Chapter Thirty-Four

'Go later?'

'No, we've got to go now. I've got a shift tomorrow morning. I've driven lots today.'

Ethan looked pleadingly at Cal. 'Later.'

'We've got to go, Ethan. It's 6 already. You've got dinner very soon.'

They'd known, without even needing to think about it, that their departure would be hard, and had planned accordingly. Ethan had eaten at the service station, with everyone optimistically planning for no carsickness as a result. If he did make it into the dining room at Bridgeworth, then it wasn't as if Ethan needed to worry about eating too much.

'No.'

'Yes. Do you want to wait here, or go downstairs and wait in the day room?'

'Down.' He didn't want to go down, he wanted nothing less than being somewhere new with new people who might be loud and unpredictable, but he knew that in order to leave, Cal, Dylan and Connie needed to go downstairs, too, and he might be able to delay them further.

No such luck.

'You'll be alright, Eth. Your doctor, she's great. And this place is really nice, they know what they're doing.' Cal fought for composure, as he gently tried to prise Ethan's fingers off his. 'Come on, mate. Look. The others are going in now.'

Ethan started to cry. 'No. Not.'

'I'm going to go and get in the car, Ethan. I'm sure I'll be back to see you very soon- Cal's coming Saturday, aren't you? I'll aim for the weekend after that, so that's eleven days to go. I'm sure you'll do brilliantly. All the best.' Dylan gave Ethan an awkward pat, then headed out, not able to look back.

'That's right. And I'll aim to be midweek, so that's what? Cal in four days, I'll be here in a week, then Dylan the next Saturday. And Dixie's said she fancies coming up too.'

'Charlie and Duffy love Wales. They're already planning a trip.'

Ethan started throwing his head back, tears pouring down his cheeks. 'No.' Connie nodded at a member of the nursing staff who came over quietly.

'Love you, Ethan.' Cal choked out, 'I'll call tomorrow, see how things are going. You'll be alright. Love-love you.'

Connie gave Ethan a very quick hug, watchful that he didn't try to grab her. 'You've got this, Dr Hardy.'

He didn't know any of these people, not even from before his injuries. He screamed, fighting back as much as he could. Where were his people, Cal and Connie and Dylan and the staff who looked after him on Neurology?

'It's alright, Ethan, you're safe.'

He wasn't safe. He didn't know where he was, or why the ceiling was so high here, or why it smelled funny, or why he wasn't able to go to his room and sleep and calm down like he could before. He was shaking, his chest heaving. 'He's epileptic, stress triggers. Let's try and get him onto the sofa, then we've got more control if he has a seizure.'

Dr Shepherd had come into the day room, having re-read Ethan's file. She was fairly senior at Bridgeworth, and didn't tend to take on too many patients herself, more focused on mentoring and managing less experienced staff. However, something about Dr Hardy interested her- the possibility of returning to a medical career, most likely. The unusual factor of Potts' Disease. As well as her experience, Maria Shepherd was known for her empathy. While Bridgeworth, like most of the NHS, struggled with staff shortages, particularly having to rely on bank staffing and agencies for their HCA and some nursing roles, she was determined to do her very best to meet the needs of each individual.

'There we go. Alright, Ethan. You're on the sofa now. Deep breaths. You can let yourself go floppy, if that helps.'

It didn't help matters at all, but he was beginning to feel exhausted. He was trembling violently. He'd stopped trying to lash out, as if he'd realised how ineffective it was, and was staring up at the ceiling, his breathing ragged.

Maria took his hand. 'There we go. You're safe. You met me before. I'm Dr Shepherd. If you do have a seizure, I know what to do.'

He didn't care if he had a seizure or not. Honestly, the post-ictal fuzz was rather attractive. He wanted Cal. 'Cal!' he shouted, his voice cracking. 'Cal!'

A burst of panic rose in his chest. Where was his brother? Why wasn't he coming? Ethan felt his hands prickling, the blood was rushing in his ears, he felt sick. Where was Cal? He tried to turn to the woman next to him, grabbing at the lanyard around her neck. 'Cal. Cal now. Please.'

'Cal's had to go home now. We knew this was going to happen. It's OK. Cal will be back in four days.'

She was holding up four fingers, who knew why? Cal. Home. Back. When?

He let out another shriek, throwing his head back. It hit against the back of the sofa, not hard enough for it to cause any real pain, but he could feel something hurting slightly, and he could feel it and focus on it. He threw his head back again, then again. 'No. No, that's not safe. Cushion, Jamie. Thanks. Ethan? You need to stop, or I'll have to get someone to hold your head still.'

