The Hospital Again

The food had filled the gap.

The unknown fruit juice had really satisfied my thirst but also in an odd sort of way for which I couldn’t find the words. I looked towards where the door had been and another nurse walked in.

“Are you reading my mind,” I enquired in a rather silly tone.

She looked straight at me and in a matter of fact way, simply replied, “Yes, are you surprised by that,” and by her expression she knew that I was.

“That is how I was selected for this job,” she continued. “I need to be aware of my patient’s needs. I guess you would like some more of the ‘fruit juice’.”

I certainly did, but chose, deliberately, not to respond verbally. I wanted to see if she could really read minds or was performing some sort of trick. She smiled and promptly turned back towards the seamless door.

“Then I’ll get some more for you. Oh, and I believe the Doctor is on his way to see you now,” she paused, “yes, that’s right he is.”

It was almost as if she was listening to something no one else could hear yet she had no visible earpiece, microphone, or anything like that. Could she really read minds, or was something else going on here; I was puzzled.

I tried to take stock of what had now come to be my sense of reality and tried to mentally list what I knew.:

“I'm in some sort of hospital.”

“I've been 'out of it' for quite some time but for how long?”

“I didn't know where I was and couldn’t remember where I was supposed to live.”

“Looking through the window, I could see that it was snowing outside; this place was somewhere amongst mountains.”

“I couldn't work out where the doors were in the walls.”

“I've eaten a sort of stew, drunk some incredible fruit juice, both of which seem to have made me feel quite well.”

“There's a nurse who, if I believed what she was telling me, could read minds.”

“I have a wife somewhere, who I knew was called Hazel but I had no idea where she might be.”

“I have a family, another memory coming back, with grandchildren but who and where?”

“I'm wearing glasses, I normally do, they are on my face and l can see much clearer with them.”

“A smiling face of a taxi driver keeps coming to my thoughts and I feel certain that he could do more than drive taxis, but who was he?”

“I'm not able to remember much beyond what I was experiencing since I woke up but little lights were starting to shine in the greyness.”

“Hello, are we trying to remember? That’s a good sign and how are we feeling today?” an elderly male voice enquired.

A white coat, with a stethoscope hanging round his neck, was sat in front of me enquiring after my health. He had to be the Doctor that the nurse had referred to. I was more concerned as to when he came in and where he got the chair from; there weren’t any in the room a few moments ago.

Coming to his feet, he stepped forward with, “Let me check your chest.” Reaching forward with the stethoscope positioned within his ears, the cold business end was placed with a firm hand upon my chest. I didn’t say anything and let him get on with it. Like most people, I guess, we accept without hesitation, the poking about that our bodies tend to be subjected to by men in white coats who say they are Doctors.

This chap had not spoken any further words to introduce himself and I had just assumed that he was, indeed, a medical Doctor. The hospital gown I was wearing (an incorrect word to describe the manner in which hospital gowns hang loose) opened quite readily down the front where his hand had stroked. This appeared to be the standard back-to-front pattern of all hospital gowns but he had just opened the front as though it wasn’t there.

Again, I thought to myself, “What kind of hospital is this?”

“Sounds pretty good to me,” he announced. He took the stethoscope away from my chest region and out of his ears then hung it round his neck in that casual way that many doctors do on TV.

“The crew have clearly done a good job with you. Let me check your blood pressure,” he continued.

He produced an old fashioned ‘standard’ cuff from somewhere, wrapped it round my left arm, pumped it up and listed to my pulse with his stethoscope now back in his ears and placed against the throbbing vein in my arm. The cuff was carefully deflated and he smiled at the result.

“I like this old technology,” he smiled. “Oh, and you seem in perfect physical condition and almost ready to be discharged.”

“The main thing I worry about with your type of case is that the lungs may not have survived intact or perhaps have some small damage, but your chest sounds spot on. I can assure you that everything else inside is also working very well, my colleagues briefed me properly before I came to see you.”

These were reassuring words I had to accept, albeit from an old-school Doctor, but I still had no idea what he was talking about.

“For my type of case,” I echoed, “I am doing pretty well; shouldn’t I be? What type of ‘case’ am I?”

“Well,” the Doctor started,” it’s a bit of a long story and I’m not authorised to disclose it just yet. But what I can do is follow my instructions to start you off on the path to a full recovery, back to normality. This will include primarily, bringing your memory back to what it should be and once was. I would expect you to tell me that it feels pretty shot through at present; would I be correct?”

“You would be most correct,” I responded.

“Can you remember anything at all,” he enquired, “after all the old grey matter has had very little to do for a while.”

I described my review of what had come to mind and how some things were there, but not quite fully yet.

