Connie's were, and he didn't have Cal's adamance that Ethan was going to be fine, or his sense of humour. He'd stayed the night the evening before, and had been forced to call Cal five hours in after Ethan had become disoriented. Those episodes were frightening to all of them, and were difficult to pre-empt. It was hard to watch how distressed Ethan became, as he briefly lost the majority of the little he knew and cried out for Cal, unable to recognise his brother even when he was touching him. Dylan had been sick after watching one of them. They only lasted for a few minutes. So far, at least.
Ethan woke up a few hours later, at around 9:30 am. This began with him rolling onto his side and yelping at the brace dug in. He'd discovered he could roll over with relative ease. This new skill and rehearsing it were mainly reserved when Cal, who was fairly out of the loop on his spinal progress anyway, or one of the neuro nurses were around. Moving his feet was another good way to fill the time. Not too much, given what had happened last time, but enough so that he could feel the tendons and muscles his feet stretching out. It felt good. He'd heard a particularly satisfying crunch from his left food the other day. Small pleasures and all of that.
'Morning, sleepyhead.' Connie said, softly. She was refilling the glass next to the bed. 'You've got me until this afternoon, I'm afraid. Cal needs a rest.'
'Y-yes.'
His responses weren't always appropriate for the situation, and it wasn't always easy to judge if he was responding to a question, responding with confusion, or some random synapse in his brain had decided to flick a combination of sounds or a random image into the mix.
'He does. Must be a shock coming back to the cold here in Holby after Australia.' Connie said. 'How are you feeling? Head?'
'Sore. It-tc-tch- tch-chy hair.' Ethan eyed Connie as he put his hand up to feel it. Before she'd even opened her mouth, he sighed, and lowered it. He'd been told off enough for trying to feel about up there. His head felt strange and cold. A nurse had washed his hair the day before, a lengthy process that involved combing dried blood out very gently. He'd fallen asleep. 'No sign of infection.' The last sentence was clearly an imitation of a satisfied Mr Albion.
'Good news.'
'C-C-Ck-Connie.' He was slow and deliberate, clearly concentrating hard. 'My b-b-back. Infection. Y-yes?'
She nodded, slowly and then more quickly. Her face showed she was delighted. 'Yes! Ethan, you're right. Feels like forever ago, but you're right! You had an infection in the site after your operation?'
'Yellow w-w-water.'
'Pus. Yes!'
'Hot. Hannah. Moved.' Ethan didn't bother forming full sentences, putting his energy into remembering. They'd been told not to bother correcting his grammar at those points. 'Scarborough. No. Scar. Ker- knee- fee.'
'Ker- knee- fay?' Connie tried to blend the sounds, copying Guy's technique, but she couldn't work it out. This seemed to irritate Ethan, and he started trying to rock forward and back, clearly annoyed.
'Kuh.'
'Kay! The letter. Kay-knee- Kn- Knife! Knife. Scalpel?'
He exhaled loudly and dramatically, raising a shaking hand to point at her and nodding furiously. 'Scalbel. Scar. Cal. Scalpel.'
'Mr Albion used a scalpel to drain the infection but it was too deep.'
'Don't like him.'
'No.' Given Ethan's new ability to regurgitate information at inappropriate intervals and without caring who he divulged it too, Connie decided not to share that she wasn't a fan of the consultant either. 'Ethan. Do you know why you had the operation?'
'To rid the world of all of our sins.' Ethan said, smoothly, without hesitation. Despite everything, Connie smiled a little.
'Not quite. I think you're thinking of a different man in his thirties, there. Why were you in hospital?'
'My bike h-h-hurt,' Ethan shut his eyes. 'Back.'
'That's right!' Connie almost jumped. She took a deep breath, typing a text to get Guy to come quickly while keeping Ethan focused. 'Keep talking, Ethan. You're remembering so well.'
Apologies again for the delay- for a few weeks I'll try and post as much as I can. Thanks for the lovely reviews!
