The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1456 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I spent the rest of the day being prodded and poked, having this measured or blood taken. I was changed–no that had happened some time earlier–I meant the bed was changed. I managed to feed myself–I had toast for breakfast–I could cope with that, although I suspect all the butter went on one slice. I could manage my tea as well, once they put it in my hands.

I racked my brains until I got so tired that I fell asleep. Then I was woken because someone had dropped in some clean nightdresses–mine apparently. The nurse helped me put it on. I was allowed to stand by the bed while she did so and I admit I felt very unsteady on my feet. I was allowed to lie back on the bed and apparently whoever had brought the nighties and toiletries in, also brought my MP3 player. Even unsighted I knew how to operate it though I have no idea how long I’d had it, but it made a change from hospital radio.

Placing the headphones on my bonce–I can’t use those stick in your ear ones–my ears are small inside and they hurt–I switched on the player and immediately I liked the music this Lady Cameron part of me had chosen. I felt relaxed for the first time since being here.

I woke for another cuppa–I was getting quite good at finding my mouth–I suppose it’s big enough. One of the tracks was a film score–Lord of the Rings–I remember going to see it–no them, there were three films and I went with someone, but who. He bought me popcorn–which I don’t really like that much–so he ate most of it.

He? Jesus–I must be queer–no hang on, I’m female–phew, that’s a relief. I wonder if it’s that Simon bloke who took me? Just how many men have I been out with–and what did I do with them?

“Mummy,” I heard a young voice shout and assumed it related to a visitor down the ward–I suppose I’m on a ward somewhere–bloody blindness is a real pain. Next thing a small hand grabbed hold of mine and I nearly jumped off the bed.

“Mummy–well, say something,” said a youngish voice–sounded like a girl, but I’m not very good with children.

“Um–hello–um–I can’t see–who are you?”

“It’s me, Trish, Mummy.”

“Hello Trish.”

“I love you, Mummy, when are you coming home–oh can I ’ave a grape?”

“No idea, help yourself.”

“Auntie Stella brought me an’ Catherine to see you.”

“Where is Auntie Stella?” I asked but there was the sound of chomping alongside me, so she’d found the grapes alright.

“I’m here, Cathy,” I felt and smelt someone come close and she pecked me on the cheek. “I’ve brought the baby, so you can give her a feed.”

“I can’t see to feed a baby.”

“Just open your nightie and pop out a boob, she’ll latch on to it.” Before I could protest, she pulled open the front of my night gown and pushed the baby on to me. Realising that babies need support, I somehow managed to get my arm round her and held her while she suckled me. Until she bit me–it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. Stella then helped her to find my other breast, she also passed me a cloth to wipe my breast.

“You’ve got some lovely bruising on your face, girl,” said Stella, and I winced. “You have no idea what happened then?”

“I can’t remember where I live let alone anything else.”

“With us, you live with us.”

“Who’s us exactly?”

“Me, an’ Livvie an’ Mima an’ Billie an’ Danny, an’ Julie an’ Catherine.”

“Ooh, is this your baby?” said a new female voice which I assumed was the nurse who attended me earlier.

“I suppose so.”

“’Ere gimme a cuddle,” I felt the baby being taken from me, “I’ll bring ’er back in a mo, just gonna show the girls.”

“Don’t shake her about too much she hasn’t been winded,” I called after her. Why did I remember that?

“Mummy, can you remember anything?”

“Not a thing, that’s Trish isn’t it?”

“Well yes,” said Stella curtly, “seeing as the baby is too young to say much, and I only brought one other with me–because she insisted. She’s missing you, and you’ve hardly taken any notice of her.”

“I let her eat my grapes,” I protested.

“That hardly counts–and to think of all the fuss you had to get her and keep her.”

“I couldn’t walk when I came to you, Mummy, and you fixed me–I can walk for miles now. You mended Mima, too–d’you remember?”

I shook my head, which didn’t hurt quite so much and felt the tears run down my face. The little girl handed me a tissue, “Don’t cry, Mummy.” She sounded as if she was going to burst into tears as well. This was awful.

I shook my head again and I could see her–it was fuzzy–but this pretty little thing stood in front of me and I’d never seen her before in my life. There were tears running down her face and she was holding onto a very attractive woman, who I supposed was Stella. I think she’s supposed to be Simon’s sister.

I looked down at myself, resplendent in a pale blue nightdress, with broderie anglaise on the bodice and the hem, my toenails were painted pink and my one foot was showing a lot of bruising. I looked at my hands–they didn’t look very masculine ones–and surely they can’t alter those can they?

“Can you see?” asked Stella excitedly.

“Yeah, sort of, it’s not very clear but yes I can see.”

“Did you fix her?” she asked Trish, who shrugged.

“Fix me? I think when I shook my head I must have shifted something." Just then, the nurse returned with the baby.

“She’s lovely–they all wanna take ’er ’ome with them.” She went to hand her to Stella and I held out my arms–and when she saw me do so, she got very excited and began squealing and cooing. I took her and held her to me, she of course went for my breast again and I let her find it and feed some more.

“You can’t remember being a woman or a mother, yet you took her like you’ve done it forever–obviously your maternal skills are innate.” I looked up at the door and a youngish thirty something woman stood there. Her voice was almost familiar.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” asked Stella.

“I’m Sylvia Pascoe, your sister’s psychiatrist.”

“She can see, Mummy can see,” said Trish excitedly.

“I think I’d better get Dr Evans to come and check her out.” The nurse walked quickly out of my room which was a single one, closing the door behind her.

“I wondered if you could see–the way you took that baby implied you could.”

“I hope you’re not going to try and tell me it was hysterical–I don’t have a womb, so it can’t be.” I smiled at her but it was a false one. The baby snuggled into me and went to sleep. I adjusted my grip to accommodate her.

“Some things you apparently don’t forget,” Dr Pascoe smirked at me.

“She’s good with babies,” offered Trish, “often looks after Auntie Stella’s for her too.”

“Especially baby dormice–eh, Cathy?” quipped Stella.

“Am I?”

“You have a favourite one, Mummy, don’t you?”

“I don’t know, Trish.”

“But you do, she’s called Spike,” the child began to cry. Stella put her arm round her but Trish wasn’t finished yet. “You supposed to be better now.”

“I feel a little better, the headache is easing.”

“See, I can do it as well as her,” insisted Trish.

“Do what?” asked the psychiatrist.

“Make her better–what else?” the child almost sneered at the doctor.