The Change

Chapter 1

Have you ever had that moment when you're freefalling? When you feel your world stop, when things become too much. And you want someone to catch you at the bottom, yes?

For me, there was no one there who would help soften the fall.

It was just me.

It began on a Thursday night. I know what you're thinking: wow, what a crappy night for something bad to happen! I know exactly what you mean, I had to face through four days of horrendous study, for this to then happen. And I didn't even get to enjoy my weekend. 

It began at 6:01 pm.

I don't know why that certain piece of information stuck with me, but it did. My last image was of the clock, the stinky, ripped to pieces fish clock, located in my auntie's front room. It was safe to say that I hated that clock, but at this current moment in time, it seemed to represent that me. It felt as though I had been ripped to pieces and then stuck together by the doctors. Pretty ironic.

Parts of that night have disappeared from my memory altogether, and the doctors don't know if I'll ever regain them. 'It's due to stress' apparently; wasn't that such a surprise with the family I had?

So the day after I wake up, still pretty drowsy from all the sedatives (I'm told that I am a real screamer when being injected) they pumped into my body, I see that I'm in the kids department, which I'm fine with. I mean, I know I'm 17, but I like to see teddy bears and yellow ducks as much as the next person. In the corner of my eye there's a man singing with a ukulele to a kid who has a sparkly butterfly bandana around her head. As I look around the room, I see that everyone else is in pretty much the same state, looking as if they have just come out of important surgery. But not me, right?

Wrong. In fact, when I get handed a mirror so that I can study my appearance, I look the worst. There's huge purple bruises on my face and shoulders due to when I fell over in the bathroom on Thursday night. In addition to my canvas face, I have drips from both wrists, and a bandage covering all of my chest. It hurts to move, but I can't help it- a girls gotta wee. Almost immediately, pain shoots up the entirety of my chest until I lie back down and place the oxygen mask back over my face. A few minutes later, I'm informed that I do not need to move in order to deposit myself and that the bed is like a commode.

When the nurse exists the ward, and my face turns flaming red, I attract many stares from both patients and visitors alike. This get me thinking: where are all my visitors?

My answer comes later, in the form of a small army known as my family. With cards and balloons as their choice of weapons, they break the barricade (the nurse's room) to race over to me.

But then they stop.

I knew that they would be shocked at my face, but I didn't know that it would be this bad. Immediately, the adults send one of my uncles and the little kids out of the ward and pull the curtains around my bed. The chairs beside me are immediately filled, and the rest of them spread out at the bottom. Somebody picks up my chart that I have yet to see and let's out a small wince. That fills me with confidence.

My mother grasps my hand, before speaking soft, gentle, comforting words in my ear. By now, the chart has been passed around, but I still have no idea what is wrong with me.

It turns out that I won't have long to wait as moments later a doctor pushes back part of the matt blue curtain and steps inside. Within minutes, she has everyone leaving to wait until our discussion is over, and everyone agrees. This is when I know that I should be worried, as my family never willingly does anything else that someone asks; the nerves in my stomach seem to grow even bigger from that one gesture.

She gave me a look, not one of pity but one which resembles determination. I know then, that whatever she has to say, that I won't break down in front of her.

"Hello" She says, her voice a little off monotone.

I don't reply, right now wasting my time with greetings isn't helping my confidence.

"I'm not a doctor that beats around the bush, unfortunately for you, so I'm going to head straight into it" I take a deep breath. "You aren't dying. In fact, if you follow my advice, you won't for a very long time" The sigh leaves my body straight away as I almost sink into the bed.

"You have a heart condition. It's not a strong one, but it could be. It wouldn't have been triggered until your later years if you hadn't have been so stressed. I'm not going to ask you if you want to talk about it, because if you didn't before, you won't want to now. So instead, I'm going to describe my remedy for you"

She drags the chair to the foot of my bed, before settling down.

"I'm sending you to a place by the seaside, down south. It's a lovely place, enough for you to relax. You can still run, jog, climb, but not in excess amounts. I am getting you an oxygen tank to take with you, so that you will be prepared if something does require it. Now, you live at home with your family, correct?"

I nod my head slowly.

"Well, I have a feeling that they were the cause of your problem. And that settles it for me: you aren't going with them. Instead, I'll fix you up with somewhere nice to stay. I won't set a time limit on it, all I ask is that you go to a weekly meeting where a colleague of mine there will talk to you about how your feeling. When I decide you're ready, I'll bring you home. Any questions?"

I shake my head, trying desperately not to let my jaw hang open with all the information that I've just been given.

"Great. Well, you'll spend two more weeks in the hospital before you go home for a day to pack up and say the final goodbyes. A car will come to pick you up outside your home, but don't worry I'll give all the details to your parents outside in a few minutes. Thank you for your cooperation."

As swiftly as she came, she exited the makeshift room.

The oxygen mask was placed back over my face while I contemplated what she had just informed me oh so calmly; my mind was still in turmoil over the fact that my heart wasn't up to state. Whilst I was in deep thought, a nurse had pushed the curtain back, so that I could see the other patients again. I could also see the shocked look of my mother through the lip marked window. Unfortunately, this also meant that everyone else could see it to.

The nurse that must have pulled back my curtains walked through the doors located at the other side of the ward but returned a short while later, leading a women, a man and a boy who looked my age through the beds to the door which would lead to the corridor my mother was occupying.

Instantaneously, our eyes met. His seemed to radiate anger, and in retaliation, I slightly raised an eyebrow. A second later, he had disappeared but the memory of his eyes had not.

Who was he?