Chapter Thirty-One:
Connie raced into the pool room at the same moment as the crash cart and additional physio staff burst through the door on the other side. 'What's happened? Seizure?' she stammered, dropping down to her knees. The crash team were by the poolside now, helping. 'He's going to vomit. Turn him,' said one, and Connie watched, feeling panicked, as watery liquid ran out of Ethan's mouth.
'He can vomit post-ictally. But not during.'
'It's slowing,' Dylan said. The second that Ethan stopped seizing, he rolled him onto his side, dragging him into the recovery position. 'Oxygen, now. 10 litres.'
'I'm getting a chest x-ray the second he's stable. I'm worried about secondary drowning and odema,' she babbled. Nobody seemed to hear her. The crash team crowded around Ethan.
'Support his head, he's vomiting again,' Connie said, her heart racing. 'Page neuro, this needs a scan. Alright, alright.'
'I'll get a trolley,' someone said. Connie's eyes blurred as she tried to keep her hands still to inject. It was harder than usual, the combination of wet, slippery skin, the heat of the room, the smell of the chlorine, and it being Ethan. Dylan silently took over and she didn't care.
'Where are we transferring to?'
'ED. Guy Self's not in today and we know the case best.' Connie said, surprised by how clinical her response was. 'I want head and chest CT and MRI, plus blood gases.' She rattled off the list, Dylan nodding and taking it in.
His eyes felt heavy and his mouth tasted revolting. He was lying on his side, which helped to somewhat reduce the impact of the burning neon lights above him. He was shivering, and couldn't work out why. He thought he was wet, but that was surely just brain fog. It didn't take long to deduce that he'd had a seizure, the feeling of coming around was getting all-too familiar, but little else was decodable. He heard the buzz of voices, and sluggishly identified Connie's- high pitched and fast, and then Dylan's- slower, with a less predictable rhythm. Another was vaguely recognisable.
A crackling noise sounded around his ears, and he couldn't help but cry out in protest. What was happening? Usually, someone would at least explain to him what was going on to help him come around better, but if they were, he wasn't out of the seizure enough to comprehend it, at least yet. Or it had been a bad one.
He was becoming more conscious now, and the thought of more scanning and testing and damage was making him anxious. He shivered more, and finally, a voice came through, breaking his silence like a bubble bursting on the surface.
'…warm up…transfer…alright…'
A hand brushed his and he grabbed it. '…than?'
He made the best noise he could in recognition, and then groaned as the pen-torch flicked into his eyes.
'Ethan?' Dylan, soft and slow. 'You've had a seizure. During hydrotherapy. It's alright. We're going to take you to the ED. How are you feeling?'
'Diz. Dizzy. C-c-cold.'
'Right. We've got a reflective on you, once we get down we can get you changed. You'll be OK. Do you need to cough?'
He did, tasting chlorine. 'Chl-cl-chlorine.'
He could sense Dylan stiffening slightly. 'Right, he's tasting chlorine in his mouth, there's a high chance of some inhalation, so we need to monitor for dry drowning. Ethan? Connie wants you on oxygen.'
Usually, Ethan hated anything held over his face, and as a result, spent as little time on O2 as possible. It was a marker of how much of a toll it had taken on his body that he tolerated it so well.
'Ethan? You can't go to sleep, now, we need you awake. Ethan!'
Cal was waiting for them when they arrived, his face slightly grey. Connie took charge, detaching herself quickly and clinically. 'You can't treat.' She said, simply. She pulled him to the side. 'I need you to get in touch with Guy. Email. I'm giving you 20 minutes then I need you back on the team. I'm going to tell you this before he does- it's almost going to be an epilepsy diagnosis. And that doesn't rule him out as a doctor. It'll mean lots of changes, but he can still work. I'll make sure of it.'
Quietly, he held a hand up to stop her. 'Connie, I know. I've known for weeks, now. It was always going to be something.'
She was still speaking. 'He won't be able to drive, but he'll be independent. He'll be fine.'
Gently, he caught her hand as she gestured wildly. 'Connie. It's OK.'
'w'hap'n,' Ethan mumbled, trying to roll away from whoever was examining him. 'Off.'
'Seizure. Hydrotherapy.'
He muttered a response into his pillow, earning a gentle but firm poke from Cal. 'Less of that language, Dr Hardy. How are you feeling?'
'Rubb-b-bish.'
'You've got a scan in ten. Chest and head.'
'Good. Can I sleep?'
'Go on, then.'
'Don't want to, now.'
'Stop being awkward.' Cal said, biting hard onto his lip. He could feel his hands beginning to shake.
'How are you?'
'He's fine, he's in the best hands. I was calm during it, I wasn't panicking.' Cal said. He'd been running his hands through his hair, leaning forwards with his elbows pointing into his thighs. 'I know that when we've got the meeting, they'll say it's epilepsy.'
'Dr Knight, I asked how you were.'
Cal stopped, looking up. Ben Harding was watching him closely.
'Fine.'
'We've had this discussion before.'
Caleb squeezed his fingers together, watching the skin on his knuckles turn white and then peach again. 'Not fine.'
'I'd be more worried if you were fine, to be honest. He's your brother. And you're stuck not knowing if it's better to understand it all medically or if you'd rather be in the dark.'
'We've had that one before, too.'
Cal smiled wryly, and leaned back, letting his lungs fill with air. 'I can accept it, I think. The epilepsy. God, I was about to call it "the epilepsy thing". I'm a bloody doctor. When I've had to tell families about it before, they've been freaked out about seizures. I'm used to that bit.'
'It doesn't change who he is. And you said that Connie Beauchamp still thinks he can work?'
'Yeah. I imagine he can't do anything delicate, but he's probably one of the best diagnosticians I've come across. Anyway, you know this place loves ticking diversity boxes.' Cal's voice cracked at the end, ruining his joke. He rubbed his hand across his face.
Ben took the opportunity to push something across the table. 'It's a support group.'
'I know what it is. You're not the only one who hands them out at work.' Cal snapped. 'We don't need this type of support. I've started the tablets. He's starting rehab. We don't need support from strangers.'
Cal snatched his laptop bag, and picked up his jacket. 'See you next week,' he said, curtly. He'd taken all he could that day.
