Visitation - Reality (book 1 of 2)

“Oh those lilting strains of the Merry Widow”

“Franz Lehar, how lovely to the ear and gentle on the soul. That must be the Palm Court Orchestra playing. What a lovely way to wake up in the morning, in a soft warm bed with soft pillows, a loose quilt and beautiful, gentle music.”

“But hang on a moment sunshine, the Palm Court Orchestra was in the 50’s during my childhood, I must be dreaming. No I'm not dreaming. I can definitely hear the gentle music. I can't open my eyes; why open them, this is nice, enjoy yourself.”

“Whoa! Why would Hazel be playing me music to wake up to and, what’s more, this early in the morning?”

I managed to roll over in the softness and scent of the freshly laundered pillow and force my eyes into a squint. The light this morning was quite bright and I could not open my eyelids at all properly. I turned away from the brightness, or so I thought, and very nearly fell out of bed. I was on my own in a single bed, the bedroom was the wrong colour, the window wasn’t where it should be and there was no light streaming through it. I managed to force my eyes open fully, well nearly. I did not have a hangover, so I hadn’t been drinking, I was definitely awake and I didn’t remember booking into any hotel but why was I in a single bed?

I must be dreaming. I was starting to panic, this was not a bad dream but much worse; this was real.

“Where the hell am I and what's going on?”

was wearing a hospital type smock and I normally sleep commando.

“What am I doing in hospital, have I been in an accident?”

I couldn’t remember.

“Have I been banged on the head? Am I injured somehow?”

I quickly ran my thoughts over myself, testing and checking each finger, toe and everything else; I could find no odd sensations, aches or pains. I was not injured but my head was not operating correctly, not yet. I had to try to rationalise what was going on and where I was.

The room was brightly lit, like a hospital room, but I still couldn’t see where the light was coming from.

There was the clipboard at the bottom of the bed and a cabinet alongside me. Looking over the pillows, there was my name on a notice board.

“My God, I am in hospital, what the hell has happened?”

I didn’t feel unwell or hurt; in fact I had never felt better. Nothing ached, so I couldn’t have been laid in the bed for very long, but how did I get here, who put me in the bed? The room was nicely warm and lit; the wall a gentle sort of pastel cream colour with a painting of sorts hanging from it and the bed was incredibly comfortable.

“What kind of hospital is this?”

I looked towards the window and through the vertical blinds. I could see snow gently falling in the gloomy greyness.

“It cannot be winter, why is it snowing?” I queried myself.

Something told me that it was still early in the year, April I sort of thought. I tried hard to remember.

“A taxi driver who collected us from home on a cold, damp early morning, to catch a flight leaving from Manchester.”

I had a certain feeling that the taxi driver was more than that, but I couldn’t quite pin down what. But why am I recalling a taxi driver? My head was empty. I had to start with the basics. I knew my name was Ian. I knew my wife’s name, she was called Hazel. I had a sort of memory of home, but that seemed to be all; I couldn't recall where I lived. My head didn’t hurt, I could not feel any bumps or bandages, but it wasn’t working properly.

I checked the window again. It was still snowing and the music was still playing in the background.

“Climate change, was that it? But not snow in April surely.”

I dismissed these thoughts quickly but remained confused.The snow appeared to be falling heavily while the light outside was failing fast.

“Where are the lights in this room? I can't see where the lights are.”

The confusion was building in these unfamiliar surroundings and I could feel a sense of panic coming on. If this was a dream, it was bloody realistic.

“For Christ’s sake, wake up, come on wake up, this is not a dream,” I shouted out loud to myself..

This situation was getting its grip on me, I had just woken up, the sensory input was too great, I was confused and I didn’t like it. I was losing control rapidly.

“Wake up, come on, wake up you sod,” echoed through my mind.

“Good morning Sir and how are we today?”

