Angelo pushed it away. “I’m fine,Mum.”
“You are not fine,Angelo.”
Like you care.But he bit back the retort and thought hard, sifting through his pain-clouded mind.Why is she here?And the only explanation came from his scattered memories of how he’d wound up in A & E in the first place. The mother of all headaches had ended with an afternoon on the kitchen floor before Theresa had discovered him. He remembered staring up at her, his head spinning and his vision fogged, half expecting her to step over him, but then the air had shifted, and in a blur of gentle hands and flashing lights, she’d suddenly become his motheragain.
The doctor came back to Angelo’s bed. “Your X-rays show pneumatic infection in bothlungs.”
“Does that mean I havepneumonia?”
“Yes. Like I said, it can be quite common in MEpatients.”
“Why? Is my immune systemfucked?”
“It’s not that simple,” the doctor said. “There’s a lot of research that says the immune system is actually hyperactive when challenged in ME patients and becomes unable to shut down once the danger ispassed.”
Angelo heard the words but failed to compute the meaning. “I don’t understand. I can’t?—I can’t thinkstraight.”
“I know.” The doctor laid a kind hand on Angelo’s arm. “ME does horrible things to cognitive function when you’re not well,eh?”
“I thought it was my ribs making me breathefunny.”
“I don’t think so.” The doctor sat Angelo up and listened to his chest again. “The bruises are a few days old, and your X-ray shows no injuries to the bones. That also wouldn’t explain why you’re so ill. I’m still waiting for your bloods to come back, but I can tell by looking at you that you’re anaemic, and your white blood cells are probably all over theplace.”
“Can I gohome?”
“No. Your oxygen levels are too low. I’m admitting you to a ward upstairs and you’ll likely be in for a fewdays.”
Angelo lay back down, what little fight he had left all but gone. The doctor disappeared and Theresa took his place. She claimed Angelo’s hand and stroked his face. Her touch felt cold and alien and ten years too late, but Angelo let it happen anyway. With Dylan, the deli, and now his damn fucking lungs giving up on him, their fractured relationship was all he hadleft.
* * *
“So this iswhere they stashed you,eh?”
Angelo glanced up blearily. After three long days on the crowded hospital ward, the doctors and nurses were all starting to look the same, but this bloke was vaguelyfamiliar.
Andgorgeous.
Ah. It was the hot doctor from the emergency department, and by the look on his face, he’d been waiting too long for Angelo to answer him. “Um, I s’pose so. What are you doing uphere?”
“Checking on a few patients. I’m heading back up north in themorning.”
“You’re not from aroundhere?”
The doctor shook his head. “Nah. I got drafted in for a specific incident and ended up getting stuck for a few days. London ain’t my bag,man.”
Angelo nodded slowly. The haze in his brain had lifted as his oxygen saturation had improved, but the ME fog remained, and laced with morphine, it was thick enough for him to take a moment to figure out how to verbalise what he wanted to say. “Thankyou.”
“Whatfor?”
“For helping me. A specialist physiotherapist came to see me this morning. Harry something or other. He’s coming againtomorrow.”
The doctor glanced at the notes hanging from the end of Angelo’s bed. “Harry Foster. He’s a mate of mine, actually, so I called in a favour. He’s the best physio in the business for conditions like yours, but you’ll need to register with a GP if you want to continue seeinghim.”
“I know. My mum’s onit.”
“Good. Listen, ME is brutal, but there’s plenty you can do to manage it?—to give yourself a better quality of life. Find things that make you happy and hold ontothem.”
Angelo coughed, which didn’t hurt as much as it had a few days ago. “Is that a treatmentplan?”
