3. Click-click
It certainly didn’t look like a hospital room, or a cell, thought Morris as he looked around. It was more like a hotel room with a rather welcoming bed, thick carpet and colourful walls – none of your white starched bed linen and lino floors here.
He couldn’t see a TV anywhere but picked up the remote control that lay on the bed. ‘Point to main wall’ the sticker said. He did – and pushed the ‘On’ button.
A projector screen appeared from the ceiling and settled itself with a soothing hum halfway down the wall. To his delight Morris flicked through the channels of programmes he’d never seen before – although five minutes later his treble vision made him start to feel a bit queasy.
He turned to the large American style fridge in the corner – it was exactly as the Doctor had said – crammed full of chocolate bars and drinks, so he indulged and grabbed a handful of his favourite Choc Mallow Delights, threw himself onto the bed and started to eat.
After his fourth Choc Mallow Delight, Morris again started to feel a little bit sick, but they were so nice, so he ate the fifth one slowly, savouring the sweet with a relish and the assurance that even when he’d finished this one there were umpteen more waiting for him in the fridge.
As he came to the conclusion that being unwell at St Vernon’s really wasn’t as bad as all that his ears jumped as he heard something outside. He couldn’t be sure – the noise seemed muffled and far away but he hurried off the bed and pushed his ear to the door.
Then he heard shouts and footsteps up and down the corridor, some of which stopped outside his door accompanied by deep, heavy breathlessness.
Morris jumped back to his bed and threw the covers over him, at least that made him feel safe.
He listened as a key turned in the lock and someone wheezed, ‘Morris, Morris?’
Peering out Morris saw a large nurse filling the doorway and very little corridor light was able to get past her frame and into in his room. Everything about her was large; large red chubby cheeks, large brown curly hair and enormous hands, and feet.
He was taken aback however, when from her large mouth, a small whispering voice said, ‘Oh Hello Morris, I’m Matron…Matron Wisely.’
‘I just need to check your tongue please.’
Morris stuck out his tongue.
‘Brown…now that must be the chocolate, but, ah yes, hints of pink,’ she breathed, ‘and your skin tone looks to be getting back to normal…How’s your vision?’
He hadn’t though much of it but now she’d asked he realised that he was seeing clearer, not quite perfect, but there was only a ghostly haze around the Matron when he concentrated on her…it was a definite improvement, and he told her so.
‘Wonderful!’ she breezed. ‘You’re nearly on to stage two….that normally involves gas in some format or other.’
‘Gas?’
‘Yes, we’ll have to wait and see, and brace ourselves. We’ll all find out soon enough,’ she said.
The Matron checked Morris was comfortable and left the room telling him that dinner would be soon. He was to rest and proper tests would start in the morning.
‘Gas?’ said Morris to himself. What would that mean? Would he start floating? Would he expand? Maybe he would burp, or his eyes might pop out. None of them sounded much fun. He lay on the bed deep in thought.