My eyes shot round from their view through the window, to see what I assumed was a nurse, in a sort of nurse’s uniform, but not, if you know what I mean. I’m sure you don’t, I didn’t, I didn’t know what I was saying or thinking.

“Oh God wake up, come on man, and get a grip,” echoed again through my thoughts.

“Gently Sir, you must be a little confused, I’m sure,” the nurse offered.

That was an understatement, but it came from a very real person. I was becoming convinced that I was not dreaming, but where was I, what was going on, but why couldn’t I remember?

“Just sit on the edge of the bed, if you wish," she suggested. "I’ll put the tray down on your locker, help yourself, you must be hungry and thirsty by now. You have been with us a long while.”

“What the hell was she talking about? She responded to my wake up call, how could she?”

“Gently Sir, all will be explained in due course.”

“She did it again! How is she doing this?"

My confusion increased as surely as my heart rate. I was starting to become somewhere between angry and frustrated and also impatient for a sensible understanding of where I was and what was going on. This was not the sort of scenario I was used to; I seemed to know that somehow, but how? I couldn’t think straight.

“Where’s a Doctor when you need one?”

“The Doctor will be with you very shortly Sir. We are all aware that you have woken up and he is hurrying here to meet you as quickly as possible.”

“She's done it again!”

“Try the food, it’s hot and quite tasty,” she went on. “I’m sure you will enjoy the fruit juice; that’s one of the new types, a variation on a very old fruit, developed a few months ago, it’s really delicious.”

The anonymous nurse turned and walked towards the door that I had not seen her come through. She paused, and then turned to me.

“Tell me,” she said, “what do you make of the room? This is one of the latest designs and you’re very privileged to be amongst the first to stay here.”

This was a genuine question and she paused for an answer. Which hospital nurses ask their patients about the décor?

“Pleasant,” I stuttered out, “but where in hell am I?”

“Now, now, Sir, please don’t be upset or angry, there’s really no need to be, or to speak like that.”

I managed a “Sorry,” as an automatic apology and she took it well with a smile.

“Try to eat something, you will really feel much better and that is essential right now. All your worries and doubts, which I’m sure you have, will ease with some solid food inside. As soon as the Doctor arrives all will be explained. Have a nice day; really.”

At that she walked through the door, which closed automatically behind her. I couldn’t see where the door ended and the wall started, it was all completely smooth and seamless.

I sat wondering what kind of hospital this was, mad thoughts were spinning in my head. Was I in the nut-house, had I lost the plot?

“Hell, I’ve not been sectioned have I?”

Eat, I had to eat, she was right. I was starving and in times of crisis, with the stomach tensing up, I knew that eating can be one of the best things to do. I followed my nose which had latched on to the rather delicious smell of what looked remarkably like stew or hot-pot. It was something of the type that Hazel was expert at creating although the steamy smell wafting here was a little different but pleasantly delicious none-the-less.

I dipped my fork in, a real fork of metal and not the plastic sort normally served up in these situations. I guessed that I might be travelling first class although, of course, I was travelling nowhere as far as I knew. The chunk of meat so tender it was almost falling off the fork I brought tentatively to my lips.

“Ye Gods, this is really tasty.”

She had been right, but again I doubted what kind of hospital this might be, the food was really nice; not my memory of hospital food.

“HOSPITAL FOOD.”

I remembered. My eyes were wide open, the grey matter was starting to wake up and just that little snippet had made me feel a little better. I tried the fruit juice and took a small sip. If as the nurse said, I had been in bed for a while, my lips should be dry and a little cracked perhaps, but they were not.

The taste of the fruit juice was incredible, like nothing I had tasted before, what kind of fruit did that come from? The flavour was unique, or was it me unable to identify the mixture of flavours. There was definitely something like orange in there, mango which I detected, possibly apple and even pineapple, possibly goodness knows what but so pleasant and nicely chilled.

