had a seizure.’ Samantha swallowed the lump in her throat but could do nothing to stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks and dropping onto the sleeve of Lizzie’s top. ‘We found you on the floor in the toilets.’ Samantha lifted her head to Jaddi and Ben. ‘I’ll go and get help,’ she said, her voice no more than a whisper.
‘No, I’ll go,’ Jaddi said, already springing to her feet again.
‘I don’t need any help,’ Lizzie mumbled as the door to the bathroom swung shut.
‘You do, I’m afraid.’ Ben stepped towards the doorway. ‘You need to be seen by a doctor.’
Horror printed on Lizzie’s face. ‘Don’t make me go to hospital.’ Her eyes shot to Samantha. ‘Please.’ Her voice, croaky from the seizure, broke at the end, so it came out ‘plea’.
Out of the corner of her eye, Samantha sensed Ben stepping back, his movements fluid once more, hoisting the camera into the air and resting it back onto his shoulder. At that moment Samantha didn’t care about the camera, or the thousands of people that would see her kneeling on the floor of an airport toilets crying her eyes out. All she cared about was getting Lizzie to a hospital, whether Lizzie wanted to go or not.
Lizzie
‘How did you forget?’ Samantha asked for the fifth time in as many minutes. She paced the hospital room, throwing her hands about as she spoke.
‘I’m sorry, I really am. I don’t know how I forgot, I just did.’ A layer of treacle covered Lizzie’s thoughts. She tried to explain through the pain radiating across her temples. Every millimetre of her head hurt. The innermost part of her brain pounded rhythmically outwards, whilst the outside of her skull, neck and shoulders ached, she guessed from hitting the floor. ‘I lost track of time on the flight. I meant to take them when we landed, but then it was too late.’
Lizzie didn’t mention to Samantha that the medication took her on a merry-go-round, spinning her endlessly around and around. Or the fact that until her face had smacked against the cool tiles of the airport toilets, she’d thought they were an impotent gesture, prescribed by Dr Habibi because he didn’t know what else to do for her.
It hadn’t crossed her mind that she’d actually have a seizure, and spend the first day of her around-the-world adventure in a hospital bed. A burst of colours filled the room. Red and blue hues floated across her eyes adding to the fog and the pain.
‘Every twelve hours, Lizzie,’ Samantha said. ‘Not fourteen hours. Not eighteen. You could have been seriously hurt. What if you’d been standing up and cracked your head open on the sink? What if—’
‘I know,’ Lizzie cut in, wincing as the sound of her voice sent a fresh wave of pain through her head. ‘I’m sorry I worried you, but I’m fine.’
‘Okaaay.’ The doctor who’d taken her blood pressure returned to the room, dragging out the ‘a’ sound for a few beats. ‘How are you feeling, Miss Appleton?’
‘Good.’ She nodded, forcing herself to smile through the nausea that sprung up from her head movement. ‘Really good.’
‘I am pleased to hear it. All of your vitals are also good, but we would like to keep you in overnight for observation, and send you for an MRI scan in the morning. This is to make sure nothing has changed, based on what you’ve said about your tumour. Depending on the results of the scan, we may also need to do a lumbar puncture and an EEG.’
He spoke English with a clipped accuracy, pronouncing every syllable with a slight American twang. It made her think of Dr Habibi, her neurologist in London. In the twenty-six years he’d been her doctor, his Persian accent hadn’t softened at all.
‘No.’ Lizzie sat up in bed, and the movement caused the pain in her head to resonate through her body. The colourful blotches turned black, casting the room into shadow. She resisted the urge to scrunch her eyes shut and flop back onto the pillow. Staying overnight in hospital was not an option, and an MRI was out of the question. ‘I really just want to go to our hostel. I forgot to take my anti-seizure medication. It won’t happen again.’
‘Too right it won’t,’ Samantha chided from beside the bed.
If every single one of her muscles didn’t hurt, Lizzie would have reached over to Samantha and squeezed her hand. Samantha’s mothering tone was her way of coping, of regaining control. However hard the seizure had been to go through – conscious but unable to focus, aware but unable to control – it would’ve been just as hard for Samantha and Jaddi to watch.
‘Still,’ the doctor, whose name she’d already forgotten, began, ‘seizures put a lot of stress on the body. Postictal symptoms of a seizure can develop up to forty-eight hours afterwards. You may develop drowsiness, become confused, nauseous, or have another seizure. It would be better if you stayed here so that we can monitor your condition. If you still feel well after your MRI tomorrow, then you can go.’
Lizzie turned her head to Jaddi, who was sitting bolt upright in a chair on the other side of the bed. She looked pale, her features strained. Lizzie hoped her eyes conveyed her silent plea to Jaddi for help, but her movements felt sluggish, as if she was commanding her body to do things through a faulty connection.
‘Excuse me, Doctor Chang … sun … en.’ Jaddi smiled and stood up, stepping towards the doctor and smoothing out the creases in her vest top.
He returned the smile and nodded, before correcting her pronunciation: ‘Chang-sung-noen.’
‘Doctor Chang-sung-noen, it’s taken so much for us to travel to your beautiful country. I’m sure you can understand why Lizzie doesn’t want to stay cooped up in a hospital bed. We’ll take care of her. We’ll make sure she rests for a couple of days. If there’s even the slightest hint that she is unwell, we’ll bring her straight back.’
‘No late-night parties?’ he said.
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Okaaay. It’s your choice. I will start the process. Bear with me, please.’ He clasped his hands behind his back and strode away.
The blotches disappeared from Lizzie’s vision. She sighed and looked around her. Her surroundings were just like every other hospital room she’d stayed in – plain walls, polished floors, monitors on tripods with wheels – but when she closed her eyes she could hear Bangkok City buzzing around outside: the high-pitched whir of motorbike engines; horns honking in urgent beeps. She craved to be among the noise.
Lizzie opened her eyes, her gaze falling to Ben, leaning against the wall in the corner. He’d moved his camera down and held it just above the belt of his combat trousers. She couldn’t tell if he was filming them or watching footage he’d filmed earlier. Her seizure, no doubt.
He looked up and met her stare, the corners of his mouth moving into a slight smile. It softened his features, and for the first time, Lizzie noticed a concern in his brown eyes, amplified by the thick rims of his glasses.
She wanted to be angry at him for filming her seizure. Did the man have no decency? But the anger wasn’t there. Only his voice was there, in her head. Deep and calm. Hang in there. You’re going to be fine. Was it a coincidence that the seizure had loosened its grip on her the moment he’d spoken? Or had his words penetrated through the seizure, freeing her from its depths?
When she’d first registered his presence, kneeling on the floor beside her, she’d tried to respond. The question had formed in her mind, but had lost its way, so she hadn’t asked him, How do you know? ‘Holy cow,’ Jaddi said, weaving around a flatbed filled with large sacks of rice. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever sweated this much in my life.’
‘You’re kidding, right?’ Samantha muttered from the other side of Lizzie.
‘No.’