Chapter 7 : Doctor Richardson, paediatric care bear

A while later a very jolly looking doctor bounced beside my bed carrying a group of books and folders across her chest. She was a short slim woman with a smile to big for her delicate features. She wore her chestnut hair up in a clip at the nape of her neck and she had rosy cheeks.

“Hello Mia, my name’s Dr. Helen Richardson and I’m one of the paediatric doctors. I’ve come here to see how you’re feeling after you’ve woken up.” Her voice vomited sunshine all over my bed. It was wrong but I instantly hated her. It seemed like she was happy by the fact that I was lying in a hospital bed after trying to end my own life. It seemed like she thought a big smile and some sweetness would cure all the bad things I ever felt even though in reality she had no idea. No one did.
“It’s Mi”

“Oh silly me,” She beamed giggling a fake laugh, “It is written down here.” I actually wanted to growl at her.
“So Mi, what brings you to us?” Idiot - She new better then I did why I was in here. I had been in a coma while a machine breathed for me; she’d been making the decisions for god knows how long. I glanced down to my heavily bandaged blood stained arm “That’s right!” Doctor Richardson chirped “You hurt your poor arm and had to have an operation, poor armie!” She pulled her face into an unnatural pout. It was becoming obvious to me that Doctor Richardson had skipped med school all together and graduated from care bare school instead. I glared at her.

“Why can’t I feel my arm?” I snapped a little bit more forcefully then I intended. I didn’t mean to be rude and I recoiled a little. Dr. Richardson’s face fell into a grimace. Something about it made my stomach lurch uncomfortably. Anything that could make this care bare grimace could not be good news.

“When you hurt your arm… The cut was pretty deep. You sliced a tendon and several nerves, even the artery. We repaired the artery and the tendon but with this type of injury some people may never get full use of their hand again, however you are young and we hope that in time some mobility will be recovered. But it will take time.” The news did not really register right away- my whole body and mind had been numb long before this so I just nodded. She looked surprised; maybe my indifference to becoming disabled crapped all over her care bear morals and attitudes. Maybe I didn’t care.

“Your liver’s Ok at the moment” She beamed at me again, obviously the coverings had been lifted again and she was back to her smiley self. A good liver function test was all it took to get things back on track apparently.
“We are still doing 6 hourly blood tests at the moment to make sure it’s all on track, but thanks to that.” She smiled up to one off the bags pumping stuff into my hand, “Your going to be OK”

I shrugged, once again the numbness that had protected me for so long replaced the gnawing sensation in my stomach. I didn’t want to be Ok. That wasn’t the original plan and now I didn’t have the use of my hand. My heart sunk.