The last time I had that sort of intense sensation was when I awoke after several days cold turkey from a severe habit of an allegedly innocuous drug, nicotine. As a young man I had collapsed with bronchitis brought on by cigarette smoking and came out of the antibiotic induced sleep some three days later. I had recognized my orange juice then, very strong, but none-the–less orange. What was I drinking now? This wasn’t orange, pineapple or even apple, I couldn’t pin down the flavour, perhaps I was certain there was a hint of mango, I just could not be sure; this was strange but delightfully so.

“Is my head that far gone, can I not recognise a simple flavour?”

"I had remembered something again, albeit a strange snippet. I was coming to the conclusion that something must have happened to my head, I must have had some sort of accident and banged it, losing my memory and causing this confusion. I tried to remember but nothing else came back. Still I had a feeling that I was on the right path to remembering everything somehow. I didn’t know how that would be, but the feeling was there.

“Strange, very strange,” echoed through my mind several times.

“Relax and have some more food and another sip of that incredible fruit juice. The nurse might be right; didn’t all nurses know what they were talking about? You’re trying to wake up from some sort of treatment, anaesthetic possibly, that’s why you’re confused you fool.”

I took another mouthful of food; it went down well and calmed some of that empty, aching feeling inside. I really needed that and it was so tasty.

Taking a look round the room again, the colour had subtly changed to a warm light pink. It had been a sort of cream before.

“Is the damage to my head worse than I think it might be?”

There was the picture on the wall, a seascape looking out from the beach where the waves were gently lapping. But where was the door the nurse had come and gone by? Maybe my eyes had been affected by the knock on the head. I was being silly because I did indeed realise something was missing.

“Where are my glasses, they're not on my face?”

That was a silly thought. I had just got out of bed, why would I be wearing glasses asleep in bed.

“GLASSES.”

“You wear glasses you fool, bi-focal types; come on man, get a grip for goodness sake. That’s the second time you’ve called yourself a fool, get a grip. And you’ve also said that before.”

I was talking to myself inside my head, but why not? If I could hold a rational discussion with myself then maybe, I thought, I was not as far gone as I might be, yet there again.

“Am I beyond the point of sanity, having a conversation with myself and finding answers? But you've remembered something else, don't stop now. Just take it easy, don’t panic, and give it time, it will come to you.”

I had remembered something else; that was progress. I looked inside the locker drawer. The hospitals I seemed to remember did not have drawers in their lockers although I had never been inside a posh one, only a functional NHS one; several times. As the years wore on, visits to hospitals were increasing and this might as well be another one.

More memories of hospitals surfaced.

I had been in hospital some times in the past, the food was terrible and the lockers did not have drawers.

I found my glasses lying loose inside, assuming the case must have been left at home, and put them on. A lot more came into focus, which was a big improvement, but no door; I still couldn’t see its join with the wall. The painting looked much better now as I ambled past it, over to the window, on slightly wobbly legs. My curiosity was being fuelled rather than being panicked.

“Take stock,” I mumbled out loud to myself.

I was alive. My memory was shot through but slowly, piece by piece it seemed to be recovering. I was in hospital but not of the sort I had ever seen before. The snow outside was falling quite heavily in beautiful curtains of soft white. Through it, in the failing light, I could make out a large flat open plain stretching into the distance and vagueness of a winter mist. There were ranges of white covered mountains on either side, just visible through the increasing density of the curtain.

“Where on earth am I?” I was talking again to myself within my thoughts.

I put my hand to the window and it was warm, it should not be that warm; outside must be several degrees below. I wasn’t panicking any more but the curiosity, especially to find an explanation of why I was here, was increasing.

“Relax, go with the flow, don’t panic, eat some more food, and drink some more juice.”

My stomach was calling out for more nourishment. I returned to the bed, my legs still a little wobbly, sat on the edge and proceeded to fill my face at speed.

“This food’s nice, but show some constraint my old son; this is not the way a professional person eats.”

It was though a light had suddenly been turned on. I couldn’t say why, but it certainly had been.

This felt promising.