7th December 1996 Post-Operative
Someone's calling. Shut my eyes. Not me. They are deep in my inner ear. The usual litany: regiment, rank and number. Awake. Fear.
A black wand. A light in my eye. Have they come to magic up some miracle cure for me? Oriental girl. A doctor? Small hands. At my bedside smiling. Shines the light again and says pressure behind the eyes. Feel sick. Folding inwards. Who am I? This is not my body. Diminished. Travelling back in time...
Headache. New nurse with short black hair, eyes as black as newly mined coal; she is from elsewhere. She hands me my shorts. Thanks. I can dress myself. She does not look. I'm covered; no indecent exposure. My arm is dead. She reassures me; it's only temporary. She shaves my face. Not bad. Husband or boyfriend should be proud. She's smiling back. I smile back. Love story. She's pretty. No make-up. Sleep sweet dreams.
I wake. She's back with a silver tray. Bandages and tape. Her breasts in my face as she repairs the damage. Please move them. Please. No bandage now. Cold air on a bald head. POW 1945. Not worthy of that. thought. She's dressing my head. She's smiles. Her job done
Who is the Newcomer? Wheel him into his vacant lot. His kids look at him in horror. Daddy's shaven head. . Get Well balloons tremble in the air. Daddy's coming home soon. I look at Mom. She's finished, I can see it in her eyes. She can't wait to leave. Can't blame her. Who wants to be around that? Anyway. Where are my kids?
Nurse black hair is back. Tablets Phenytoin and Warfarin. Rat poison. A weak smile. The winter sun floods the ward. Can see down below now. Parked cars arranged like dominoes. My my first cup of tea in days. Taste so fresh. We speak. She has no accent. I fall asleep.
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