The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1331 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“How do you feel, Patrick?”

“My head hurts, and it’s bleeding–I don’t like blood,” she said and was promptly sick, thankfully on to the ground not over either of us. “My tongue feels funny.”

“I think you probably bit it when you hit the tree.”

“What am I doing here?”

“Come on, kiddo, let’s get you into the house and clean you up.” I lifted her up, yes her, reversion to boyhood could be somewhat problematical. I half carried her into the kitchen.

“What happened to her?” asked Julie as we entered the kitchen, seeing the blood on Trish’s face and the blackening eye.

“Why am I wearing girl’s clothes?”

“C’moff it, Trish, stop playing games.” Julie thought Trish was fooling about.

“My name is Patrick, and why am I wearing a skirt?”

“It’s a long story, kiddo,” I said and began wiping blood and dirt gently from the wound. “I think we’d better get this checked out at the QA. I don’t like head injuries.”

“Ouch that hurts.”

“I’m sorry about that, darling, but I need to clean you up. Do you need to go to the toilet before we leave for the hospital?”

“Yes, I need to wee.”

“Don’t forget you need to sit down to do it,” called Julie smirking. “What’s her game then?”

“I’m hoping it’s some form of temporary amnesia, caused by a concussion, but I think I’d better get her checked out.”

“Yeah best had, want me to come with you?”

“No, can you help Simon look after the others.”

“Yeah okay.”

Without anyone telling her, Trish had gone to the cloakroom, so was the amnesia wearing off?

“What happened to my dick?” she said when she returned.

“You’re a girl, Trish, they don’t have willies.”

“Look, I know I had one when I woke up this morning–so where is it? And why am I wearing this skirt?”

“Let’s go and get you checked out and I’ll try and explain while we drive.” She got in the car with me and sat holding an ice pack on her head wound.

“Where do you think we are?”

“In your car.”

“I mean which town?”

“I dunno, do I–you musta kidnapped me.”

“I can assure you I didn’t. Two or three years ago, I was fostering a little girl called Jemima who’d been hurt in a car accident and had been in hospital. She apparently got friendly with a boy called Patrick who preferred to call himself Patricia or Trish and he believed he was a girl.”

“That’s stupid.”

“He had been pushed down some stairs because the boys at the home where he was staying didn’t like him and he’d hurt his back or his head. Anyway he couldn’t walk or wouldn’t walk. Because I’d helped Mima recover from a similar injury, I was asked to have Patricia for a little while to see if I could help her.”

“You said her name was Patrick, like mine.” She gave me an odd look, “That was me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, d’you remember anything?”

“No.”

“Anyway, to cut a long story short, Trish recovered and wanted to stay with me permanently–so I adopted her. The fact that you have no penis is because you had an accident and it was pretty well severed. Seeing as you lived as a girl and went to a girl’s school, the surgeons thought it best to make you a girl down there. They couldn’t have saved your bits I’m afraid.”

“I don’t believe you, you’re lying.”

“You might call me many things but a liar isn’t one of them.”

I saw she was crying and then she stopped and began to close her eyes, dropping the ice pack. Sleeping after a head injury is a potentially bad sign, so I cranked up our speed and screamed into the A&E parking area nearly hitting an ambulance.

One of the paramedics, a man, came from the ambulance looking like he wanted words with me. Instead I opened the passenger door and got him to help me carry the now unconscious child into the emergency department.

“Not you again?” Said Ken Nicholls, until he saw Trish being carried by the paramedic. “What’s the matter with her?”

“She ran into a tree in the garden, she bit her tongue and whacked her head, and fell asleep a few minutes ago in the car coming over here.”

“She’s out cold–okay, X-ray and if necessary a scan–quick, if she’s got a haematoma we’re going to need a neurosurgeon or a helicopter.”

“Your magic not working?” he chipped at me.

“I’m not sure, but something I think I ought to tell you, is she came round from the bump saying she was a boy called Patrick.”

“Didn’t Mick do a gender reassignment after she got cut?”

“Yes.”

“Oops–that could be interesting–glad I’m not in your shoes, when she asks where it went.”

“She did and I told her just before she passed out.”

“I think I would too. Gotta go.” He rushed off to deal with his next patient and I phoned Simon and explained where I was.

“Bloody hell, babes, if you spend any more time there, they’ll be inviting you staff parties.”

He’d heard what had happened from Julie and was as concerned and bemused as the rest of us. We talked briefly about the other children and he agreed to sort them out with Julie and Jenny. I promised to let them know as soon I knew anything. I went and sat in the waiting room.

About twenty minutes later, Sam Rose appeared and walked over to me. “What’s this about Trish thinking she’s a boy?”

I shrugged and told him what had happened. He went off and ten minutes later called me through. “There’s no brain bleed or haematoma, so we’re not quite sure what the problem is–possibly just concussion and shock–her BP is a bit low.”

“Can I see her?”

“Of course–come through–if you’ve got any of that magic stuff with you, feel free to use it.”

I was taken to a cubicle where her little body was lying under a hospital blanket, she was breathing slowly and there was a pulse monitor attached to her finger. Her oxygen levels were low so they’d put a small mask over her nose and mouth. I felt physically sick seeing her there and wondering what was going on in her damaged head.

I sat and took her hand, the nurse slipped out of the curtain and left us alone. “Hello, Trish or Patrick, whichever one of you can hear me.” I squeezed her hand gently and felt her squeeze back. “Okay, it’s Mummy and I’ve come to lead you back to me so I can take you home, assuming you want to come. Wherever you are I want you to look for a blue or white light, which I’m sending to you. When you see it, squeeze my hand again.”

I was powering the energy into her as fast as I could and felt so scared. Head injuries and shock can be killers. I hoped the blue light wouldn’t let us down but she had been pushing her luck with it earlier.

I was jarred from my reverie by her squeezing my hand. “Good girl, now listen to my voice and follow the light and it will lead you back to me, my darling, just follow the light.”

I set to with extra effort, trying to pull down as much light as I could and focused it into her. At one point she began to cry and shouted, “Mummy, I can’t see you.”

“It’s okay, I’m here, sweetheart, Mummy’s here.” I sat on the edge of the bed and held her. “We all love you, Trish, so come on back to us.”

I don’t know how long I held on to her, but I was nodding off to sleep when I heard Sam Rose’s voice. “How’s she doing?”

“Um–“ I yawned, “I’m sorry, I nodded off then.”

He examined her and got a pupil response from shining his light in her eyes. Her oxygen level was up and so was her blood pressure, she seemed stable but still not conscious.

“I’m going to admit her.”

“Can I stay?”

“Once we get her settled, but not in the bed with her–the sister will have my guts for garters.”

I sat with her pushing in the blue light until a porter came and took her to the children’s ward, where she was placed in a side room. Once she was settled, I was allowed to sit beside her and talk to her.

It was getting on for midnight, when I heard her voice. “Mummy, where are you?”

“I’m here, Trish,” and I squeezed her hand.

“I can’t see, Mummy, I can’t see.” She sat bolt upright in the bed her eyes wide open. “I can’t see,” she screamed and a nurse ran in.