“Excellent, excellent,” he beamed. “I was told you were a special case and I can now see why. Look, I’m going to take a giant leap forward with you that will either mean nothing or will really set you off on the road to a full recovery.”

I had no idea what he was taking about but he seemed quite satisfied with himself. That gave me an increased feeling of confidence in that this white coat was genuine and really wanting to help.

“I have been authorised to tell you a few facts and to show you something, if I thought the moment was appropriate. I believe it is, so here goes.”

“Your wife, Hazel, is alive and well and is here with all of us in this wonderful complex and living most comfortably. You are not allowed to see her in person, just yet, but she will be advised of your progress and if you come through the next stage, you will be allowed to meet.”

“Your entire family including all your in-laws, nephews, nieces, children and grandchildren are also here and everyone is doing fine; you will get to see them, but again in due course.”

I sat dumbfounded.

“My entire family is here, but where is HERE? Why and who from my family is here?” I pushed hard. I was being thrown back into a state of unpleasant confusion.

“This is supposed to make me feel better?" I asked rhetorically. “And what do mean by my entire family?”

“Gently now Ian, let me explain.”

“I promise you that they are all doing well and enjoying their lives here, you mustn’t be concerned for them. We collected, for want of a better phrase, all of your children and your grandchildren, in the same manner as we did Hazel and yourself, but without the promise of a holiday in Jamaica.”

“What is he talking about? Jamaica? I'm confused and the sensation is not going away.”

“Relax, stop worrying and just go with the flow, they are really here and doing very well and you will get to see them all shortly?”

I did relax, just a little, as more bells started ringing, faces started to appear and I recalled the sound of their voices.

“You have received some extensive treatment, Ian,” he went on in that sort of confident, calming manner that Doctors employ. “This included sorting out a few things like your hypertension, the ageing of your bones and some other physical things. You should start feeling much better than when you first came in, but give it a little time, don't try to rush matters.”

“Rush matters, I'm not even at first base yet.”

He smiled.

“Why do people keep smiling at me?”

His smile got broader at my thought, but in a very friendly sort of way.

“At my thought? What are you thinking, are you losing the plot?”

I thought further.

“He has a good bedside manner, he fills me with a sense of confidence, he's reacting like the nurse did. Is he genuine or is some sort of trick being played on me”

He just continued to smile at me and in his well practised and easy manner.

“The remainder of your treatment, perhaps the important part, I am not a liberty to disclose until after you have done something for me to help restore your full mental capacities.”

“I’ve been involved in a road accident, haven’t I and banged my head,” I blurted out finding myself starting to tremble. “You’ve done brain surgery or something, haven’t you?”

“No, no, no. Relax, stop panicking,” he spoke in an even more calming manner. “You have not been in a road accident, you have not banged your head and we have not carried out any brain surgery, certainly not of the sort you are thinking about.”

“What sort then?” I demanded panicking some more.

The words just came blurting out again without any conscious effort. I was starting to panic a little.

“Nobody has poked about inside your head, be assured. The reason for your confusion and memory loss has to do, partly, with some treatment you have had and the length of stay that has been required to allow it to develop to full effectiveness.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I was still struggling with the order of my words. “Can you not spell it out more simply than that.”

He smiled yet again in that easy, self-confident way I had seen him exhibit a short while ago, despite my clumsy challenges.

“Take it easy and give me time to tell you. There’s no need to panic or for me to rush explanations unnecessarily.”

“In simple terms, and I will limit myself to this, you have undergone some DNA manipulation; modification you could say. This has been carried out to enhance and activate a recessive gene or two which were preventing you developing to your full psychological and mental potential. This has involved some minor stem cell work with the required material being obtained from the skin and tissue of one arm, your left one.”

I looked at my left arm and there was no sign of even a scratch, never the less surgery.

“We have also been taking blood samples to check on progress. Other than that there has been no surgery and most certainly no poking about inside your head, I promise you.”

He was a Doctor, I had to accept that, and I had to believe him. But why did I think he was not telling me the full truth.

“I’m not telling you the full truth because you would not understand the detail of what I would tell you and the context in which it was delivered,” he continued.

“He is reading my mind!"

“Yes Ian, I am, but not all the time and I only do this with those patients to which I have become attuned because of the work I do with them.”

“I can see you are shocked, but please don’t be. Your thoughts are your own except to one nurse and to myself, although only for the duration that you are in our care. I have said enough. I have shocked you, I have given you a little too much information and this is tiring for you I am certain.”

“Before I leave and do, or rather you do, the one thing that will bring you back to a normal understanding, are there any simple questions you wish to ask which may be of help?”

I had a thousand but, somehow, only stumbled out one.

“How long have I been here, like this?”

