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Chapter Fifteen:
'Thank God you've shaved,' Dylan said to Cal, by way of greeting. It was six days after the accident, and Cal had decided that spending ten minutes unpacking his suitcase would perhaps be a good idea, after he'd run out of clean underwear and had to draw the line at borrowing a pair of Ethan's. 'I've been here since five. He's been asleep the whole time.'
'Good. How's he seemed?'
'Unsettled. He's been distressed, I think. Difficult to tell. He's been given more painkillers as he woke up crying with a headache. Christ, I'm stiff.' Dylan stretched his legs out, standing up and throwing an empty coffee cup into the bin. 'I want to grab a drink. When are you on duty?'
'Soon. Guy wanted to grab me but I don't know where he is.' Cal yawned, and scratched his head. He glanced down at Ethan, who looked restless even fast asleep. He'd become clingier in the past few days, even with Dylan.
As if sensing someone new coming in, Ethan stirred, a whine coming from his throat. 'C-C-C-Cal?'
'Morning, sleepyhead,' Cal smiled at his brother, and gently used his finger to move sleep dust from his cheek. 'How are you feeling?'
'Sick. I've got a head-a-ache.'
Cal glanced at the chart. 'You can't have anything for another ninety-minutes. You could do with getting some food into you. I'm heading down to the ED soon, so if you want me to help you then better do it soon.'
It took several seconds for Ethan to process this, and then he nodded, albeit reluctantly. 'Yoghurt? Cereal?'
Ethan just shrugged. Cal bit his lip. Ethan seemed so vacant, this morning. He missed their usual breakfast routine, with the news playing in the background, Cal swiping his brother's toast, and an argument over who hadn't bought milk for coffee.
Dylan returned with a coffee, to see Caleb trying to coax Weetabix into Ethan. Something didn't seem quite right about Ethan, even considering the current predicament. To Dylan's shock, he watched as Ethan's eyes suddenly rolled back into his head, and his muscles began to seize violently.
Instantly, Cal dropped the bowl he was holding, hitting the buzzer beside the bed and lowering the bed so Ethan was at least lying flat. 'Dylan,' he gasped. 'Help. His airway's blocked with food.'
That sentence was enough to make Dylan almost vault over the bed. Glancing at the clock, he bellowed at a nurse who raced in to grab a consultant. He couldn't reliably give lorazepam to Ethan given his lack of speciality in the area, and the individuality of Ethan's case. Instead, he turned the suction on, as Cal tilted his brother's head back. Dylan felt slightly queasy as he slid the little tube into the man's throat, chunks of grey-brown sludge gurgling along the tubing. One of the machines was beeping furiously, as Ethan's o2 sats continued to drop. Finally, the slush stopped choking itself along the clear plastic tunnel, and the beeping quietened. 'He's maintaining his own airway. He's breathing,' Dylan said, urgently finding the oxygen mask and holding it over Ethan's face. Cal was restraining Ethan between his chest and knees with the help of another nurse.
The seizure was six minutes old by the time Guy Self ran in. Ethan was slightly grey-tinged despite the oxygen. Dylan had had to clear his airway again. Cal's knuckles were white.
Guy took over, speaking so quickly that Cal let the sound almost wash over him. Eight minutes. What did it mean? Another bleed? Epilepsy? The risks of the surgery were beginning to flash back to him. It felt like it was never stopping. Nine minutes. Ten.
As the clock approached eleven, the seizure stopped. Ethan's breathing rasped, but he was beginning to come back. Cal felt like he was going to drop down himself. Dylan steered the older brother towards. 'Urgent MRI,' Guy was saying. 'I suspect swelling or a smaller bleed. I'm not ruling out taking him back into theatre for future surgery.'
Mr Self's final sentence had the effect of causing both brothers to be unconscious for a few seconds.
'Ethan? Darling, open your eyes. There we go. Well done, sweetheart. I've got some water for you. There, the straw is in your mouth.'
His eyes felt so heavy. He groaned, feeling the plastic rolling in his mouth. He sucked at it, with decent success. Someone kindly wiped the rest of the water from his chin, and adjusted him so he was lying down much more comfortably. He felt very warm and sleepy. It wasn't unpleasant by a long way, particularly considering recent weeks. Cal had brought the furry blanket from their sofa at home. He could smell it and feel it. That was nice.
'Ethan?'
The room was dimly lit when he opened his eyes. He still felt so comfortable. Was it the drugs? Connie was sat close to him, smiling. 'How are you feeling?'
He gave a weak thumbs-up.
'You've had a seizure,' she said, softly, sliding his glasses onto his face. She'd got the knack of getting them on in the right position by now. 'Do you remember?'
'No.'
Cal cleared his throat. 'How do you feel now?'
'Good. Warm.'
He spotted Connie and Cal's eyes flicking to look at one another. 'I'm glad,' said Connie. She squeezed his hand. 'So, Mr Self has done another scan while you were postictal. He's found another bleed. It's only small, but it's likely to be why you had your seizure, and it could cause others. Luckily we've caught it really early, but Guy wants to operate.'
Suddenly, the warmth and relaxation he felt was snatched away. Operate. He hated that word. He whined loudly, kicking up at the blanket covering his legs. He felt like a child having a tantrum, but he didn't know how else to respond. His brain was too dulled by the injury and the medication to produce any other response.
In the nick of time, Cal's hand was there, gently but firmly stopping him from throwing his head back. 'It's alright, darling. It's only a short one. You'll be out the whole time and won't feel a thing.' Connie was sat right next to him, her arm over his shoulders, hugging him to her body as much as she could. Tears started to roll down his cheeks. 'You're doing so well.'
He was still so exhausted from the seizure that he fell asleep relatively quickly, wedged between Cal and Connie. Being near someone physically seemed to help him, Cal realised, gently stroking his fingers over his brother's hand as he slept. Cal suddenly realised with a stab that he was just as grateful as Ethan for the contact between them.
