“NURSE!”

I was vaguely aware of a commotion around me.

“NURSE……he’s waking up!!”

The voice sounded like it was coming through a long tunnel. It echoed. Perhaps it wasn’t meant for me. Maybe I should just keep quiet.

“Mr. Davidson. Mr. Davidson can you hear me? Do you know where you are Mr. Davidson.”

Ooooo….my head. I’m never drinking again. Did I go out drinking? Shit…..I didn’t go out drinking. I was in bed.

“Mr. Davidson, you have been assaulted and are currently in St Cyrus’s hospital. Can you open your eyes for me Mr. Davidson.”

Of course I can open my eyes…….why the hell can’t I open my eyes? Is that blood I can taste? I think I’ll go back to sleep for a bit.

“Micky wake up – wake up Dad, please.”

That voice. It sounds really familiar. Is that Emma? Emma what are you doing in my room? Oh my hand is so sore….Jesus….that’s really sore.

Think I’ll go back to sleep.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–

Two days later I woke up properly.

It was about 11pm on a Friday, 18 days after I had stepped through my buildings front door.

I had lain outside in a pool of blood for just over an hour. A fellow resident of the building had come home late and saw me. He thought I was homeless at first as I was apparently curled up in the corner of the entrance. He had seen that I was bleeding and that my arm and fingers were hanging at very odd angles. He rolled me a little and recognized who I was, which considering how messed up my face was was quite an achievement. He called the police and ambulance and stayed with me until they arrived.

The sirens and flashing lights caused quite a stir in the building and soon a large crowd has appeared.

I was being cradled in the sweet arms of a painless unconsciousness. I didn’t hear the paramedics comment on my severely dislocated shoulder and elbow. I didn’t hear them expressing concern at the massive bulge in my belly where they feared I was bleeding internally. I didn’t listen to them come up with strategy’s on how to transport me from the ground to the back board in order to reduce the risk of further damage to my neck.

I didn’t hear Emma and Becky scream in horror when they realized it was me broken on the ground. I didn’t know that Becky fainted when she saw the state of my face.

As I lay in the ambulance with the Paramedics working on my airway I didn’t hear the gasp as they discovered an entire part of my scalp that had peeled away from my skull.

I didn’t know that surgeons had worked on me for over 6 hours. I didn’t know that I had to be resuscitated twice on the table.

But as I woke up and people in white coats talked directly to me I started to piece together the events.

All of my fingers had been broken and dislocated. 14 bones in my right hand had been smashed and 4 in my left hand (typical that I was right handed!). My left humerus was fractured, as was the ulna and radius in my right arm. I had a fractured eye socket, dislocated jaw, cracked C2, C3 and C4 vertebrae – but thank God my spinal cord was undamaged. I had 3 broken ribs, a shattered collar bone, broken nose, grade 4 tear of the scalp that measured 12 centimetres and a depressed skull injury.

The biggest concern was the internal bleeding in my belly and on my brain. Thankfully the bleeding on the brain was minor but that didn’t stop me waking up 18 days after the assault with a powerful headache.

The bleeding in my belly was another story. The numerous kicks to my groin and stomach had taken their toll. My liver had been bruised. My kidneys had received such a pounding that I had been passing blood. I had had 2 operations to fix 7 internal impact wounds.

I knew my brain was OK as I was sailing through the questions that the doctors were asking me. I knew what year it was. I knew who was running the country. I knew my name and who was living with me.

I also knew who did this to me.

I remembered staring up at his face before blackness descended on me like a sheet. I remembered his rage contorted face. I remembered the 2 bulky eastern European sounding guys. I remembered the sight of the sole of his shoe slamming into my face, once, twice….how many times?

Trevor.

The lowlife that violated Becky.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–

My recovery was slow. The numerous pins reconnecting broken bones ached inside me. Emotionally I was destroyed. I was depressed. I hated lying down in a bed. I made two attempts at getting out of bed but both times ended up on the floor much to the annoyance of the nurses that had to put up with me.

I was a terrible patient.

The other problem was when I was on the pain killers. When I had a window of no pain I often became aroused with thoughts of Becky. Usually these occurred at night when my pain meds were boosted so I could sleep. In the beginning when I felt able I wanked myself off into sheets with swirling thoughts of Becky and Sarah.

I was careful for the first few nights. I kept an eye on the internal window of my room so I could see if any of the nurses were roaming about. After a week or so I had grown bold (or I just didn’t care). I started to wank myself when I could see a few of the night nurses. Most of them were average looking girls, but there was 1 who ticked my boxes.

Mandee was of Indian decent.