Ken and the Toothbrush – Chapter 3

I think I remember it. But sometimes I don’t.

Early morning sun warms my face, visor down—a glance in the right mirror shows me a car is behind me, but not too close. The road ahead is straight with wide verges. Thick bushes on my left, open paddocks on my right. A new bridge in front of me.

Another glance down, two cars in the mirror now—not too close. Looking up, the bridge draws nearer. Speedo hovers on sixty kilometres an hour.

Movement.

On my left, a driveway.

Rapid, jagged-hops.

It hits me. So fast.

Kangaroo face smashing into my visor.

Weight crushing my left shoulder—I’m lifted off my scooter, spinning…

***

A man’s voice.

“Mate, can you hear me?”

Blue sky.

“Stay with me—I’ve called an ambulance, I’ve called your wife.”

***

Bright light. Tugging. Tearing. Pain—a vice crushing my chest.

Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.

“Peter… a tube… chest…” a new man’s voice amongst many.

Lifting, turning, ripping, cutting, pain.

Jolting, shaking, noise.

Pain, once sharp now dull and distant. Light and shadow-shapes flash past.

The sky?

“Are you awake mate?”

“Can you hear me?” a man’s voice, insistent, and I feel a hand on my right arm, squeezing.

The shaking and noise slow and fade. I see a face against a blackened window. Blurred shapes move slowly behind it.

“Can you tell me your name and date of birth?” asks the face.

I look at the face—it’s blurred, shaking—a man’s eyes come into focus.

Why?

“You’ve had an accident.

You’re in an ambulance,” says the paramedic as he moves closer. I feel straps tightly crossing my body—can’t move.

A clear tube—travels to a clear bag above me.

I look back at the paramedic’s face. “We’re taking you to The Alfred.”

He looks at me closely. “On a scale of one to ten, where ten is the worst, what level pain are you feeling?”

How can I tell?

The noise and shaking increase. Blurred shapes again fly past the darkened window—the paramedic looks away.

***

Lights flashing above me.

Haloed faces look down at me.

A smell of chemicals.

I’m moving—smooth-rolling—the clear bag is still above me.

Noises, voices. The lights stop moving.

“One, two, three… roll him this way… hold,” a firm voice, in control.

Crushing pain. Can’t breathe, can’t breathe!

“Can’t breathe…” whose voice?

My voice, loud, “can’t breathe, can’t breathe!”

“Roll him back,” the firm voice says, “ICU’s ready for him.”

Lights flash by above, blurring, fading faces look down at me.

It’s quiet. A blue wall around me. Soft light above. I’m warm. Clear tubes run from a clear bag above. I lift my head slightly—a mask covers my mouth. Cool dry gas catches in my throat. A machine hangs from a gleaming pole—a label, “CareFusion”.

Other machines and screens to the side, I can’t quite see.

Voices draw near. The blue wall opens. Sparks drift across its edges. Two, then three, now five enter. Blue hats, blue tops, blue trousers, name tags swing, stethoscopes.

“Hello Peter,” a tall man with a soft voice draws near, “Do you know where you are?”

Name tag: “Trauma Team Leader, The Alfred”.

“The Alfred,” I croak through my mask.

The tall man looks around then his eyes return to mine. “Do you know why you’re here?” I notice pens poised above paper.

“No,” I say, kangaroo face hitting my visor.

“Kangaroo. I was on my scooter…” kangaroo face slams into my visor again… again… again…

The tall man turns back to the figures in blue.

He reads: “Left HPT; left ICC inserted in Bendigo, possible iatrogenic FB in lung; left rib fractures, two to nine; left PTB fracture; left scapula fracture…”

Pens wave over paper, bright sparks flash across the blue wall.

“Peter, you have a tube in your chest. It was inserted in Bendigo, you had fluid in your chest cavity.” The tall man’s weight presses down on the edge of my bed. “During the procedure, a clinician’s glove was torn by the sharp edge of a broken rib. A piece of the glove, about one to two centimetres across, couldn’t be found.”

The tall man smiles. “Peter, we’re going to do some more scans to make sure you haven’t any other injuries—we’ll look for the piece of glove while we’re at it. Any questions?”

What happened to me?

He stands and the figures in blue vanish through the blue wall. Flashes of light follow them.

Kangaroo face slams into my visor, again, again…