“Like this? For nearly a full hour,” was the dry reply.

I didn’t want that sort of answer, that was not what I was asking and I was aware that he knew that also. Before I could say any more, he continued without any hint of a smile.

“You have been in this facility, which is what you wanted me to answer, for close to six months. For nearly all that time we have kept you asleep and well cared for to ensure that the treatment you have undergone could be as effective as possible. It is my judgement, and those of my colleagues, that your current physical condition has exceeded our expectations, your full mental capabilities will be seen in due course but we do expect them to reach the standard, eventually, that we have set for you. We are most pleased with your present condition.”

“What do you mean my full mental capabilities? You have done something to the old grey matter, haven't you?” I pushed.

The Doctor ignored my push for what I might consider clear information and just kept going with his calm explanation.

“The next stage of treatment which we require you to enter into is all self-help and you will, in all probability, find it quite entertaining while at the same time it is being therapeutic.”

“I want you to read a book, it’s that simple.”

“I would like to see my wife and family, if it’s all the same to you,” my emerging bolshy side requested. “I don’t want to stay locked up here reading some book while they don’t know if I’m alive or not.” I found myself becoming quite reactionary and pleased that I was 'opening up'.

“Hmm, we are lively are we not?” He was almost sounding patronising with his matter-of-fact professional tone coming to the fore again.

“Your wife, Hazel, has seen you every single day for the last six months, but only from a distance. She knows your condition better than you do. Although there again, she has not been made aware of the exact nature of the treatment you have received, as indeed you have not. I must insist that you accept that this will come in due course.”

“Now I do not want you to think about getting dressed, and trying to find your way out of here. I know it is crossing your mind although you have not verbalised it yet. You will not be able to leave this section of the hospital that you are recovering in, it is not a prison, but it is secure, I promise you.”

Thoughts of trying to escape had not crossed my mind although, perhaps, the emotions associated with fleeing were rising as an adrenalin rush had to be kicking in.

“Is he now anticipating my thoughts? That's ridiculous?”

“No Ian, I'm not anticipating your thoughts, you are generating all sorts of confusing emotions that are flying about in here and almost swamping what small ability I do have. It was very easy to see where you were going amongst the randomness of your emotions.”

“I want you to relax on the bed and have some more, as much as possible in fact, of the fruit juice we are prescribing for you. And before you ask, which I know you are about to, although,” he chuckled, “it doesn't require a mind reader to see that one, it is not full of drugs or anything like that.”

I had to smile with him but I couldn't tell if I was genuinely responding or this was some sort of conditioned response.

“I assure you that it is only a mix of very pure and selected fruit juices without the addition of any artificial additives, colouring, drugs or anything else added in for that matter. It is provided in this form for particular medical reasons, for very specific people and for some specific reasons. You are one of the 'specific people' I am referring to and with time you will come to understand why I'm saying that.”

“I suspect that you will find the benefits it bestows more than welcome in aiding your recovery and that you will be consuming more than you currently expect. There's nothing addictive about it but you will start asking for more and more as time goes on, I promise you.”

It did taste good but I thought that the Doctor's words were a bit over the top. What I would really need, before too long, was some more of the delicious stew that the nurse had provided, I was starting to feel hungry again and was very partial to Hazel's Lancashire hot pot, which it reminded me of.

“Now that is good sign. You are not only starting to feel hungry but you have remembered something else, one of your favourite foods.”

The Doctor was sounding almost elated.

“LANCASHIRE HOT POT. Ye Gods he was right, things are starting to come back.”

He smiled even more broadly, which now seemed contrary to his previous professional demeanour. His bedside manner was amusing me; perhaps it was supposed to.

“I will order some more food for you as soon as I leave here but I must emphasis what I have been trying to tell you. Your full recovery depends upon something very simple. I want you to start reading this book.”

He reached into an inside pocket of his white coat and produced a paperback and then handed it to me.

I sat transfixed in astonishment.

My name was on the front; I read out loud -

“. . . by Ian Hall-Dixon”.

“Yes, you have written a book, Ian and that surprises you doesn't it?"

I was shocked and sat there staring at the front cover in some astonishment. “I had written this book; no it must be someone else with the same name.”

“No Ian, be assured that it was you who wrote this, and by the time you have finished reading it, you will no longer be surprised, believe me. This is a most significant book that tells a very special story. It is the whole team’s consideration that if you read this, and progress through it steadily, your memory will start to return in great leaps; something to do with self-cognisance and feedback loops.”

“I’m a medical Doctor and I have been looking after your physical health only following the delicate work carried out in connection with your DNA. The other members of the current team have been considering your mental development and well-being. They even predicted, and quite accurately too, the frame of mind you would be in when you finally woke up. It is unlikely you will ever meet them; they have quite a few other cases, slightly similar to your own, and have left the contact and progress to myself.”

