Hot Potato (Shelby and Blue) - Alyssa Brugman [32]
'Are all orderlies men?' she asked.
The young man sighed as the doors opened. 'You're never too young for feminist sensibilities,' he said, and then he abandoned her in front of a door marked 'X-Ray'.
The radiologist didn't speak. He slid Shelby under a heavy grey machine and indicated what he wanted her to do by manipulating her limbs. Once she was in position he would leave the room. She was expecting to hear a click, or a whiz, or something from the machine, but she couldn't hear anything at all – not until the door squeaked open and he returned. After he had done this a few times he pushed her back out into the corridor.
This time she didn't have news or even a scruffy magazine. Every now and then a member of the hospital staff would stride past, either giving her a brisk smile or ignoring her altogether.
Eventually her orderly returned. He placed a big yellow envelope across her knees. She could see her name printed on a sticker in the corner.
'OK, Germaine, time to take you back to your mum.'
'Can I look at these?' she asked.
The orderly shrugged. 'It's not sealed.'
As they trundled back into the lift Shelby slid out the sheets of thick film. It was a picture of her skull and the top portion of her spine from the front and both sides. She'd never seen her head from the inside before. On two of the images she could see a number of arrows and crosses had been drawn on.
'What's this?' she asked, frowning. She was pretty sure the radiologist didn't put arrows to mark all the places where everything was fine.
'He's started a game of noughts and crosses and hoped that you'd join in.'
Shelby raised an eyebrow.
'Do I look like a doctor to you?' he grumbled.
She looked him up and down. 'Kind of. You're wearing those overalls and a hairnet like they do on telly.' The doors to the lift opened.
He grunted and then stopped the cot, flicking on the brakes with his toes. 'Your mum's coming over now.'
Shelby's mum appeared and squeezed her daughter's hand. 'Not long now, honey.'
In her other hand was a cup of chips. Shelby's mouth started watering at the idea of them, but when she tried one it was cold and tasted of old oil. 'Is there anything else?'
'Only sandwiches.' Blake rolled his eyes. Shelby's mum lifted him up so he could sit on the end of Shelby's bed, and then handed Shelby a corned beef and pickle sandwich in a triangular plastic container.
'Pickles!' she complained.
Blake took a bite out of his and started to cry. 'I want that one!' he demanded, pointing to Shelby's.
'Yours is exactly the same,' his mother said.
'That one! That one!' His face was turning redder.
'Swap sandwiches, Shelby.'
'But Blake's is all spitty!'
Shelby's mother rubbed her temples. 'This is not how I intended to spend my afternoon.'
'You think I got kicked in the head on purpose?'
'Give him the sandwich now!' her mum said through gritted teeth.
Shelby handed the plastic container over and Blake stopped crying.
'How much longer are you going to be sick for, Shel?' he asked, blinking away his tears.
'Not long,' she promised, closing her eyes.
It was another forty-five minutes before a doctor saw them. The doctor bundled them into a ward and whipped the curtain around. Shelby wondered why she'd bothered. It wasn't as though it stopped the rest of the people in the room from hearing.
'You've fractured your zygomatic ridge,' she said, holding up the X-rays to the light.
Shelby and her mother both spoke at once.
'So when can I start riding again?'
'What does that mean exactly?'
'It means you've broken your cheekbone. You've got a mild concussion too. I would recommend that you don't ride again for at least six weeks, and keep away from horses for at least four to five weeks. I know horses, and I know how often they can clock you in the head with their jaws. This is not the kind of fracture that we can set with a cast. You will have to stay at home for the next week at least.'
Shelby