No. Nobody touching his head. He cried out, tilting his head forwards and shaking it.

'I'm going to give you a choice. Upstairs to room. Downstairs here?'

He didn't respond.

'Downstairs, then? Do you want to lie down?'

He wanted to hit his head harder, to black out, to stop everything and turn this nightmare off. He'd wet himself at some point but couldn't remember when, and he felt hot and sticky and exhausted. He suddenly, without giving himself permission, went completely limp, staring blankly ahead. He was breathing very deeply.

'Alright. It's alright.'

'I think we're OK in here.' Dr Shepherd was saying, very quietly. Footsteps, then the door shutting. Ethan had closed his eyes.

'It's alright.' She said, very softly.

He felt as if he could fall asleep at any moment, but at the same time, his body was electrified.

'Do you want to stay here for a few more minutes, or we can go upstairs together? It might get noisy here after dinner.'

The thought of having to move or do anything was horrendous. His throat felt raw, his head was pounding and he could feel the sweat in his hair. He screwed his face up.

'Do you want to start getting ready to move into your wheelchair?'

No answer.

'Once we go upstairs, we can get you cleaned up. You can go straight to sleep, then.'

Maria knew this would work- all the notes made that clear. She had the trickier job after today of teaching Ethan to cope when things didn't do right, and when he had to carry on. When he was still very unwell, there was no point in trying to get him to recover after an emotional episode, and in the neurology ward setting, it was the practical and kindest thing to do. However, Ethan was in for a lot of change at Bridgeworth, and he couldn't simply let himself go into dreamland to escape the aftermath every time. This time, though, it wasn't an option. She'd stayed very calm throughout, having fully expected the response and worse. She was slightly surprised by how quickly the fight went out of him, and by how frail he seemed afterwards.

It was a long, slow and at times, tentative job to get Ethan back into his wheelchair and up to his room, particularly as other patients were beginning to come out of the dining room. Most were around Ethan's level or slightly higher, although there were a few who could be very unpredictable. Ethan wasn't violent, at least not intentionally. He'd tried to push staff away, but he wasn't strong enough to have had any impact at all.

Finally, they were upstairs. 'Here we go. I can help you, or do you want me to find one of your nurses? They'll be doing your personal care in the mornings and evenings.'

For a second, she thought he'd gone to sleep. He hadn't spoken since he been screaming out for his brother. Then a very quiet, slightly rough voice. 'You.'

With Bridgeworth's slightly off staffing, Maria had had to help with manoeuvres more often than colleagues at her level in different specialities, and Ethan was light, and seemed to be much more co-operative. He was still crying, but it had slowed significantly. She gave him a choice, as she always did, with his pyjamas and the order of getting ready, but he had no response. When she found his toothbrush, he did react.

'No. Too. Too much. No.'

It was a pleading. He raised his head, making eye contact for the first time. 'No. Not. Not today. Enough.'

A sentence floated back, from the notes she'd read that afternoon.

Personal Care:

Ethan is beginning to show more independence in getting himself dressed and performing personal care tasks, with the exception of cleaning his teeth. He is extremely reluctant to let staff do this for him, often leading to his brother cleaning his teeth. Ethan broke two teeth during a seizure, and has two temporary fillings. There is additional damage to his teeth caused by seizures.

Maria paused, holding the toothbrush. 'Not tonight. But tomorrow. Yes?'

'Yes.'

She gave him a smile, and finally, he'd stopped crying. She knew he was pretty much at his limit, but needed one more question.

'Do you prefer Ethan, or Dr Hardy?'

He didn't really know. He didn't think he had any right to be called a doctor any more.

'Ethan.'

'Ethan it is, then.'

Then finally, he was in bed, although this one was lower and slightly narrower than the one he'd become used to. It still had raised sides, but these ones were wood. He couldn't see through them if he lay with his head flat on the sheets.

'Do you want me to stay?'

'No.' It wasn't a rude or defensive response, just an honest one. He was exhausted. For the first time in a long while, he did want to be alone.

'Alright. As it's your first night, staff might check on you more often. If there are any issues, there's a sensor on the mattress to alert for any seizures. And you can reach the emergency cord, yes? Can you show me, without pulling it. Slowly does it, yes, thank you. Good. There we go. Light off or on? Off? Right. Goodnight.'