Sujin smiled shyly and said, “See you later.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Keya felt tired after her team had left and she dozed for a while until an earnest young woman with a blonde ponytail and a white uniform arrived beside her bed.
“Hi, I’m Laura. Your physiotherapist. Do you have anything else to wear?”
“There should be something in the bag beside my bed,” Keya replied, wondering what Maitri had packed for her.
Laura pulled the blue curtain round for privacy and placed Keya’s overnight bag on the bed. Opening it, she removed Keya’s EarPods, and some magazines Maitri must have bought. Keya was grateful, as she could probably flick through and read them more easily than she could a book.
“Here we are. A pair of tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt.”
Keya rarely wore her tracksuit bottoms, and she wondered why Maitri had chosen them, but she was pleased she had. The elastic waist would be much easier to pull up and didn’t need fastening like trousers with a zip.
Laura helped Keya dress, assessing her range of movement, until she was standing beside her bed, fully clothed. She had been apprehensive about swinging her legs to the edge of her bed and then using her right arm to push herself upright. And she was relieved her legs held her weight.
Laura pulled the curtain back and encouraged Keya to walk the length of the ward and back. The other patients lying in their beds either slept or watched her with vacant or bored expressions.
Keya couldn’t remember when she’d felt so much joy for doing such a simple thing as walking. She marched across the ward again and out to the nurses’ station, her right arm swinging. But her left arm still hung limply by her side.
When she returned to her bed, Laura smiled and asked, “Did that feel good?”
“Yes,” Keya replied, grinning.
Laura then stood in front of Keya and instructed, “Lift your right arm and rest it on my shoulder.”
Keya did as she was told.
“Good. Put it down and lift your left arm.”
Keya thought she felt her arm twitch, but it didn’t move.
“OK. Not to worry. But we’ll need to do some work with that arm.”
Laura spent another five minutes instructing Keya to perform mobility and strength exercises, including squats, and Keya was actually relieved to climb back onto her bed. Laura massaged her left arm and promised to come and see her again in the afternoon.
The activity had energised Keya, and she considered what to do next. Her phone was lying on the portable table, along with the magazines Maitri had packed for her. She pressed her call button, and a nurse appeared.
“Please, can you move my table across so I can reach the things on it?”
“Of course, dear.”
“And is it possible to have a cup of tea?”
“I can fetch you a glass of water. Tea will be served with lunch in half an hour.”
Satisfied with her set up, Keya checked the missed calls and messages on her phone. She had three voice messages from her increasingly panicky sounding mother. On the last one, Keya’s sister Zivah must have taken the phone as she said calmly that she hoped Keya was feeling better and they’d visit as soon as they were allowed to.
There were other messages from friends and family and a funny cartoon meme from the Wimsey family wishing her well.
Lunch was a vegetarian pie with lumpy mashed potatoes and over-boiled vegetables, followed by fruit crumble and custard. It wasn’t very appetising, and she picked one-handedly at what she could before giving up on the soggy pastry of the pie and moving on to her pudding. But it was cold, and the custard had congealed.
She was grateful when the orderly reappeared and served her a cup of tea with a couple of plain biscuits. She was just settling down to read a woman’s health magazine when her mother swept into the ward, followed by her elderly father and Zivah.
Keya looked past them, and Zivah said, “I left Kaami at home with his dad. I wasn’t sure about bringing him to a hospital.”
Keya was disappointed not to see her young nephew, but as she looked at Zivah, she thought her sister needed the bed more than she did. Zivah’s face was haggard, and her eyes were dull.
“Kaami still not sleeping?” asked Keya.
“It’s more than that. He keeps throwing up his milk and then bawling his head off. I don’t know what to do.” Zivah ran her hand through her long black hair.
“I’ve told you, massage his tummy with the mixture I’ve given you,” said their mother, who they all called Amma.
“I do massage his stomach, and wind him, but he still cries. The health visitor just sympathises and tells me he’ll grow out of it. But he can’t grow if he doesn’t keep his milk down.” Zivah looked close to tears.
“I’m sorry, sis. And I’m not much help stuck in here.”
“I’ve told you, come and stay with us and I can help you,” Amma urged.
Their father, who they affectionally called Appa, looked horrified by the idea.
“No. I need to stay with Aadi. And he’s a good father and helps when he can. Like looking after Kaami while I’m here visiting Keya.” Zivah leaned closer and asked, “How are you?”
“I’m fine. Relieved. It was all rather a blur yesterday, but losing the use of my arms, and thinking my legs might also be paralysed was scary.”
