Suffering Alone In Silence

THIS IS PART TWO OF CHAPTER 31 IF YOU HAVE NOT READ CH31 PLEASE GO READ IT NOW

Gerard’s POV

It is a little after nine when I walk through the high care unit. I make my way to Mel’s office first.

“Hey Gerard, come in.” She greets me, before I’ve even knocked.

“Morning Mel. How was he?” I ask.

“Good. Never heard from him at all. Dr Masters came up last night and early this morning to administer his meds. He took it without protest. He’s a dream case so far.” She chatters on.

“So when are we commencing treatment today?” I ask.

“I was just waiting for you to show up. We’re going to need you.” She smiles at me.

“Okay, who else is going to be on board?” I ask once more.

“Just myself, you and Dr Masters.” She replies.
“Okay then. Does Frank know?” I ask.

“Yes.” She replies.

I sign off on some more forms, and pass them back. We meet Doc just outside Frank’s room.

“Hey Doc.” I greet him.

“Hey Gerard.” He replies.

Mel has a trolley with all the stuff needed on it. Needles, swabs, some clear medicine stuff. I think that’s the chemical they are going to use to try and get a reaction.

“This is going to take most of the morning and possibly some of the early afternoon. He should be fine by dinner.” Mel states before we go in.

I simply nod.

“Gee!” Frank squeals when we all walk in.

“Hey buddy, how are you today?” I ask.

“Good. Mel is going to do an experiment on me. Isn’t that exciting?” He says.

“Yer it is. Are you feeling okay about that?” I ask.

“Yep!” He smiles at me.

“Are you ready Frankie?” Mel asks.

“Yep,” Frank replies.

“Let’s get started then.” She says.

I watch as Dr Masters pulls on some gloves. Once they are on He pulls a needle from its sterile packaging. He puts the needle in the jar holding the chemical, which is still unknown to me. I don’t even want to know what they are putting into him, so I keep my mouth shut and not ask. A tourniquet is tied around Frank’s arm before Dr Master feels for a vein. He finds one and jabs the needle into Frank’s arm. Frankie flinches.

“You’re doing good Frankie.” I encourage him.

He smiles at me.

I watch as Dr Masters puts a cotton ball on the puncture site and covers it with tape. It’s all
over, now we sit and watch for a reaction.
I take a seat, while Doc cleans up and takes everything away. Mel comes and joins me in the seats in Frank’s room.

“It’s starting to take effect, look,” Mel points out.

Frank is squirming in his bed. He looks like he is in pain.

“Is he in pain at all?” I ask.

“No, he just thinks he is. This is a good sign. It will pass in a few more minutes.” She replies. I take notes, as does she.

Frank calms. Looking like he is soundly sleeping.

“He’s in his thoughts now. He isn’t conscious to us or the outside world. We need him there for as long as possible. This is where we can tell if he has healed himself or just locked everything away.” She explains.

I watch as Frank mumbles incoherent words. He shifts in the bed, then calms again. Mel and I both take notes. Every move he makes is recorded alongside a time.

We’ve been here watching Frank thrash about since 10am. It is now 1pm. He is still going, living a lifetime worth of memories, in his head. We had to turn him on his side at 12:30pm because he threw up and was choking on his own sick. We had to leave him there, lying in his own sick.

At 1:34pm Frank wakes with a blood curdling scream. His blood pressure is through the roof, and he is hyperventilating. I get up and shake him. He looks at me with big, wild eyes. He calms for a moment, before his eyes roll back into his head and he starts convulsing in my hands. I drop him back onto the bed. Mel has grabbed an epee-pen and jabbed him in the leg. It takes a moment, but he finally stops convulsing. Another seizure is recorded, both in my notes and on his chart. At 1:45pm the session is terminated.

While Frank is sleeping off his post seizure tiredness, I go out and grab a coffee.
When I return, he is sitting up in bed, munching on a sandwich and has a large bottle of orage juice in front of him.

He smiles at me, when I enter.

“How ya feeling?” I ask.

“Can I go back to my own room?” He asks in reply.

“Sure,” I say.