I’ve always felt safe in hospitals. I suppose that’s why I trained as a nurse – medicine seemed safe. Reassuring. But right now, I don’t feel safe at all. Tom is still unconscious and I’m terrified.
What if he doesn’t wake up?
I feel sick with worry. I can’t bear this.
We’re in intensive care, a nurse seated next to Tom’s bed. I’m relieved that we’re getting close attention, but I’m still terrified.
Tom will wake up. He will wake up. Oh God.
The tears come, thick and heavy.
Across the ward, I hear double doors bounce open and the determined click of the doctor’s shoes. After a mumbled chat with a nurse, the doctor heads our way.
‘Mrs Kinnock?’ The doctor is a short, brown-skinned man with a shiny bald head.
I’m too exhausted to complain that he has my name wrong, so I just nod.
The doctor holds out a chubby hand and says, ‘I’m Doctor
Ramir. And this must be Thomas? Or does he prefer Tom?’
‘He likes Tom.’
Doctor Ramir asks the nurse seated by Tom’s bed, ‘Has there been any movement? Any signs that he’s regaining consciousness?’
‘No,’ says the nurse. ‘We’re hopeful it won’t be too much longer.’
‘And how are you feeling, Mrs Kinnock?’ the doctor asks me.
‘Terrified.’
‘Of course. Well, try not to worry. I’m sure he’ll come round soon.’
‘The other doctor talked about the possibility of brain damage—’
‘Unlikely.’ The doctor’s reply is brisk. ‘I’m concerned about two things right now. First, what’s caused him to suddenly lose consciousness. And second, the bump on Tom’s head.’
‘Bump on the head?’
‘The paramedic found a rather large lump. On Tom’s crown.’ The doctor puts his fingers to Tom’s scalp, frowning. ‘Here. You can feel it for yourself.’
I put my hand on Tom’s head, feeling a large, egg-sized bump.
Terror flies up my fingertips. A head injury …
The doctor watches me.
‘It didn’t happen when he fell,’ I say. ‘I caught him.’
‘No, this didn’t happen today, Mrs Kinnock,’ says the doctor. ‘A scab has already formed.’
‘Oh my God. What?’
‘When Tom wakes up, I’d like this lump to be checked over by someone who knows about this sort of thing. Just to be on the safe side.’
‘Doctor, if Tom has a bump and it didn’t happen when he passed out … how on earth did he get it?’
‘It’s hard for me to draw conclusions,’ says the doctor, scribbling on his clipboard. ‘The consultant will tell us more.’
‘Someone hurt him?’ Hot, heavy tears find my cheeks.
‘It could be an accident,’ says the doctor. ‘Tell me, is Tom a good boy at home?’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Why would you ask?’ And then it hits me. My chest tightens. We learned to ask questions like this during our nurses’ training. ‘I didn’t hurt him,’ I say, eyes wide.
There’s a gentle exhale of breath and a tiny murmur. My head whips around to see Tom’s eyelids flutter.
Is he waking? He’s waking …
Tom squints, trying to shield his eyes from the bright lights. Confusion swims in his sleep-crusted eyes. He is startled. Afraid. But he’s awake.
The relief is incredible.
‘Tom.’ I take his hand in mine. ‘It’s okay. You’re in hospital again, love. Oh thank God.’
‘Hello, Tom,’ says the doctor.
Tom blinks sleepily, gingerly touching the cannula in his hand.
‘How are you feeling?’ the doctor asks.
‘Sick,’ says Tom, his voice rough as pebbles. He looks at the cannula.
‘You passed out, Tom,’ says the doctor. ‘It tells us something still isn’t quite right. Maybe we can get some answers this time. Now, take things nice and slowly, but can you remember what happened before you fell down?’
‘We were in the play park,’ Tom croaks, rubbing his eyes. ‘I was with Granny.’
‘Is that the lady who was here earlier?’ the doctor asks.
‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘She followed the ambulance here. But the bright lights gave her a migraine, so she went home to rest.’
‘If she saw Tom before, it would be good to talk to her.’
‘Yes. Yes, that makes sense. I’m sure she’ll be back soon. But please understand. There are some difficulties in our family. How many days will Tom be kept in, do you think?’
‘Two, at least,’ says the doctor. ‘But we’ll move him to an open ward at some point. He’ll have his own TV and some toys to play with. More space too.’
And less security.
‘We need to be transferred,’ I say, my voice reaching oddly high notes. ‘To the general hospital near our home.’
‘Mrs Kinnock—’
‘I’m Miss Riley. Please. You have to listen. We can’t stay here on an open ward. Tom’s grandmother is Olly’s mother. My ex-husband. Olly is … a violent man. There’s a restraining order against him. Margaret always means to help, but if she accidentally tells him we’re here …’
The doctor glances at the nurse. ‘I suppose … let me see what I can do.’
‘And this bump on Tom’s head,’ I say. ‘We need to be sure everything is transferred – all the information, everything. Even the tiniest detail.’
Without looking up, Doctor Ramir says, ‘Tom. Do you know what could have caused this bump on your head, then? Get into any fights or anything like that?’
Tom doesn’t reply. He just looks frightened.
‘There’s a bump on your head, Tom,’ I say gently. ‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Tom.
‘Well, look.’ The doctor stands. ‘Let’s check everything over today. And hopefully in a few days, time we’ll have some answers and he can be back at school.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t want my son anywhere near that school right now. Not until we’ve found out more about this head injury. If it didn’t happen when he fell …’
The doctor eyes me seriously. ‘I have to tell you, social services will take a very dim view of you keeping Tom off school. They’re involved with you already, aren’t they?’
I look back at him, anger flooding my bloodstream. ‘Are you saying that I can’t even keep Tom off school now? I don’t have that choice as a parent?’
‘Parents have very few choices when it comes to education,’ says the doctor, looking down at his clipboard. ‘It’s a legal requirement.’
I tuck the blanket tighter around Tom, smoothing the fabric under my fingers, trying and failing to calm myself.
The doctor leaves.
And I’m glad about that, because I was a few deep breaths away from screaming: Don’t you understand? Something is happening at that school!