The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2475 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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After Maria, Cate’s natural mother, had nearly died in our cloakroom and I’d had to break in through the ceiling, we’d had the door modified. It could be unlocked from the outside with a screwdriver simply turning a screw on the lock. The door also opened outwards so anyone collapsing will no longer block it. I wasn’t really thinking of these things as I fought for consciousness, but I did manage to flop back against the cistern leaning towards the wall nearest the side of the toilet, which might just stop me falling off and braining myself.

According to Simon, they didn’t really miss me until the bus arrived to take us to the hotel. Then he called me and of course got no reply. Children were sent in various directions to look for me as the driver began to show irritation before remembering who he was going to be transporting.

Eventually someone either wanted to use the loo or they thought to look there when it was noticed the door was locked and I was the only one missing. Si had worked out that as I’d changed my clothes to go, I wasn’t being funny or hiding. He sent Danni to get a large screwdriver from the kitchen drawer and then proceeded to unlock the door, where he found me sprawled on the toilet with blood still dripping from my vagina. Stella was sent for and between them they cleaned me up and Stella managed to shove some gauze or other packing up inside me to try and reduce the flow, Tom having been instructed to call the paramedics.

Si did offer for the others to go to the hotel with Tom and Jacquie in charge but no one had any appetite after learning of my plight. The paramedics arrived and as they couldn’t rouse me, I was taken to hospital on a blue-lighter, with Stella as my escort, Si followed behind in my car.

Then according to Stella, Si beat himself up for his over enthusiastic penetration of me the previous night. Of course the casualty officer had to be told of my gender history before he tried to do anything, so Stella had come into the hospital with me, having phoned Mr O’Rourke en route. Thankfully, he was at home and rushed in to see what had happened.

It took a MRI scan to show that my vaginal tissues had been ruptured and a blood vessel in the abdomen had broken which had clotted over but my hot bath had disturbed the clot and it was simply needing the motion of walking about to set it off. It was estimated I’d lost up to a litre of blood and I’d need a vaginal repair as well. As I was unconscious but stable, O’Rourke decided to operate, Stella being used as his theatre sister, given her special interest in things urological and her relationship to me.

I’m told I was in theatre for three or more hours as the surgeon worked to repair the tear with keyhole techniques, so I now have three new holes in my lower abdomen, none of which has a piercing in them. I also ended up with two units of blood. So it was bit like an engine service and oil change.

While all this was going on, Si spent the time walking up and down outside instead of wearing out the lino in the waiting area. Stella recounted how when she went to find him he was accompanied by Julie, Sammi, Phoebe, Danni, Trish, Livvie and Meems. The only reason Jacquie and Tom weren’t there was because they stayed behind to look after the four little ones—someone had to.

Stella also told me that she had to get special permission for them all to come and see me once I’d been transferred to a ward, where Julie, Danni and Trish set about healing me while the others all watched.

Because of this I woke up fit as a fiddle and went home that evening—doh! It doesn’t work like that; I’m sure the healing helped both the donors because they felt they were able to try and do something. It probably helped those assembled, because they believed it would help and I’m sure I got some benefit too. Mr O’Rourke and his anaesthetist Dr Lake, got a case of good wine each and the paramedics got a donation towards their Christmas party, which would have saved them a few pounds on their table wines. Simon can be a very generous person.

He wasn’t quite as fond of Mr O’Rourke’s advice when they met the next day. He was told no sex for at least six weeks—leastways, not with his wife. I’m glad I didn’t hear it, I’d have thumped both of them.

The first time I was able to make sense of anything was on the Monday morning when I asked a nurse for a drink. I knew I was in hospital, in a single room, in one of my own nightdresses. I could barely move and I had a catheter in place plus a dressing a bit like that which I had when my original surgery was done. I slept quite a bit on and off, presumably due to the anaesthetic being woken by Simon and Sammi as they went off to work a little later than usual and once he’d been assured I was going to be okay.

An irritated nurse told me she had more phone enquiries for me than the rest of the ward put together, and that she didn’t believe half of them were my children. She had a shock when she learned I had a dozen—no wonder I’d prolapsed and haemorrhaged—which was what they’d been told. She was obviously new to the ward and possibly the hospital.

Mr O’Rourke visited at nine, after I’d had some breakfast—a cup of tea. I was on low residue diet for a couple of days until he was sure his patch would hold. I assured him it would and he smiled back at me, telling me that his wife sent her regards as well. It took me a moment to work out what he meant—then remembered he’d married my psychiatrist Anne Thomas. He roared when the penny dropped and I told him. He laughed again when I told him my brain was working better since he’d repaired the hole in my fanny, obviously ideas had been leaking out through it.

The prize however came from Stella who when she visited just before starting her clinic, sang gently, “There’s a hole in my fuck-it...” I was quite concerned that my giggling would set off another bleed.

Satisfied I was healing well, I was discharged home because Stella was there to keep an eye on me in the evenings. Delia came to visit and brought me a pile of stuff to sign and Alan sent me a DVD of the first half of the harvest mouse film. His editing and continuity work was brilliant. Des was a better cameraman but Alan was tops as a finishing technician. His note said he’d have the rest done by early November and the BBC wanted it for a Christmas showing, where the dormouse would get another showing the day before. Erin had negotiated good fees and we’d both do quite well out of it.

So here I am, nearly a week later sitting about at home reading through papers from my office because Tom will not allow me to go back there. I pointed out that I was a professor and he was preventing me running my department. I thought he was going to become apoplectic at one point.

“Whose department?” he said loudly.

“Mine,” I replied with less certainty than I hoped I was showing.

“Whose department?” he asked again.

“Mine,” I replied again. I wasn’t going to say it was his really, so I could keep this up as long as he could.

Instead of the third challenge, he beamed a smile, “Aye, jest ye mind it well, ye impudent hussy.”

“I will,” I replied, “I’m looking after it for a very dear friend.”

“Oh aye, an’ wha’d that be?” he smiled.

“Spike,” I smirked back.

“Och that tree rat o’ yers, ye scunner.”