Face (6 page)

The nurse began to turn a mechanism at the back of the bed and Martin's torso was lifted up. The view was different now. He could see straight ahead for the first time. All eyes in the room were still on him.

‘Put his arms on top of the blankets,' said the doctor, as she reached for Martin's records hanging at the bottom of the bed.

As the nurse gently took Martin's arms from underneath the blanket, Martin looked at her. He wasn't used to strangers moving his limbs around and he wasn't sure if he should be making any effort. The nurse looked Chinese; her eyes were at the same level as his even though she was standing. Martin looked into her eyes, but she was concentrating on her task. She folded the blanket back gently as if the blanket had feelings. The task over, she stepped back awaiting new orders. After a quick look at the report, the
doctor replaced it and then walked over to Martin.

‘Hello, Martin. This is Nurse Ling and my name is Dr Janet Owens. Now you may want to be left alone for a while – that is completely up to you – but there are some things that we need to talk about. How is your voice?'

Martin uttered his first words: ‘All right – I think.' The words fell out of his mouth from the back of his throat without any help from his burnt lips.

The doctor continued. ‘Is it OK if I have a word with you now?'

‘Yes.' Again the word fell out of his head.

‘OK, I am sure that by now you realise how serious the accident was. You were really thrown around when the car rolled and you received a few cuts and lots of bruises to your body but luckily no broken bones. You had two cuts which needed stitches, both on the bottom of your leg, your calf. This is where the car door cut into you. The other cuts will heal themselves so long as we keep them clean. There are some light burns to your hands which should soon heal without treatment.' Dr Owens paused for a moment and surveyed Martin's face. ‘But your face came out the worst. You have what we term deeper partial-thickness burns, sometimes called deep dermal burns. At the moment painkillers are holding back the pain but we want to get you off them as soon as we can. In some parts of your face you will feel no pain at
all. This is because some of the nerve endings have been severely damaged. You may need some skin grafting. This is where we take skin from one part of your body and move it to your face – but we will only do grafts with your blessing.' She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. ‘The drugs may be making you feel very strange right now and you have probably lost track of time. Well, it was early Sunday morning when you had the accident and it's Monday evening now. Have you any questions?'

Martin didn't reply.

He had been listening intensively, and all he could think about was the seriousness of his injuries. He could feel his heart racing. He found it hard to believe that he had been unconscious for a whole day.

The doctor continued, ‘I have two other important things to say to you. Firstly, sooner or later you will see the severity of your burns. You must prepare yourself for this. Don't be too alarmed: remember that over time we can improve things. And secondly, a hospital counsellor will come to visit you soon. He is here to help you in anyway he can. Don't be afraid to speak to him on any subject. He – in fact – we – are all here for you if you need us. I'll be seeing you again tomorrow. Then we can talk about your treatment in much more detail.'

All Martin could manage in reply was, ‘Thank … you.' His ears seemed only half awake, sounds and
voices had lost their sharpness and were muffled. For the first time in his life he wanted to cry but he didn't have any tears.

The doctor asked Mr and Mrs Turner if she could speak with them outside and everyone left the room. There was silence. Martin turned slowly to the right. It took him a long time, it was like viewing the world through a camera lens. The walls were a cream colour and bare. As he looked down and to his side he saw a brown, bedside table with nothing on it and a console with light switches and radio controls. It took him another twenty seconds to turn to his left, only to find another creamy wall with a single towel hanging from a holder. Bold lettering on the towel read ‘Property of Newham Parkside Hospital'. The room was small with a chair at each side of his bed. Martin spent the next few minutes looking at as much of the room as his injured body allowed. He began to wonder what had happened to the others in the car. He wondered where Mark was. He just could not imagine what had happened to Apache and Pete. He thought of Matthew, he thought of Natalie and then once more he fell asleep.

When he woke up it was Tuesday morning. His parents were standing together at the side of his bed. He noticed that they were holding hands. He had now seen them hugging
and
holding hands. He couldn't remember seeing them holding hands before,
only in photographs taken before he was born.

His mother went to the bottom of his bed and wheeled a food trolley towards him. On the tray was a bowl of soup with a straw.

‘Here you are, Martin, a bit of warm soup for you. You need it.'

‘No,' Martin replied. ‘I don't want any.'

‘Come on, Martin,' his mother insisted. ‘It will do you good.'

Martin put the straw in the soup bowl and tried to drink. He was aware of every drop as it entered his dry mouth, and slid down his parched throat into his empty stomach. The soup was tasteless. He tried to like it. After a couple of mouthfuls, he made a gentle protest.

‘I can't, Mom. Take it away.'

Reluctantly his mother wheeled it away. ‘Do try some more later, you need it to build up your strength.'

Nurse Ling and a male nurse entered the room. His mother squeezed his hand gently.

‘We have to go now, we'll be back later.'

Martin took a deep breath and spoke his first short but full sentence. ‘Where are you going?'

‘The nurse needs to see you now and we have to go home. We'll be back later and we'll bring you some things.'

