The hospital is like a rabbit warren with corridors everywhere and signs that are hard to follow. Mum seems to know what she’s doing though, so Ranga and I follow her along until we reach a busy nurses’ station. A nurse smiles at us and points to the phone she’s talking on. She puts one hand over the mouthpiece. ‘I’ll be with you in a second,’ she whispers, loudly.
Mum’s nod is as exaggerated as the nurse’s whisper. I snort. Mum glares at me so I do a naughty-boy-being-told-off act with my head-bowed-nearly-crying look on my face. Ranga snorts. Mum’s eyes swivel across to Ranga but now I can see the corners of her mouth twitching.
‘Can I help you?’ It’s the nurse.
‘Yes, we’re looking for James Davidson,’ says Mum.
‘Let me see.’ The nurse looks at a list on her clipboard. ‘Ah yes, he’s in Room 58. It’s just down there on the left.’
‘Thank you,’ Mum says, and off we go.
When we get there a curtain is drawn around the bed and people are talking behind it. Every so often James says something but he’s too quiet for me to hear what he’s saying.
I’m not ready for what I see when a nurse draws back the curtain. James seems to have shrunk. His face is pale and he’s lying back on the white pillows like a white shadow but he brightens up when he sees us.
Mum says hello and gives him a kiss on the cheek like she’s James’ mum too. Then says she’ll leave us to it.
‘You’ve got a great mum,’ Ranga says when she’s gone.
I nod. I know.
James looks like he’s dosed off but then he lifts his heavy eyelids and focuses on us. ‘Sorry,’ he says.
‘How did it go?’ Ranga asks.
There are tears in James’ eyes. ‘Not like I thought it would. They said it wouldn’t stick out, but look.’ He hitches up his hospital gown and shows us where the implant is.
A lump the size and shape of a pack of cards is sticking out of the skin on his stomach. The corners are barely rounded off by the skin stretched over the implant underneath. No wonder he’s upset.
‘It’s ugly isn’t it?’
What can I say? It’s horrible. I can’t even begin to imagine having something like that inside me, let alone sticking out like that. ‘Does it work?’ I ask, so I don’t have to tell him what I think.
He nods. ‘Sort of. My legs are a bit better — I can straighten them out more. But they can’t get the levels right and I won’t be able to go home until they do. Dad will be at work and Mum’s exhausted so I told her she could have time off from looking after me for the week.’
‘Do you reckon you’ll be in here for a week?’
From the look on Ranga’s face he’s thinking the same thing as me. He can’t wait a week to show James the couch. He wants to show it to him now.
‘If they can’t get the pump working right, then yes.’
A nurse comes in and wraps a strap around his arm and starts pumping it up for a blood pressure test. Another nurse comes in and there is no room for us. We have to wait outside the curtain.
‘Hey Sticks, why do you reckon they put drips in everyone?’
It’s a good question. I haven’t got a clue what the answer is so I make one up. ‘So it looks like you’re nearly dying when visitors come.’
Ranga grins, brain working overtime. ‘I reckon it’s because the doctors are vampires and they have to replace the blood they take in the night.’
‘Well I reckon they put mind control drugs in there and one day they’ll put a special signal on the telly and we’ll all be zombie slaves.’
Ranga shakes his head. ‘It’s just to make it such a hassle when you want to move that you just stay in bed instead of running around.’
I’m trying to think of a better reason when one of the nurses opens the curtain. She stares at us for a second and then one eye opens wider and the other half shuts. ‘What we really do is put tracking chemicals into your blood stream so your parents will know where you are and everything you do for the rest of your lives.’ She gives an evil laugh and then both nurses leave, hanging on to each other’s arms and giggling.
How cool was that!
James is looking better too. They’ve sat him up a bit. ‘You know what I’m going to do when I get home?’ he says.
‘What?’ says Ranga, giving me this sideways glance.
‘I’m catching a taxi to the marina for fish and chips.’
Ranga looks amazed. ‘How?’
‘There’s a taxi that can take wheelchairs. The driver is a friend of mine now.’
‘I haven’t seen any taxi since you moved to our street,’ I say.
‘I normally only use him when Mum can’t take me in our car.’
‘Why don’t you get your mum to take you?’
‘I’m sick of people doing everything for me. I want to do something on my own.’
I’m thinking about the couch. Is that the sort of thing he’s talking about? Maybe he won’t like it. Nah! He loves skateboarding and he’ll love the couch times ten.