“Instead, he went to a therapist and is getting better, but it’s a bit like people who have arachnophobia or other sorts of phobias. It’ll likely always be an issue for him, just not as severely as it was.”
The sound of the screaming from the phone stopped, and then there was blessed silence in the room.
“I think I’ve seen enough. Well, Mr. Townsend-Rossi, we’re admitting you for observation as it is, but we also need to find an anti-nausea medication that works on you. Unfortunately, I think we’ll have to try the one I was considering, regardless of what I’ve just witnessed, which is a combination drug. I’ll have the nurse bring it through in a minute.
“You also need to remain on an IV because, after all of the vomiting, you’re likely very dehydrated, which won’t help the pain in your head.”
“Anything,” I rasped, unable to even lick my lips because it felt like I didn’t have any saliva left.
“We’ll sort this out,” he assured us, and then I heard his shoes squeaking on the ground as he walked away from the bed.
The noise was agony, and when he opened the door, I was ready to cry when that screeched through my brain.
“Oh, and if Mr. Townsend-Rossi’s cousin ever comes to visit and has an accident, please make sure you bring him into this hospital. Hell of a thing that, a hell of a thing.”
The good news was that the new drug they gave me worked. The even better news was that I didn’t react to it. Instead, I fell asleep, exhausted from what’d happened.
I probably would have slept for a week straight, if it wasn’t for the irritating doctors and nurses waking me up every second to check my pupils and torture me some more.
Two days later…
A helpful tip to anyone who’s ever had a concussion: your recovery’s based on how close to death you feel.
No lie.
The pain in your head, the extra pain noise causes, the pain that thinking causes, and the excruciating agony light causes—they all make you feel like you’re dying. Your head exploding or blood pouring out of every hole in it is a constant worry, because that’s what it feels like’s about to happen. So, that’s pretty close to dying.
I could confidently say I wasn’t as worried about the blood exploding out of my head just now. I could also say the pain everything from breathing to blinking caused was becoming tolerable, so I was getting better.
Slowly rolling my head to the side, I felt a shock of emotion hit me when I saw Sasha curled up on the chair in my room. Fortunately, it was one of those reclining ones, so she wouldn’t need a chiropractor or someone to steamroll the kinks out of her joints.
But just seeing her there, knowing she was with me after I’d been such a monumental dick, it helped.
I don’t know how long I watched her for, but finally she made a squeaking noise, and her eyes fluttered open. It took a moment for her to focus, but when she saw I was awake, she jumped up and looked around.
“You’re awake.” Her voice started at a normal volume, but she quickly changed to whispering for my head’s sake. “Sorry, I’m just so relieved. How are you feeling? Do you need a doctor? Does your pee-pee bag need to be changed?”
I blinked at the rapid-fire questions, trying to figure out which one to answer first until I settled on one that seemed the most important. “Pee-pee bag?”
“Yeah, they put a colostomy bag in so you could recover in peace.”
That… what the fuck?
“I had surgery to have a colostomy bag fitted?”
The monitors attached to me began to make noises, and my head decided to start pounding again.
“They didn’t take you away for surgery for it. They just did it in here while I went to collect some clothes, have a shower, and put some food out for Milkshake.”
“Hold up.” I held up a shaking hand. “They fitted a colostomy bag in this room?”
“I’m fairly certain that’s how they did it. They didn’t say you needed surgery for it,” she mumbled, watching one of the screens on the machines beside me in alarm. “Maybe you should try and calm down for a minute. I know the numbers getting high like that isn’t good for you, and they seem high in comparison to what they’ve been at for the last two days.”
“Two days?”
It felt like it’d been four fucking hours. Two days?
Just then, the door opened, and a doctor and nurse came running in.
“What seems to be the problem, Mr. Townsend-Rossi?” he asked as he walked up, then instantly shone a torch in my eyes.
Clenching them shut and jerking my head away, I hissed, “Doc, I’ve only just managed to open my eyes without dying. Please, for the love of God, stop doing that.”