Page 70 of Deep Blue Lies

SIXTY-NINE

I phone Sophia in the reception area of the police station, then wait outside until her and Maria arrive.

Right away they agree to take me to see Imogen, and we drive the few minutes down to the ferry terminal.

We have to wait here, and I explain everything that happened at the beach.

On the ferry Maria hands me a coffee, and I sit drinking it, staring at the churning white water pushed out behind as we chug away from the island.

The world is slightly different on the mainland.

Even though we’re still a half-hour from the city of Panachoria, it already feels busier, less cut-off, and as we get closer to Panachoria there’s that city feel, dual-carriageway roads full of cars, a train running by the side and planes moving overhead.

The hospital is on the outskirts, a big building with multiple car parks and different departments, most of the signs in Greek.

We go inside, into the Emergency Department, and from there we’re told it’s Neurology we need.

Finally we find it, and Maria and Sophia explain at the reception desk who we are and that we’re looking for Imogen Grant, the woman who was attacked on the beach.

At least I assume that’s what they’re saying, they speak mostly in Greek, switching only to English when it’s clear the person they’re talking to understands it.

I find myself drifting away, first mentally then physically, stepping past the desk where they’re speaking and looking into the ward beyond.

I did a placement on a Neurology Intensive Care Unit when I was studying.

And I’d begun to think that maybe this was where I might like to specialise.

If I hadn’t been kicked out. It’s strange to be back now.

The ward here is made up of private rooms, the door of the first room is half open and when I just move a few steps to see the patient, to my amazement it’s her – Imogen – in the bed.

I look back, but Maria and Sophia are still talking with the woman at the desk, not looking at me. So I just go inside.

She’s hooked up to a ventilator that hisses slowly as it fills and empties.

Two IV lines run into her left wrist, and there’s a plastic endotracheal tube taped into her mouth.

Her eyes are closed, and she’s either asleep or unconscious, I’m not sure which.

I’m sort of familiar with the machines around her, I learned about them.

There’s an ICP – an intercranial pressure monitor – which will be tracking swelling inside her skull.

She has a catheter, I see the output bag hanging under the bed.

A pulse oximeter is clipped to her finger.

I move closer, checking the readings. Her heart rate is stable, oxygen saturation high. That’s good.

I’m startled by a voice behind me in clipped Greek and I spin to see a doctor, a woman, frowning at me from the doorway.

Before she can speak again, Maria cuts in, presumably explaining who I am.

The doctor listens, then nods and when she speaks again it’s in English.

She comes into the room and picks up the notes from the foot of the bed.

“You are the next of kin?” she asks me. Maria gives me a look that I should say yes.

“Um, yeah.”

“Ava...?”

“Whitaker. Ava Whitaker.”

“OK. Hello Ava. I understand you want to know how she is?”

“That’s right.”

The doctor nods. “I must warn you, it is early to say anything. The lady has suffered a severe traumatic brain injury. The blow to her head caused a skull fracture, with haemorrhages. There is also cerebral oedema – this is a swelling of the brain tissue inside the skull. Too much swelling can cause pressure and this can be very dangerous, it can lead to?—”

“I know. I worked in an ICU.”

The doctor pauses, surprised by my interruption. “You are a doctor?”

“Not exactly. Sort of.” I give an apologetic smile, then quickly go on. “Is she in a coma?”

“Yes.”

“Induced?”

“Yes. When she arrived, she was unconscious. Her Glasgow coma score was very low. To protect her brain she was put into an induced coma. This will allow the brain to rest and heal without more stress.”

I nod. I don’t exactly understand, but I’ve listened to explanations like this before. I’ve had to give them too, with my tutors watching me.

“We also did a CT scan. There is no large haematoma. That’s good, but there are contusions – bruising on the brain. This will take time to heal.”

“But will she wake up?” It’s Sophia who asks this question. “There’s something she needs to explain, something really important she needs to say.” Both the doctor and I turn to look at Sophia, but the doctor answers.

“Likely yes. But I cannot say for sure.”

“How long?”

“I would say she will stay in the coma for…perhaps three days. We hope that will be enough to allow the swelling to reduce.”

“And then she’ll wake up?” Sophia looks at me as she speaks. “Then she’ll be able to speak?”

The doctor is about to answer when the pager clipped to her waist buzzes. She glances at it, grimaces slightly and drops it back down. She turns to Sophia.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. But yes, we hope.”