Forty-five minutes later James was wheeled back.
"Hello again," I said as I made my way across the room with my arms full of gauze, bandages, gloves, disinfectants, washcloths, towels, IV bags and painkillers.
" Wait, don't ask. Hospital. Syria. Damascus. Emily. Nurse." He waggled a finger at me.
"Glad to hear your funnybone isn't broken." I smiled, pleased to see him more alert and awake. I handed him a little plastic cup with two pills in it, and a bottle of water. "Painkillers."
"God bless you," he sighed gratefully.
"Excuse me a minute, I just.." I can't wear this anymore, I probably look like a nun. I undid my makeshift "hijab" shawl, shook my hair loose and stuffed the shawl in my pocket. "Bloody hell, that feels good," I sighed. James snorted into his bottle of water and looked curiously at me without the headgear. "I have to wear it just to avoid grief from all the muslims in here. Some didn't mind, but far too many did. It's a respect-thing."
"No, no, makes sense. Must be awful to wear in the heat."
"Exactly. It's torture. But I'm going to be in here for a while so I'm risking it." I hung up the bag of IV fluids and connected it to James' arm before sitting down. "I talked to the doctors, they've seen your scans. You're all good, skull isn't broken, no bleeds anywhere. But still, you have a bad concussion so you're stuck here until tomorrow. No TV, no phone texting, no reading or anything else that requires much concentration. Welcome to boredom." He cracked a crooked smile at this. "So, hows the head? And nausesa?"
"Nausea better. Head just as bad," he frowned.
"Painkillers will kick in soon. Meanwhile I need to tackle that hole in your head. If that's ok?"
"Yeah, sure." I explained to him that I had to try and get some blood and sand out of his hair before starting on the wound, and that I had to use washcloths and towels for it. "I don't want to use water from the taps for this, since it can get into the wound. We don't have the best tap water around here as you can imagine. It'll do for showering but not anywhere near a gash like this. Right, lie on your right side?" He obediently rolled over, albeit gingerly, onto his side. I placed a big towel under his head and over his shoulders and dipped a washcloth in a bowl of bottled water. We were both quiet, me concentrating on the rather difficult task of rinsing out hair with a washcloth.
"I must admit this is the first time I've ever washed my hair in bottled water. They don't even do that for spa treatments," he mumbled. I could only see the back of his head.
"Well, I treat my patients well," I muttered back.
"I'd say."
"Hello again," I said as I made my way across the room with my arms full of gauze, bandages, gloves, disinfectants, washcloths, towels, IV bags and painkillers.
" Wait, don't ask. Hospital. Syria. Damascus. Emily. Nurse." He waggled a finger at me.
"Glad to hear your funnybone isn't broken." I smiled, pleased to see him more alert and awake. I handed him a little plastic cup with two pills in it, and a bottle of water. "Painkillers."
"God bless you," he sighed gratefully.
"Excuse me a minute, I just.." I can't wear this anymore, I probably look like a nun. I undid my makeshift "hijab" shawl, shook my hair loose and stuffed the shawl in my pocket. "Bloody hell, that feels good," I sighed. James snorted into his bottle of water and looked curiously at me without the headgear. "I have to wear it just to avoid grief from all the muslims in here. Some didn't mind, but far too many did. It's a respect-thing."
"No, no, makes sense. Must be awful to wear in the heat."
"Exactly. It's torture. But I'm going to be in here for a while so I'm risking it." I hung up the bag of IV fluids and connected it to James' arm before sitting down. "I talked to the doctors, they've seen your scans. You're all good, skull isn't broken, no bleeds anywhere. But still, you have a bad concussion so you're stuck here until tomorrow. No TV, no phone texting, no reading or anything else that requires much concentration. Welcome to boredom." He cracked a crooked smile at this. "So, hows the head? And nausesa?"
"Nausea better. Head just as bad," he frowned.
"Painkillers will kick in soon. Meanwhile I need to tackle that hole in your head. If that's ok?"
"Yeah, sure." I explained to him that I had to try and get some blood and sand out of his hair before starting on the wound, and that I had to use washcloths and towels for it. "I don't want to use water from the taps for this, since it can get into the wound. We don't have the best tap water around here as you can imagine. It'll do for showering but not anywhere near a gash like this. Right, lie on your right side?" He obediently rolled over, albeit gingerly, onto his side. I placed a big towel under his head and over his shoulders and dipped a washcloth in a bowl of bottled water. We were both quiet, me concentrating on the rather difficult task of rinsing out hair with a washcloth.
"I must admit this is the first time I've ever washed my hair in bottled water. They don't even do that for spa treatments," he mumbled. I could only see the back of his head.
"Well, I treat my patients well," I muttered back.
"I'd say."
---
"Right, done. Think you can sit up for me? Easier to clean that wound if you're sitting." He t tried sitting up. Still being wobbly I gave him a steadying hand and piled the pillows up against the headboard so he could lean against it. "Look that way," I commanded and pointed at his left, making it easier for me to see the back of his head. I removed a few hairclips from my own hair and clipped them into his to keep the hair out of the way of the wound.
"This is probably the first time you have hairclips in your hair as well, huh?"
"Um... Strangely enough, no..."
"Okay. I'm not even going to ask."
"Smart girl."
