Supported

I ached all over, from both the routine trauma of physio, with all its unforgiving pounding and straining, and the powerful bleach-like antibiotics they had pushed into my system. It was contagious, they said. A nasty infection that could be passed on by flesh-on-flesh contact. Whilst it was not fatal, it was certainly unpleasant, and my family, oh-so-weary of my unending stream of maladies and their subsequent complications, had seized upon the opportunity of absence, fleeing the hospital in a barely civilised manner.


I? I felt distinctly abandoned. I hurt, everywhere, and the ward sister, having shut me away for the night in a small private room to prevent my contaminating the entire ward, was noticeably inattentive. I never could understand their attitudes. They made me feel like this was all my doing, but I hadn’t been driving the car that had fractured my spine on impact – I hadn’t asked for any of this. I’d actually enjoyed the ability to walk. Learning to do it all over again as the localised paralysis shifted from day to day was not something I’d asked for. But none the less, I was a drain on NHS resources, and a drain on everyone’s time and patience.

It was startling how that day had changed my life… How stepping into the world had been such a course-altering decision to take. My perspective on everything had completely changed. After all, things look very different from way down in a wheelchair.

Using my arms, I pulled my legs up to my chest and hugged them to me, curling up defensively against the pain from within; I didn’t notice the door open, nor him until he’d slipped into the uncomfortable hospital bed with me.

Nothing was said. Nothing more than the sound of his heart beat thrumming in my ear as I lay my head against his chest was needed. I wasn’t really surprised to find him holding me that night, as he had done so many times before; a part of me had known he would ignore the orders to stay away and avoid infection. He, like I for him, would risk so much more than just that for the sake of my happiness.

As I curled up with him, my closest friend, the one who had kept me sane throughout the last few months stuck on a hospital ward, the pain was soothed away, and I knew that as long as I had him, I could live without walking.

As long as I had him, I’d always be flying.

Dedicated to Mitchell Dytham <3