GINGER AND BUBBLES

8| DISCONNECTED

"What happened to her, Dr. Dlamini? She's been like this for a week"

"It's difficult to say exactly what's wrong, Mr. Delheim, but we suspect it's mostly psychological."

"But she was fine last week. She spoke and-"

"When the bandages were removed the trauma was too much, and this is the result."

I trace the silhouette of the exposed side of her face. Her forehead. Eyebrows. Eyelashes. Nose and her high cheekbones. My fingers rest on her full lips. Her skin is sweet-tasting caramel-flavoured ice cream and her hair, shiny, soft liquorice.

"Can she hear us? Is she aware of our presence or her surroundings?"

"My guess? Yes. In this catatonic state, there's a disconnect between her mental function and her response to stimuli."

"What happens now?"

"There's nothing more we can do, but treat it with medication."

"Will she recover?"

"We're treating it for now. If her condition does not improve we'll reassess."

"What if she doesn't come out of this state?"

"Give it time. Never underestimate the healing benefits of time and care."

"The arm and the leg?"

"Will heal. The scars will take time."

"Her memory?

"Time."

"And the facial injuries?"

He sighs and bites his lower lip. "Irreversible. She'll need a prosthesis and reconstruction. Lots. That's why the support of family is invaluable."

"Of course."

"But, first things first." He opens a file and pulls out various documents and business cards. "These are the scripts for her medication and the dates for her follow-up visits with the respective specialists. The plasters from her arm and leg must come off so stick to those appointments. Those with the psychiatrist are crucial. Any questions?"

"Her face. Must I keep it covered like that?"

"Until she's ready to confront what's beneath it. That will be her biggest challenge going forward. Anything else?"

"It's been a long couple of weeks for her," I say.

Our eyes automatically drift in the direction of the quiet figure sitting upright in the steel-framed chair near the exit. She's wearing the clothes I brought from her flat.

"Well, that's it from our side. You are her only family and she'll need your help. I repeat, to predict progress at this stage is dicey, but call if you are uncertain or if anything out of the ordinary happens. We wish you all the best."

I am walking beside the wheelchair while the porter is pushing it in the direction of the entrance. The eyes in every head along the sterile passages pause on the stoic face. At the huge glass sliding doors, I ask him to wait while I bring her car to the entrance. I help her into the front seat.