I readied cotton swabs, tweezers and saline, then began to gently clean the wound.
"Feel free to yell at me if this hurts. Just don't punch me like that arabian woman did giving birth. Oh, and hold still."
"Don't make me laugh, then." I made him laugh. Thee-hee.
"Beats making you punch me." There was a long silence, all I could hear was the distant sounds of chaotic traffic and car horns, someone shouting down the hall, and James' breathing.
"Okay, so I've been trying to suss this one out.. " James broke the silence.
"Hm?"
"You're clearly not from around here. You speak good English but you have an accent I can't put my finger on. Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I'm Norwegian, actually."
"Really?" At this he turned around and looked at me over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in surprise. "I wouldn't have guessed that. How on earth did you end up here?"
"Eyes front," I ordered. "I volunteered for it. I wanted to be an aid worker, so I signed up. Had no idea where I would end up, mind, it could be everything from Haiti to Sudan to North Korea. Frankly it is a miracle I even got sent anywhere, normally you would need a diploma in tropical medicine to be sent on things like these."
"Wow. How long have you been down here?"
"Ten weeks. Only have two left."
"Going home?"
"No. Well, yes, at first. Going back to Norway for three weeks or so. Then moving."
"Where?" Oh, this is going to sound crazy.
"To London, actually," I admitted hesitantly.
"Really? You're joking?"
"Really. Been accepted to London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine. Going to get that diploma I need. It's part time, so I'm working part time as a nurse as well."
"Ever been in London before?"
"Yeah, I have. Lost count, really. I know I like it there, otherwise I would've gone somewhere else to take that class. But frankly I didn't fancy going anywhere... German. Or French." I said with feeling.
"I see what you mean," I heard him say. I put down my tweezers with the cotton swab and sighed heavily.
"I'm sorry to say this, James, but it looks like you are going to need some stitches back here after all."
"Bugger!" He turned around to look at me
"It isn't that bad. The local anaestethic is the worst part. After that it's just... Handicrafts. I'll go get the doc, see if he can do it right away?" James nodded, looking somewhat unsure. I cleared up my mess of swabs and detritus, and handed him the bottle of water. He took it obediently and had a swig.
"Thanks. I feel like a baby, having everything done for me."
"It is called being a patient. Enjoy it while you can, eh? I'll be right back.""Hang on! Um... Head-scarf.. thing..." He stuttered, gesturing wildly. I was almost at the door when I stopped abruptly in my tracks.
"Oh god, you're right!" I hastily retrieved my shawl from my uniform pocket and put it on. "Quick thinking. Thanks for that!"
"This is probably the first time you have hairclips in your hair as well, huh?"
"Um... Strangely enough, no..."
"Okay. I'm not even going to ask."
"Smart girl."
I readied cotton swabs, tweezers and saline, then began to gently clean the wound.
"Feel free to yell at me if this hurts. Just don't punch me like that arabian woman did giving birth. Oh, and hold still."
"Don't make me laugh, then." I made him laugh. Thee-hee.
"Beats making you punch me." There was a long silence, all I could hear was the distant sounds of chaotic traffic and car horns, someone shouting down the hall, and James' breathing.
"Okay, so I've been trying to suss this one out.. " James broke the silence.
"Hm?"
"You're clearly not from around here. You speak good English but you have an accent I can't put my finger on. Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I'm Norwegian, actually."
"Really?" At this he turned around and looked at me over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in surprise. "I wouldn't have guessed that. How on earth did you end up here?"
"Eyes front," I ordered. "I volunteered for it. I wanted to be an aid worker, so I signed up. Had no idea where I would end up, mind, it could be everything from Haiti to Sudan to North Korea. Frankly it is a miracle I even got sent anywhere, normally you would need a diploma in tropical medicine to be sent on things like these."
"Wow. How long have you been down here?"
"Ten weeks. Only have two left."
"Going home?"
"No. Well, yes, at first. Going back to Norway for three weeks or so. Then moving."
"Where?" Oh, this is going to sound crazy.
"To London, actually," I admitted hesitantly.
"Really? You're joking?"
"Really. Been accepted to London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine. Going to get that diploma I need. It's part time, so I'm working part time as a nurse as well."
"Ever been in London before?"
"Yeah, I have. Lost count, really. I know I like it there, otherwise I would've gone somewhere else to take that class. But frankly I didn't fancy going anywhere... German. Or French." I said with feeling.
"I see what you mean," I heard him say. I put down my tweezers with the cotton swab and sighed heavily.
"I'm sorry to say this, James, but it looks like you are going to need some stitches back here after all."
"Bugger!" He turned around to look at me
"It isn't that bad. The local anaestethic is the worst part. After that it's just... Handicrafts. I'll go get the doc, see if he can do it right away?" James nodded, looking somewhat unsure. I cleared up my mess of swabs and detritus, and handed him the bottle of water. He took it obediently and had a swig.
"Thanks. I feel like a baby, having everything done for me."
"It is called being a patient. Enjoy it while you can, eh? I'll be right back.""Hang on! Um... Head-scarf.. thing..." He stuttered, gesturing wildly. I was almost at the door when I stopped abruptly in my tracks.
"Oh god, you're right!" I hastily retrieved my shawl from my uniform pocket and put it on. "Quick thinking. Thanks for that!"
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