After the longest minute of my life, the bus doors open and I limp out onto the street, doubled over.
I close my eyes and lean against the bus stop. The pain has never been this intense before. I’m scared now, really scared. What’s happening?
Every organ seems to be malfunctioning. I’m nauseous, dizzy and sweating all at once.
My insides feel like they are exploding.
My heart is beating so fast my whole body is shaking.
I want to call Megan but I’m in too much pain to reach for my phone.
I hobble over to the door of the closest restaurant. It’s an Indian restaurant, maybe. I’m too dizzy to read the writing above the door.
“Hi,” I whimper to the guy staring at me with wide eyes. “Can I use your bathroom?” The whole restaurant goes quiet.
I grab my stomach as another wave of excruciating cramps erupts, this one stronger than the last.
Megan, I need you. I fumble with the lock on my phone.
“What’s wrong with her?” I hear a faint voice. I can’t see the guy anymore, I’m doubled over.
“Is she overdosing?”
“Ambulance.” I have just enough time to register the word. Then everything goes black.
30
Tristan
I arrive in Heathrow four hours later than expected, so it’s 5 a. m. Hong Kong time and I haven’t slept Even flying first-class, the time zone difference messes me up for a few days.
When I turn on my phone, a strange number appears. I only answer anonymous numbers in case it’s an emergency related to Daniel. I only give out my personal number to friends, family and school emergency contact numbers. My company phone is vetted by Ed, who filters out the unwanted calls, which is the majority of them.
So, when I see a strange number calling me, I answer it. “Hello?” “Tristan?” A high-pitched Welsh lilt shrills. “It’s Megan.” I instantly freeze. “What is it?” I ask sharply.
Heavy breaths are heard through the phone. “Elly’s in hospital!” The rest is just a muffled noise with one word I can make out. Attack.
My heart stops. “What? Who attacked her?”
“Her IBD attacked her.” Megan says breathlessly. “Frank and I are on our way to the hospital now.”
“Megan, I don’t understand. What?”
“She passed out,” she stammers. I can hear traffic in the background. “It’s bad, Tristan. This has never happened before. They took her away in an ambulance. A random restaurant called me from her phone.”
“Is she awake?” I wrench my bag from the overhead locker with such force that nearby passengers give me filthy looks. I don’t give a fuck. How bad is this? Can you die from Crohn’s?
“I don’t know.” Her voice spikes upwards as she struggles to talk and walk. “I’m nearly there.” “What hospital?” I yell.
“St. George’s, Tooting. Just round the corner from our house.”
“See you there.”
“Tristan?” she starts before I hang up. “I don’t know if she would want me contacting you…it’s just we don’t know many people in London. I’m really scared.”
“It’s fine, Megan,” I say in a softer tone. “You did the right thing. I’ll be with you in about forty minutes. As quick as I can.”
They haven’t opened the plane doors yet and I’m starting to act like a caged rat. They need to hurry the fuck up.
I hang up and call George on speed-dial. “George, be ready at Arrivals. We need to go ASAP to Tooting hospital.”
***
Elly
“Elly, I can’t find a good vein on this arm. Let me try your hand.” The nurse tilts my hand, running her fingers over the veins. She has tried so many veins, I look like a drug addict. Because I’m so dehydrated, the veins are impossible to stick a needle into. “Yeah, I’ll give this one a shot.”
“In the hand?” Megan whimpers from the side of the bed. “Oh Lord, I can’t watch.”
“You’re not helping, Megan.” I tilt my head away from the nurse and towards Megan. I can’t watch either. The idea of a cannular in my hand makes me shiver, like someone scraping their nails across a blackboard.
The nurse lifts my hand because I don’t have the strength to do it myself. The salt drip is working but not fast enough. I barely feel alive.
Everywhere I look there are cannulas hanging off me. They’ve inserted a cannular to rehydrate me, another to take regular blood samples, and now they are sticking a third in me to administer a steroid drip. The steroid drip is to get my IBD flare under control.
The curtain rustles, and the doctor who spoke to me when I first came in pops his head around it. He’s young and attractive but I can’t look him in the eye. Not since he performed an anal examination with his finger whilst making small talk. Not another finger in the butt test, please. Neither my ass nor my ego can handle anymore.
“How are you feeling, Elly?”
I shift in bed. “Bit better,” I lie.
“I have your blood work back.” He studies the chart in his hand then smiles sympathetically. “It’s no wonder you are in so much pain. You have a severely inflamed colon. We’ll get this under control but expect to be in here for at least four days. You need to receive steroid infusions until your blood work shows the inflammation is gone.”
Four days? I need to finish the contract reviews Sophie has given me in three. “I’ll be back later to discuss more with you. Just rest up.” “Thanks, doctor,” Megan purrs loudly as he closes the curtain.
I would roll my eyes if it didn’t hurt. My head feels like I’ve been stuck in a desert for forty nights with no water.
“Elly, Tristan just messaged me back.” Her eyes widen. “He’s on his way. I’m sorry.” My chest tightens painfully.
No. He can’t see me like this.
I contemplate making a run for it. Maybe Megan and Frank could wheel my bed into a different ward. Or the morgue.
I can’t believe Megan called him. The last thing I need is for Tristan to check on me out of some misplaced guilt or obligation. Maybe he feels as if he has a duty of care as a boss or an ex-boyfriend. Or maybe he thinks I have no one else to turn to like some needy pathetic ex-girlfriend. It’s humiliating.
I have tubes coming out of both my arms and my nose. My hair is greasy, my eyes are puffy, and I’m sweating from lying in this bed. I look hideous.
An inflamed colon isn’t exactly a turn on, is it? If anything, it’ll confirm to him that he made the right choice.
“It’s okay,” I whisper to Megan because it’s not her fault. I don’t blame her for panicking. His visit is just another item to add to the anxiety list. My list is growing.
My Crohn’s is officially out of control.
I’m as bloated as a Pot-bellied pig.
I’m stuffed full of steroids meaning by this time tomorrow I’ll have a face the size and shape of a full moon.
It also means I’m stuck in hospital for four days and will miss my work deadlines.
My mum is taking unprescribed drugs that could be horse tranquilisers for all we know.
I accidently drugged my boyfriend’s son.
Causing me to have no boyfriend.
There’s a charge of ten pounds a day to watch TV from my hospital bed.
And last but not least, the massive gaping hole Tristan left in my heart after deciding I wasn’t a good option after all.
I’m not sure what the priority order is.