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| Discharged | |
| By Crayfish | ||||||||
| 04 June 2006 | ||||||||
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I have an idea for a story, and this would be the beginning part. Scene “Just follow the green tape down to Paediatrics then turn left and follow the red, which will take you to a blue line up by the cafeteria. If it’s still open, you can cross through and pass by the courtyard into Ward A. Then follow the purple line to the elevator, go to floor 1, and follow the green arrows to the lobby. You’re still mildly sedated, so get someone to drive you home and phone the hospital if you feel worse.” Green and red lines coiled together like DNA strands, mutating into purple and blue in Gerry’s mind. He was going to ask when the cafeteria closed, but the nurse with the pink scrubs had disappeared through the hinged doors. Feeling slightly queasy, he located the thin green line that ran along the wall, turning the corner at the end of the hall. He found it slightly sad that he probably wouldn’t be able to find his Great Aunt if he ever decided to visit. The anaesthetic side effects from his scans still coursed through his veins, randomly blurring his vision and weakening his step. He looked a mess. The directions flashed in his mind. Paediatrics. The red balloon decals on a door had triggered his memory. Resolving to ask for more directions, he budged through the door. A young girl with French braids and a white gown looked over at him quizzically from beside the window. “Are you Dr. Shultz?” she asked timidly. Wrong room. “No, no. Sorry.” He backed out of the door and tried to remember which line he was supposed to follow. Squeals and minor crashed filled the hall. He could hear Disney music. The yellow line looked inviting. “Are you trying to get out of here?” Someone asked and he whirled around sheepishly. “Just follow me. It’s not too difficult.” Mildly ashamed, he obliged and took off, concentrating on keeping a straight path behind the nurse. “Visiting or discharged?” “Oh, um neither. I – uh. Just checking some things out. Tests and scans and such…” He trailed off. What was the problem again? Memory. Harriet had said it was particularly bad at times. “Um, memory troubles.” “Oh.” The nurse frowned. “Alzheimer’s?” “God, I hope not. I’m sure it’s just stress.” Gerry was vaguely aware of someone calling his name. “Mr. Sanders! Mr. Sanders! Stop for a second.” A young male doctor with a shock of sandy hair and a thin face caught up with them. Gerry turned to stop for a second and was halted for much longer. “I’m sorry. You’ve got to come back.” He held up a sheet. “We’ve discovered a brain tumour.”
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