Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 722 by Angharad

I regarded the supine figure lying on the bed with wires and tubes attached to every available orifice. He didn’t look very old, probably about sixteen, the little of him I could see. It wasn’t my job to pass judgement on my fellows – that was for judges and juries. I knew I could help him, but why should I, especially as the person in the other room could be me? But it wasn’t me, thank goodness.

I was standing in the doorway when a nurse called me, “Lady Cameron, they want you up in the children’s unit.” All thoughts of helping the unfortunate youth were lost as I rushed back to Mima, hoping that nothing dreadful had happened.

“What’s happened?” I gasped as I got back onto the ward, feeling sick as well as breathless.

“Nothing, but they’re taking your little un’ down to imaging.” With that the nurse pushed the bed out of its place and down the ward.

“Can I help?” I asked walking alongside.

“Yeah, if you like.” I steered one side of the bed with the nurse pushing the other. As we walked down to the lift, she said, “I heard the paramedics pronounced her dead.”

“Who?”

“Your little girl.”

“Well they made a mistake, didn’t they?”

“I also heard you brought her back from the dead.”

“Just ill-founded rumours, I’d ignore them.”

“But you saved the life of a boy a couple of weeks ago, didn’t you?”

“Me? Nah, how could I save anyone’s life, most I can do is basic first aid. I leave patient care to you professionals. I’m a biologist not a physician.”

“There’s a rumour goin’ around that you’ve saved the life of that weirdo the gang beat up last night.”

“I’m a biologist, don’t do weird. What weirdo was that then?”

“You know, the he-she, they brought in last night, brain dead or whatever from a kicking by a group of thugs.”

“Oh, the transgendered person?”

“Yeah, the weirdo.”

“I have a five year old child who is transgendered, I’m not sure I like this conversation.”

“Oops, sorrreee,” she blushed and looked away, “I’ve got nothin’ against ‘em, just I think it’s a bit weird a bloke wantin’ to be a woman.”

“Why? Didn’t you want to be one? I know I did.”

“Yeah, but it’s natural innit, for you an’ me, I mean – but he’s like a bloke, and that don’t seem natchral, do it?”

“It might seem natural for her, I know it does for my little girl, she has never considered she was a boy and now she’s living as a girl, she has never been so happy.”

“I’m glad she’s happy, your daughter and that, but I still find it weird.”

“It’s only weird because we pay so much attention to what’s male and female; after all, we’re all people. Also we have so many stereotypical images pushed down our throats by the media – you have to look like this – to be successful, usually a size zero, stick insect with oversized boobs and a collagen enhanced pout.”

“Yeah, I know what ya mean, but you’ve got a nice figure, do the gym a lot, do ya?”

“No time for such things, I do have a bike I ride but not often enough and the last time I did, this happened,” I pointed at the bed.

“Oh, bad luck.”

The lift door opened and we pushed the bed along the corridor to a door marked, Department of Diagnostic Imaging. We went through the double doors and the nurse scurried off to report our arrival.

A young woman in a red and white uniform came out and said to me, “Are you the mum?”

“Yes, what do want me to do?”

“Have you seen one of these MRI machines?”

“Yes.”

“Is your little girl conscious?”

“Sort of.”

She gave me an old fashioned look. “Okay, can you tell her we’re going to put her into the machine, she’ll feel the little trolley move so we can scan her in the best position. Can you ask her to stay absolutely still, oh, and it’s very noisy but there is nothing to be afraid of.”

“May I stay with her?” I asked, “to keep her calm.”

“There’s some very powerful electromagnetic waves given off by the machine, and the noise is even worse standing near it.”

“I’ll take the risk.”

“I don’t know if I can allow it, it goes against all our health and safety policies.”

“I’m sure it does.”

“So I have to say no.”

“In which case, I don’t think I can allow you put my child through your machine.”

“But the doctor thinks it’s necessary.”

“So ask him if I can stay, he said I could.”

“I’m afraid he has no jurisdiction down here.”

“What if she moves?”

“We start again and again if necessary.”

“By which time she could be very upset.”

“She could.”

“So either I stay or we don’t do it.”

“We don’t do it, then. I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine, c’mon, Meems,” I bent down and lifted her off the bed and carried her out of the department and back up to the ward. “Wake up, sweetheart, I need you to talk to me.”

“Mummy, me’s tired.”

“Okay, sweetheart, I’m afraid we left your bed behind.” She yawned and I rubbed her back. “I love you so much, sweetheart.”

“I wuv you too, Mummy.” She rubbed her eyes and opened them. “Where are we, Mummy?”

“In the hospital.”

“I had some nasty dweams.”

“Yes, darling, but you’re safe now. I’m here.”

“I know, Mummy. Me’s saved now.”

“ I don’t know about saved, this isn’t a bank, it’s a hospital. Let’s find out if I can take you home. Can you walk?”

“Walk home, Mummy?”

“No, silly, just along here into the ward.” I put her down and held her hand.

“Cathy, thank God we found you,” said Sam, “Oh, Jemima, you feel better?”

“Yes, Dr Wose, Mummy wants to take me home.”

“What happened with the scanner?”

“They wouldn’t let me stay with her.”

“But I gave specific instructions…”

“They don’t comply with health and safety.”

“Bugger that. Let me give her an examination and maybe you can go home.” He took us off to a side room and checked all he could with great tenderness. He asked her if she had any feeling of sickness or headaches and she shook her head vigorously–“Well young lady, if you had, that would have hurt a bit. So I guess you can go home.”

“Hooway,” said Mima and danced around, then she kissed him and held her arms up for me to carry her.

“How was your other patient?” he asked me as we went back onto the ward.

“Doing okay, they’ll be okay, I think.”

“How do you do it?” He nodded towards Mima, “It baffles me, but I’m glad you do.”

“I was going to do some with the lad in the next cubicle, one of the attackers, he got hit by a bus or something.”

“There’s a rumour going around that he didn’t make it.”

“Didn’t make what?” I gasped knowing full well what the idiom meant.

“I think you know what I mean.”

“But I was going to try and help him,” I felt disappointed in myself and yet I’d chosen my priorities fairly, I thought. My children had to come first or I was failing as a mother, and that was my primary role here.

“I think fate intervened, sometimes even the best intentioned tzidkanit can be disappointed.

“A what?”

“Miracle worker,” he smiled at me, “take her home Saint Catherine.”

“What!” I exclaimed.

Thanks to Puddintane for the supply of Jewish mystical terms.