The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2322 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I called Sam Rose’s secretary and after a quick chat with her I asked him to call me back, she said he was very busy but she’d ask him anyway. I was busy watching Trish snooze on the sofa when the phone rang. It was Sam.

I explained that she’d had this recurrent headache which was disturbing her enough to tell me about it. He told me to bring her in that afternoon at four. It was coming up to lunch time and I could hear David working in the kitchen. Lunch was a sandwich, which suited me fine. The girls grumbled until he produced Greek yoghurt with strawberries and mandarin orange pieces in it. Even I decided I felt hungry enough to have some.

I did some more ironing and at three o’ clock I went up to change and to coax Trish to have a little wash and dress before taking her to see Sam. She clearly wasn’t her usual self and I wondered if she was incubating something, but it had been going on for over a week. I was getting no feedback from her at all, even when I placed my hands on her head, she received no relief and I got no information.

While we were sitting waiting for Sam, she was cuddled into me and all sorts of awful things were going through my mind from a need for glasses to a brain tumour. She couldn’t explain where it was exactly other than to say her head felt tender and sore especially when she lay down. That was no help to my untrained diagnostic skills, hence us waiting for Dr Rose to use his experience and knowledge to help my child return to full health.

At ten past four, Sam called us. Trish was nearly asleep and I had to half walk half carry her to his room. She had a temperature. He examined her from head to foot and even rolled a glass over her belly as there appeared to be a small rash there.

He left her lying on the couch, apparently asleep and beckoned me through to the far end of his office. “I’m not a hundred per cent sure, but I’m fairly convinced she has viral meningitis.”

I felt my heart sink down into my boots. This was a killer of children and young people, or could cause loss of limbs or extremities like hands and feet. I felt my head swim and Sam had to help me to a chair I felt so shocked.

“I’m going to admit her, I’m going to give you a shot and I want your GP to inoculate everyone else in the house. I’ll call him and you can set up a time when you can get everyone there.”

“Everyone? Adults as well?”

“Just to be sure, yes. It can kill adults too.”

He rang someone and asked for two treatments of the vaccine to be sent up immediately. Ten minutes later he gave Trish a jab and then me. “If you get any side effects see your GP. I’m going to admit her, she’s becoming quite poorly.”

“I’ll ask Jacquie to bring in some nightwear and toiletries and some books and things.”

“I doubt she’s going to want books for a week or two.”

“Oh,” my heart sank into the concrete of the floors.

“She’s very poorly.”

“Can I stay while you admit her and settle her in?”

“I don’t see why not. If you’ve any of your blue stuff, now might be a good time to use it. The next twenty four to forty eight hours are going to be critical.”

“She’s going to be all right though, isn’t she?”

“I hope so, Cathy, I sincerely hope so.”

He carried her up to the children’s unit and the nurses busied themselves stripping her off to a nightdress they had there and putting her to bed. A drip was set up to keep her hydrated and antibiotics were given via it presumably to keep secondary infection risk down. Once she was put to bed, I was allowed to sit by her side and hold her hand. I felt sick with worry.

Jacquie arrived about an hour later with a card the other girls had signed and we displayed it on her locker. She was either asleep or unconscious, it was hard to tell. It turned out to be asleep, and she woke briefly, smiled at Jacquie and I and went back off. The nurse came and checked her temperature, she had one of those things on her finger for pulse and oxygen levels. As anticipated with a temperature, her pulse was raised.

A second nurse arrived and took a blood sample, Trish grumbled a little but went back to sleep. I bathed her face with a cool flannel, she looked very hot. She was, it was over a hundred in Fahrenheit. I sat beside her and took her hand and went into meditation mode trying to draw down enough energy to resolve this crisis.

Trish and I were walking through a lovely garden. “I’m going to die, aren’t I, Mummy?”

I turned and looked around and she faded from my sight. I screamed and a nurse came in to see what was happening. Jacquie had fallen asleep and she jumped so much she nearly fell off her chair.

“What’s happening?” asked the young staff nurse and I recognised her Bristol accent.

“I nodded off and had a bad dream.” I blushed profusely.

Trish looked over at me and smiled weakly. “It wasn’t a dream, Mummy.”

“What d’you mean?” I asked but she slipped into sleep again.

“What did she mean?”asked Jacquie in barely a whisper.

“She thinks she’s going to die.”

“Oh, Mummy, don’t let her—you’ve got to stop it.”

I know what I’ve got to try and stop, the only problem being—how?