“You are a special case, believe me, but I have been advised that their hard work is over and you are in a very short period of a full self-recovery. The whole team will be very surprised if events with you do not go as predicted.”

“I am allowed to provide you with a single hint only that your full recovery will include a significant change that you will not only recognise but welcome, especially its importance. I can say no more.”

The previous panic seemed to have disappeared; I was now genuinely intrigued.

“Being intrigued is a good sign and I'm sure this will be the spur that you will continue to provide for yourself to race to a full recovery and much more besides. Now please read.”

With that, he arose and moved towards the invisible door.

“One final thing for now,” he said as he stopped in mid-stride and turned round. “I will return to continue our conversation when a decision has been made concerning your progress, one that results from what you are about to read.”

“That may very well come before you have finished the whole book. It’s not a long story but you really do need to read and absorb it, the whole of it. I'm sure you will, even when you consider that your recovery has progressed as far as possible.”

He turned to the seamless door that had swung open in just the right time to let him pass through so simply. I looked at where he had been sat and the chair was now no longer there. This place confused me but not in a manner that was overly disturbing, beyond the way I currently felt; unreal.

“What you need is some of this,” the nurse announced as she returned with a large pitcher of the fruit juice.

I had not seen her enter through the door; were my marbles really loosening up or were events simply distracting a normal way of thinking? I had not been awake for very long and it seemed as if the whole world was flying at me in some sort of confusing pattern.

“Not to panic,” she said quite calmly, “your reactions are still a little slow and this high-tech facility can be very confusing at times until you get a hang of it.”

It wasn't the facility; it was the sequence of events and the information being thrown at me. Her mere presence seemed to exert a calming influence and that was pleasing.

“That’s why I’m a nurse.”

“She's reading my mind again.”

“You’re quite correct,” she said pouring out a glass full of the juice, “and you’re getting the hang, quite quickly, of why I‘m here taking care of you.”

“I really would like you to get onto the bed, it’s not just for sleeping in, you know, it keeps track of all your vital signs and a lot more besides. Come on up,” she directed, “and I will fetch some more pillows so you can sit up in comfort.”

The head of the bed glided silently more towards the upright than the horizontal and there she was with two more pillows in her hands. I didn’t see where they came from either, my reactions must be on the slow side; just accept it, I thought.

She poured out another fresh full glass of the fruit juice which I keenly took a draught from. She also watched to ensure that I picked up the book before leaving the room through that seamless, seemingly invisible, door.

I looked again at the front cover, it read:-

--------------

THE VISIT

(A Short Story – An Epic Tale)

“How many people know of their true origins?”

First Edition March 2, 2014

-------------

"Was I an author?” I didn’t remember writing any books.

Hang on a second, I had been an engineer. I had written loads of technical documents and specifications. Some of the project names popped into my head. I had only read the front cover and a slice of my life was coming back already.

A novel, I had written a novel; who me? This was confusing. I had to read what had been given to me, my curiosity was well and truly up because my name was on the front cover. Was there another Ian Hall-Dixon? It was possible but in a long working life, I had never come across one.

I had been awake a short time only but I guessed something must be functioning at some sort of accelerated pace. I was feeling better by the minute and my natural curiosity was being energised.

“Read. Come on, Ian, read on,” I was telling myself firmly.

And so, I turned the page...

Contents

How Many People Know of Their True Origins?

The Ancient Tales

Mother World’s Children

Visitors

War

Peace for a While

Survival

Token Myths

Store What is Left for Others to Find

The God Believers

Loss of the Last Base in the Middle Sea

More Visitors - Later On

Have You Heard the News

Mission Control

----------

How Many People Know of Their True Origins?

● A great mystery still pervades the history of the people of this planet.

● Where do we come from, is there a missing link, is Darwinism or Creationism correct?

● Perhaps there are those that already know the truth but decline to reveal it for the possible turmoil it may cause.

● Perhaps the truth cannot be revealed for upsetting what many are hinting at, arrangements between the leadership of this planet and people of other worlds.

● Perhaps unknown flying objects have, to those on the ‘inside’, never really been unknown at all.

● Perhaps exploration of other worlds is being deliberately presented in a way to conceal what is already known.

● Perhaps our destiny is now in the hands of others.

● Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps . . . . .

● This 'fictional' story attempts to pull together various strands of thought that will either reinforce the ‘perhaps' or possibly provide a window that others may be able to see through for themselves.

● All names of people and places have been deliberately changed to protect the innocent or prevent upset to those who may be fixed in their beliefs.