not much coming off the wound site now.’ Back to Tony. ‘I think we might take the drains out tomorrow and get this splint off so we can get a sense of what you’re going to need. Probably a nice cylinder cast.’
‘When can I go home?’
Mrs Chakrabarti turned to her students with the perennial condescension of the surgeon. ‘When can Dr Hill go home?’
‘When he can bear weight on his leg.’ The speaker looked as if he should be delivering newspapers, not clinical judgements.
‘How much weight? His whole body weight?’
The students exchanged covert glances. ‘When he can get around with a Zimmer frame,’ another offered.
‘When he can get around with a Zimmer frame, do a leg raise and climb stairs,’ a third chipped in.
Tony could feel something inside his head stretch to its limit. ‘Doctor,’ he said forcibly. When he had her attention, he spoke very clearly. ‘That was not an idle question. I need to not be here. None of the important things in my life can be accomplished from a hospital bed.’
Mrs Chakrabarti wasn’t smiling now. This, Tony thought, must be what a mouse feels like eyeball to eyeball with a raptor. The only good thing about it is you know it’s not going to last long. ‘That’s something you have in common with the vast majority of my patients, Dr Hill,’ she said.
His blue eyes glittered with the strain of not showing his frustration. ‘I’m perfectly aware of that. But unlike the vast majority of your patients, nobody else can do what I do. That’s not arrogance. It’s the way that it is. I don’t need two functioning legs to do most of the things I do that matter. What I really need is for my head to function, and that’s not happening very well in here.’
They glared at each other. None of the students fidgeted. They barely breathed. ‘I appreciate your position, Dr Hill. And I understand your sense of failure.’
‘My sense of failure?’ Tony was genuinely puzzled.
‘It was one of your patients who put you here, after all.’
He burst out laughing. ‘Good God, no. Not one of my patients. Lloyd Allen wasn’t one of mine. This isn’t about guilt, it’s about giving my patients what they need. Just like you want to do, Mrs Chakrabarti.’ His smile lit up his face, infectious and compelling.
The corners of her lips twitched. ‘In that case, Dr Hill, I’d say it’s up to you. We can perhaps try a leg brace rather than a cast.’ She eyed his shoulders critically. ‘It’s a pity you don’t have better upper body strength, but we can try you on elbow crutches. The bottom line is that you have to be mobile, you have to be committed to your physiotherapy and you have to be off the intravenous morphine. Do you have someone at home to take care of you?’
He looked away. ‘I share the house with a friend. She’ll help.’
The surgeon nodded. ‘I won’t pretend the rehab isn’t tough. Hard work and a lot of pain. But if you’re determined to get out of here, we should be able to free up your bed early next week.’
‘Early next week?’ There was no hiding his dismay.
Mrs Chakrabarti shook her head, chuckling softly. ‘Someone split your patella with a fire axe, Dr Hill. Just be grateful you live in a city whose hospital is a centre of excellence for orthopaedics. Some places, you’d be lying there wondering whether you’d ever walk properly again.’ She dipped her head in farewell. ‘One of this lot will be here tomorrow when they take the drains out and the splint off. We’ll see where we go from there.’
She moved away from the bed with her entourage in tight formation behind her. One of them scuttled in front of her to open the door and the surgeon nearly walked into Carol Jordan’s raised fist. Startled, Mrs Chakrabarti recoiled slightly.
‘Sorry,’ Carol said. She looked at her hand and smiled sheepishly. ‘I was just about to knock.’ She stepped aside to let the doctors pass and raised her eyebrows at Tony as she walked in, loaded with cargo. ‘That looked like a royal progress from the Middle Ages.’
‘Close. That was Mrs Chakrabarti and her body slaves. She’s in charge of my knee.’
‘What news?’ Carol asked, dumping assorted carrier bags and easing the laptop in its case on to Tony’s bed table.
‘I’m probably going to be stuck in here for another week,’ he grumped.
‘Only another week? God, she must be good. I thought it would take a lot longer than that.’ She began to unpack the carrier bags. ‘Ginger beer, dandelion and burdock, proper lemonade. Luxury roast nuts. Books as requested. All the Tomb Raider games Lara Croft ever starred in. Jelly beans. My iPod. Your laptop. And …’ She produced a sheet of paper with a flourish. ‘The access code for the hospital’s wireless broadband.’
Tony mimed astonishment. ‘I’m impressed. How did you manage that?’
‘I know the senior nurse from way back. I told her how much easier her life would be if you were online. She seemed to think that a total breach of hospital regulations was a small price to pay. You’ve obviously made an impression already.’ Carol shrugged off her coat and settled into the chair. ‘And not in a good way.’
‘Thanks for all of this. I really appreciate it. You’re a lot earlier than I expected.’
‘Privilege of rank. I suspect I’m going to have to show my warrant card next time I want to get in, though.’
‘Why’s that?’ Tony handed her the power cord for his laptop. ‘There’s a socket behind you, I think.’
Carol got up and stretched behind the chair to plug it in. ‘The Robbie Bishop fan club.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Have you not seen the news? Robbie Bishop’s here, in Bradfield Cross.’
Tony frowned. ‘Did he get injured in Saturday’s match, then? I’m so out of touch in here, I don’t even know if we won.’
‘One–nil to the Vics. But Robbie wasn’t playing. He supposedly had flu, but whatever it is, it got bad enough for him to be admitted here on Saturday. And I just heard on the radio that he’s been moved to the ICU.’
Tony whistled. ‘Well, it’s obviously not flu, then. Are they saying what the problem is?’
‘No. They’re just calling it a chest infection. But the fans are out in force. You can’t see the main entrance for a sea of canary yellow. Apparently they’ve had to bring in extra security to keep the more enterprising ones at bay. One woman even dressed up in a nurse’s uniform in a bid to get to his bedside. I’m sure she won’t be the last to try something like that. It’s a big problem, because you can’t close the hospital to the public. The patients and their families wouldn’t stand for it.’
‘I’m surprised he’s not in one of the private hospitals.’ Tony opened the bag of jelly beans and stirred them with his finger till he found his favourite buttered popcorn flavour.
‘Neither of the private hospitals in Bradfield has the facilities to deal with acute respiratory problems, according to your friendly senior nurse. They’re fine if you want a new hip or your tonsils out, but if you’re seriously ill, Bradfield Cross is where you want to be.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Tony said wryly.
‘You’re not ill,’ Carol said briskly. ‘You’re just a bit more damaged than usual.’
He pulled a half-smile. ‘Whatever. I’d still bet that Robbie Bishop will be walking out of here ahead of me.’