Chapter 2.

The Accident

I started second term two days after my friends. What kept me from returning puzzled them. Why was I late? A stupid stunt we'd seen other students do without consequence.

The prior weekend my neighbour Joe, Patrick and I played around, wrestling and fighting. Joe tried to spray Patrick with a deodorant can. I'd grabbed it to spray Joe. Joe and I struggled while Patrick cheered us on. I lost my balance and fell to the floor. Joe snatched the can and sprayed it at my face. I tried to get up but couldn't. Joe continued to expel the can's contents, and it seemed I had no choice but to swallow it. The pressure in my chest and the overwhelming sweet fog stopped me from announcing our game was over. My mind felt hazy. The two boys were still in the midst of the fun.

Mum had been outside hanging the laundry. When she'd left the house, I was on the computer with Pat and Joe close by.

When she returned, she yelled in fright, seeing the neighbour's son spray chemicals down my throat.

"Joe!" she hollered. "What are you doing?! Let her up now!"

She noticed Pat holding me, his hands pressing against my shoulders, securely pinning me to the ground.

"Let her up!" she cried again.

An hour later I had a dry cough. We hoped that would be the only effect and would soon subside.

"I feel dizzy," I said.

"I'm not surprised with all the stuff you swallowed. The room was a mist! Go lay down," Mum said.

Patrick decided to join me. "I'll watch your TV, and you can have a rest."

After I laid down, I fell unconscious. Pat realised this when he tried to wake me for something on the television.

No response.

When he did awaken me, my voice was barely audible. Horror struck me the few moments I was awake.

"Get help!" I told him in a strained whisper. Then I blacked out.

I remember Mum begging me to speak, but my voice had completely gone; my words were mimed. I also could not rise or stay awake.

I awoke in the car. The coughs were now high-pitched from my tightened throat, and I was unable to breathe.

"We're nearly there," my father announced, noticing my head up for a brief moment.

The next time I awoke, someone was carrying me into the hospital emergency department.

Only brief clips return to me of what occurred in my cubicle between black-outs. Doctors rushed around. Pills, liquids, and masks being administered. A doctor asked to see the tin of deodorant to assess what had been inhaled.

"The can says this product contains Butane," he said. "I think that's what saved the product from hardening in her lungs. If it had, we would have had to remove it by surgery. Your daughter was lucky it wasn't another brand."

Medications were repeated until positive results. My ability to breathe slowly increased along with my consciousness. I had to write everything on paper because I couldn't speak without coughing.

How long have we been here? I wrote.

"Eight hours," my mum said. She had not left my side since finding me choking in my bedroom.

The doctor returned. "It was a once-off occurrence. Do you feel well enough to go home?"

I shook my head and wrote, I'm scared it'll happen overnight. I don't want to die.

After such an ordeal, nobody cared to argue.

Mum agreed, then left to yell at the two boys involved in the fight, who waited in the car. Their mucking around ended. Joe burst into tears, while Pat remained unaffected. Emptied of ferocity, she returned to me, helping to organise my overnight stay.

When I was settled in a room, Mum, Dad, and Patrick said their goodbyes. Mum and I mouthed, I love you, as we did every night before I got into bed.

A lovely nurse stayed with me and took her time asking questions to fill out my forms, waiting while I forced my voice. She was a wonderful woman who called me Poppet and made me feel cared for.

I was given pills and reassurance every few hours. My vitals were checked. My throat felt as if it were encased in barbed wire. I drank the entire two litre jug of water overnight in small sips.

Sleeping was impossible. The elderly lady, who shared my room, was asleep, so I used the radio for company. When a song I liked crooned through the speaker, I tapped my foot to it.

My roommate was what kept my mind active the next morning. I woke to her packing a suitcase. This wouldn't have struck me as worrying but for her constant wiping of her bloody nose on a pair of underwear.

My parents had taught me to mind my own business, so I didn't mention it to the hospital staff when they brought our breakfasts. My room companion was never formally introduced to me, although she thought my name was Dorian and we were related.

Suddenly I remembered the nurses telling me she was an Alzheimer's patient. Her memory problems didn't concern me. Her strange behaviour of wanting to close our door did. She tried to make it a casual suggestion, but I could tell it was done out of fear. Her bruises made me wonder if she was a victim of a home invasion.

The nurse told the old woman to leave the door open. She also explained to her she wasn't going home that day.

"The doctor wants you here longer," the nurse told her.

