Easy As Falling Off A Bike
by Angharad (Bonzi's out clubbing).
part: 311

We all spent a very difficult night, when sleep came, it was fitful and anything but refreshing. I awoke once crying, don't ask me why, I can't remember what I was dreaming about, but I assume Stella may have been involved in it.

At the earliest opportunity, we waited until nearly nine o'clock, we called the ICU and asked for a report on Stella. She was stable, quite poorly, and visiting would be restricted because of it.

"Cathy, why don't you go for a ride on your bike?" suggested Tom.

"I don't honestly know if I have the energy." I sat down and felt drained.

"Isn't exercise supposed to build energy levels if practised regularly?"

"So they say." I still wasn't buying it. Strange because a couple of days ago, that was all I could think of.

Simon, who had been out in the garden with Kiki came out into the room. "It's quite mild out today, how about a walk or something?"

"I've been trying to encourage her to wipe the cobwebs off her bike."

"Tom, that is an excellent idea, c'mon girl get yer lycra on."

"I really don't feel like it."

"You will when you're out."

"What happens if you know what starts to feel sore from the saddle?" I tried the ultimate obstacle.

"I'll kiss it better for you," volunteered Simon, which had Tom sniggering and me blushing.

"You're not going to take no for an answer are you?"

"Depends upon the question." Simon was waxing lyrical despite his tiredness, and if I didn't do something to stop him, we'd either get a soliloquy from Hamlet or a Monty Python sketch. I left the room and went to find some cycling kit. Ten minutes later he came to get his.

I wore some bib tights to keep my legs warm and hoped the chamois would protect the tender spot. I sat down to put on my shoes, the velcro making a zipping sound as I detached it and then put it back, after which I tightened up the ratchet on the top strap. Finally, I grabbed my jacket and helmet and sun glasses; I never ride without some sort of eye protection. A fly in the eye hurts more than it does in the ointment.

I tied back my hair and popped on a bit of lippy, my face looked quite pale without my regular outdoor exploits. The paleness making the dark rings under my eyes look darker. Just what I needed.

Some few minutes later we clomped out to the garage and checked over the bikes, the Specialized was closest, so I grabbed it and checked the tyres. Simon did the pumping and it didn't take long before we were outside and blinking in the February sunshine.

It did feel good to be back on a bike, and I soon clipped in my cleats and was moving along at a steady fifteen miles per hour. Simon was just behind me. I was aware of the pressure from the saddle, but so far so good. It was nearly two months, so about time it healed.

We did about ten miles in a circular route where I avoided any steep hills or really busy roads, which is quite an achievement in Portsmouth. Simon had stayed with me, and I let him win the race back to the house, content to make it home safely.

After showering and making a simple lunch of cheese and a French stick I nipped out and got from our local baker's shop, we went off to see Stella.

She was sleeping when we got there, I so wanted to wake her with a kiss, but common sense suggested it could also shock her, which didn't seem like a very clever idea.

"Hello Stella," we both said from the bottom of the bed. She opened her eyes as if too tired to be really bothered about it. It seemed to take her a moment to focus, she smile weakly then seemed to slip back into her slumber. I went and sat by the bed and reached to squeeze her hand. Her eyes opened and closed briefly.

I glanced at all the various machines and monitors around her like the interior of some space craft. "We went for a ride on the bikes today, it was rather nice."

The eyes opened and shut again and the hint of a smile. Simon won the race back, but only because I let him."

"That's not true," he protested, "I won it fair and square."

"Yeah, look out, Mark Cavendish, Sprinting Simon is about." I laughed and Stella's mouth crinkled slightly at the corners, looked like she agreed with me.

We stayed for about twenty minutes leaving when the Sister looked at her watch and then tapped it with her finger. As we left I spoke with the senior nurse.

"How is she doing?"

"She's doing alright, her wrists are looking angry but I don't think they're infected and the heart is okay."

"So how long will she be here?"

"At about seven thousand a day, not a moment longer than she needs."

"Geez, you could get a Cannondale for that or a Scott Addict."

"Whatever they are when they are at home?" said the nurse incredulously.

"Bicycles," offered Simon, "meet the female equivalent of Lance Armstrong."

"Who?"

"Tour de France rider."

"Sorry Mr Cameron, but that doesn't enlighten me much."

"You've surely heard of the Tour de France?" Simon asked, looking astonished.

"Well yes, I don't live on the moon."

"Well Lance Armstrong has won it seven times."

"Is that good?" she asked.

Who was this so called, 'Angel of Mercy', and had she arrived in the last shower of rain?

"It verges on miraculous," I suggested.

"He was never caught doping," said Simon firmly.

"Caught, being the operative word," I argued.

"Do you think he used performance enhancing drugs then?" asked our latter day Florence Nightingale.

"Some consider the achievement a little too perfect," I said.

"Do you?" she asked.

"I don't have an opinion."

"Yes you do," countered Simon, "You think it was too good to be true."

"I have an open mind, Simon, as you said, he was never caught doping so we have to give him the benefit of the doubt."

"Well I think he was clean, unlike some of the other winners."

"I'm sure this lady has loads to do, rather than stand here arguing the toss about cheats in France. Oh, I've put her clean nighties and toiletries in her locker," I mentioned as we were leaving.

"Good, it helps patients if they're wearing their own clothes and using their own toiletries."

With that we left, feeling slightly more optimistic about our favourite nurse specialist.