The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1454 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I hate being sick–you know literally, not being ill, although some people use that as a euphemism for puking their hearts up. I had just been sick, disgorged contents of stomach, vomited, had a rainbow or Technicolor yawn, hueed, upchucked, been ill–I expect you get the idea. My head was pounding, felt like that bloody blacksmith had come back from lunch.

I had no idea where I was nor who was helping me–you see–well I couldn’t, I couldn’t open my eyes. So I could have been anywhere–aboard the Tardis for all I knew, though with my luck, Titanic would have been more likely. I heard someone calling ‘Doctor’ so it could definitely be the Tardis–that’s okay then, I hope he’s got his sonic wotsit so he can sort out my head–feels like I have more than a screw loose, my whole stupid head feels loose.

“Gonna be sick,” I heard my voice say and it made me jump.

“Well don’t do it all over me this time, Lady Cameron.”

“Who’s this Lady Cameron? The doctor? I’m Charlie Watts, wannabe biologist.”

I felt my stomach heave again and the protests, “No, in the pot you silly woman.”

Woman, what woman? Maybe she’s in the next bed–I assume I’m in hospital–I’m lying down and I don’t think it’s on the floor. People around me–who–God knows but they seem to be trying to help me. One of them is a doctor–hospital is favourite. At least my brain is sort of functioning.

“Okay, rest there a minute luv, we’re going to send you for some X-rays, you’ve taken quite a bash on the noggin.”

That might explain the head ache–hang about–he just called me luv? Must be gay, oh well, I don’t care–just wanna sleep, get rid of this headache. I felt myself being pushed along–I was still lying down but it felt strange–I still couldn’t see anything.

Pushed poked pulled and X-rayed, why did they ask me if I was pregnant? Men don’t have babies do they? I was left to lie for a short time then I was manhandled onto a very uncomfortable bed thing and told to lie as still as I could, then they started up a lawn mower right by my head–the noise went on and on. I was at screaming pitch by the time it stopped. I was moved again and sick again. Why did they call me a dirty girl? I feel like I’m in some parallel universe–I’m Charlie Watts, biology post grad student–I think–I think I got my degree–my head hurts too much.

I was eventually placed in a bed–I still couldn’t see, but I could feel sheets being pulled up over me. “Lady Cameron, we’re going to mount a drip and that will include some pain killer. As soon as we’ve finished your husband can come into see you.”

Must be sharing a room with some Lady muck or other–geez, the NHS must be strapped for cash if they’re sharing rooms with mixed patients–or suddenly very progressive–nah, it’s the NHS–besides, Lady Muck is probably about seventy five and in hospital because she swallowed her tiara, or something equally obscene.

“Hi Babes, I brought you some flowers,” said a man’s voice and then he kissed me. Bloody hell–I nearly crapped myself–only I think I’d emptied my guts the other way.

“We were all so worried when you didn’t come home, thank goodness for the tracking devices, though yours wasn’t sending too much of a signal–you’d think Porsche’s would be a bit tougher than cheapo four by fours, wouldn’t you?”

He must have been talking to the woman in the room–I don’t have a 4x4 nor would I want one–well okay they could be useful for fieldwork, but gimme a good ol’ British Land Rover any day, not some over-priced German tank.

“They say you’ve had an awful crack on the head, girl–mind you they showed me a photo of the car, total write off, but I think the insurance will cover it.” I felt a hand placed on mine and I jumped. “Cathy, it’s only me, Simon–you’re quite safe.”

In jumping I jerked my head and the pain shot through me, I felt tears run down my cheeks.

“Don’t cry, my darling, we’re just so pleased you’re alive, can you talk?”

I felt his hand on mine again, he was so gentle and his hand felt huge. I cleared my throat and he offered me a drink, I felt a straw being placed in my mouth and I sipped the cool water. It made gurgling noises as it went down my gullet.

“How d’you feel, babes?”

“Who are you?” I said croakily.

“What? I’m your husband, Simon, you’re my wife, Catherine.”

Oh shit! Does this guy need glasses, or what? Here I am, a bloke, lying here–okay, probably in one of those horrible hospital gowns–and he thinks I’m his wife? What is he, demented or something?

“My name’s Charles,” I said in a whisper–my throat felt sore.

“No, Cathy, it used to be don’t you remember? You’re Cathy now, we got married last year and we have seven children.”

Seven kids–must be talking about a litter of puppies or kittens–silly old fool, though he doesn’t sound that old.

“Excuse me, Lord Cameron, we need the doctor to look at her again.” This was a woman’s voice.

“I’ll see you later, Cathy,” he pecked me on the cheek and left.

“Your husband is very nice, Lady Cameron, he’s brought you some terrific flowers. Okay, lie back, the doctor’s here to see you.”

“Nurse,” I whispered–my throat felt so dry and sore.

“Yes?”

“Why does everyone think I’m a woman?”

“Because you are. Now just relax, here’s the doctor.”

I’m a woman? I wasn’t before I came here–was I? The doctor introduced himself although I wasn’t listening to anything he said. I felt like I’d been caught in one of those spooky stories where people are shocked out of their bodies and into someone else’s. Car accident? I don’t have a car, just a bike–so maybe that’s what happened–some rich biddy hit me off my bike and crashed at the same time and we swapped bodies? Sure, and my name is Father Christmas.

“Lady Cameron, there is some slight swelling of the brain which is pressing upon one of the centres of vision, which is why you can’t see anything. I think the swelling will reduce–we’ll give it another twenty four hours–if it isn’t resolved, we might have to operate–I’ve prescribed some drugs to help reduce the swelling and take the pain away–I need you to rest, so just lie quietly and try to sleep if you can. Sorry about the peeping, that’s just a machine monitoring your vitals. I’ll be in to see you tomorrow.”

I tried to rest–well, my body did, but my mind was racing. How could they imagine I’m a woman–if I’m in a hospital gown they must have noticed that and my flat chest. I moved my arm–the one without the drip in it–Bloody hell! I’ve got tits. I felt down below–oh shit–there’s a catheter coming out of somewhere and it sure ain’t a willie. Either I am more screwed up than I thought, or someone has done a number on my–you know what. I felt a cold shiver run up and down my spine–what had happened to me? I’d rest now and try and get some answers in the morning.