I had another attack just as my parents and Patrick arrived at midday. Mum hustled out of the room for a doctor. No doctors were at the desk, and I had already rung the buzzer three times.

Nobody had told me I was in an elderly ward because of lack of beds. Three buzzes meant cardiac arrest. All the medical staff were checking heart patients.

When my mum returned with the nurse, calm was restored.

"We would have found you sooner had we not had an emergency," the nurse told us. "One elderly gentleman outside received a head wound when he fell. Two nurses have attended to him since."

The attack didn't last long with drugs already in my system. Once again I was reassured it would never happen again.

"Do you know what caused it?" the nurse asked.

"No," I replied.

Back then I didn't understand the why, though now I do. While eating breakfast, which I ate too quickly, the cleaners had come in to freshen the facilities. They unpacked the sink disinfectant, the mop, and the bathroom cleaners.

I gave them a pleading look when I felt my throat narrow. I was unable to speak of the violent reaction to come. All I did was mimick to the cleaner. She didn't understand. Perhaps I should have pressed the buzzer then.

I was hesitant to press the buzzer. When I had been in the hospital at thirteen to remove a bone spur, I was humiliated because of a buzzer. I had been asked to shower. I couldn't find the hot water and wondered if the small red button would start it.

Pressing that little button did not bring the hot water. Instantly I realised it was the call button. In a panic, I stabbed at the button, trying to turn it off. Once it's pushed, the little red button stays on, even in errors.

A male nurse entered the bathroom to see me covering my vital areas, trying to pretend I had planned his visit.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I was looking for the hot water tap."

"It's under the pink flannel," he said blandly, pointing with his finger.

"Thank you," I said politely.

He left me with a scarlet blush on my face while I finished my shower.

On exiting the shower, I found the entire children's ward laughing.

Melanie, a girl I had befriended, walked to me. "I'm so sorry!" she said. "I forgot my face-washer. The nurse said it hid the hot water tap from you. Is that why you pushed the button?"

"I thought the button WAS the hot water switch. When it wasn't, I tried to turn it off."

Melanie laughed. "I don't mean to laugh. You may have been trying to turn it off, but all we heard was a continual buzzing. When the nurse told us what happened, we couldn't help but laugh!"

From then, hospital buzzers, bells, and sirens made me nervous. Those contraptions were surely put on Earth to aid idiots in getting attention!

My allergy attack settled quickly, and I was released with an asthma spray from hospital at three o'clock. The doctor had prescribed it, saying I had a severe breathing problem to the propellant.

My roommate wasn't aware of what happened beyond the curtain. She knew I was to go home that afternoon. While I talked with my boyfriend, she crept up, kissed me on my cheek, saying goodbye. It surprised me! I didn't wipe my cheek to save her dignity.

Later when my mum and I readied to go home, she had called out, "Dorian!"

I stopped while she caught up to us.

"Where will I meet you so we can go home?"

"The bus station," I said, remembering she had mentioned going home in a bus during her mumbling.

"When will I meet you?" she asked.

"At four o'clock," I said, pretending to look at a watch.

She agreed and then waved us off.

I felt bad for lying to her, yet I didn't want to break her heart and tell her I wasn't her relative. By her actions, I could tell she was confused. I thought it better to play along with her; she probably wouldn't remember the incident anyway.

I spent the next two days in bed; I could barely move. My immune system had been paralysed from the attack. Most of the time I laid on the lounge, only moving to go to the bathroom or to roll over. I didn't even worry about schoolwork. I normally concentrated on that before anything else.

Fright of a repeat attack made me follow orders and use the asthma puffer, though it did nothing but keep my coughs alive. The only time I changed from my pyjamas or got out of bed was when we had to rush Mutt, our German shepherd, to emergency. My parents afraid to leave me home alone.

At three in the morning, Mum found him red-eyed, breathing hard and rapidly. I'd forgotten to take the inhaler with me to my bedroom. Mum realised this when she found the damaged canister under the dining table, the common place Mutt left his gatherings. Mutt had stolen and punctured it. Mist had escaped the canister and gotten into his eyes and been inhaled.

By the time we had him at the surgery, the veterinarian had already consulted several resources. Because the poison was known, the vet knew quickly how to treat him. She prescribed charcoal tablets and checked his eyes with a UV light and dye for damage. He was fine by the morning's dawn.

Needless to say, Mum always checked where I left my puffer after that.

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