‘Don't worry, son,' his father said as they left the room. His father had always been a man of few words
and in times of grief his words were even fewer. He looked dazed and shell-shocked. He just seemed to be following his wife around, listening to all that she, the doctors and the nurses had to say, only responding when necessary. ‘See you later, son.' He always called Martin ‘son'.

Nurse Ling smiled at Martin. ‘Hi, Martin. Now we have a job to do which means moving you around a little. It won't take long. All we have to do is change the bandages on your stitches. OK?'

‘OK,' he replied, unsure of what this meant.
Would it be a painful experience or did it just sound painful?

Together the nurses folded back the blanket and sheets and removed the hospital issue pyjamas that he was wearing. Martin watched their every move. For the first time he was seeing the damage done to his legs. They were covered with small cuts, scratches and bruises. The bruises varied in colour from red to blue to purple. The two bandages were on the outside of his left calf, one low, and one high. The bloodstains on the white bandages worried Martin at first but as the bandages were slowly removed by Nurse Ling he relaxed – in the event it was quite painless. New bandages were put on, as were new pyjamas, and soon the nurses were on their way out. But Martin's mind began to work quickly. He had now seen the injuries on his body.
Why not his face?

‘Nurse,' he shouted.

‘Yes, Martin.'

‘Can I have a mirror?'

There was an uneasy pause, while the nurses looked at each other. The male nurse said nothing and Nurse Ling hesitantly replied, ‘Well, it's not as easy as that.'

She headed back towards Martin and the male nurse left the room. ‘The hospital has to be very careful about this and we can't just give mirrors out on request. Give me a couple of minutes and I'll see what I can do.' She gave him a warm smile and left the room.

Martin began to prepare himself. He thought that he might have a battle to fight here but he had made up his mind: he wanted to see his face.

Five minutes later, a man entered the room. He was casually dressed in a shirt and jeans with long black hair which he wore in a ponytail. He looked so cool and relaxed that Martin thought he was a visiting pop star.

The man smiled. He walked over to Martin and sat on his bed. ‘Hi, my name's Alan, Alan Green, but just call me Alan.' He was softly spoken with a Scottish accent. ‘My official title is Clinical Psychologist but even I don't like that, it makes me sound like someone who does experiments. You just think of me as someone you can talk to if you have any problems. It's completely up to you how you use me. I am not allowed to make a nuisance of myself but on the other
hand I am always here when you need me, or I'll try to be.'

Martin was surprised by his confident and upbeat nature; he sounded honest and sincere. Martin took a deep breath before speaking. ‘I want a mirror, I want to see my face.'

Alan's voice dropped slightly. ‘Well, I am sure you know that you have every right to a mirror but it has to be said that it's a little early for that. I would suggest that you give it at least a couple of days. Sometimes it helps to prepare yourself, to get used to the idea.'

‘I … want … a … mirror … now,' Martin said slowly and precisely.

‘Are you sure you don't want to wait until your parents are here?'

‘No, I just told you, I … want … a mirror … now.'

‘Have you ever seen someone with facial burns?'

‘No.'

‘Have you ever seen anyone who has been badly burnt anywhere on their body?'

‘No, only in films.'

‘We all know that the film world and the real world are two different worlds. I love films but they're just films. I need to warn you that when you look in the mirror you may be quite shocked by what you see. Whatever you see will be improved on in time. But Martin, you must know that you will always have
some burns on your face. Your face will never be as it was. This may take some time for you to get used to. When you look in the mirror you are allowed to scream, cry or shout if you want to. Don't be afraid to express yourself – I look in the mirror and scream all the time!'

Even in this situation, Martin tried to smile. He felt himself smile inside but his face just couldn't. Martin understood what was being said to him but he still felt that he might just be locked in a nightmare. Although he had seen the damage that had been done to his legs, he knew that seeing his face would confirm that this was for real. He felt that he needed to pass that threshold. He was frightened but he didn't want to show his fear. ‘I understand,' he muttered.

Alan stood up. ‘Is there anything at all I can do for you now? Is there anything you need?'

‘No, just a mirror.'

Alan had now lost his smile.

‘Remember now, you can ask for me anytime and – if you don't like me – there are other counsellors and staff for you to choose from. I'll check out that mirror for you. Good luck, mate.'

For the next fifteen minutes Martin was left alone. He began to wonder if asking for the mirror was a wise thing to do. His body was beginning to ache, the various scratches and bruises had begun to make themselves known as the painkillers wore off, and
Martin's senses began to sharpen. He then had an idea which had not occurred to him before. He could sense the hardness of the skin on his face but he hadn't yet felt his face with his fingers. He thought about it, telling himself it would serve as a kind of preparation for what he was going to see but then he changed his mind. If he was to explore his face with his hands, too much would be left to the imagination. The best thing to do was to be brave and face his face head on.

Soon Nurse Ling and Alan Green re-entered the room. The nurse stood at the end of the bed holding something covered by a towel. Martin assumed that this was the mirror. Alan came closer down the side of the bed. Although not smiling, he still had that reassuring tone in his voice.

‘Well, mate, here we are. I've just had a word with your parents. They are a bit concerned about you wanting a mirror in such a hurry but they did tell me that once you've made up your mind, nothing's going to stop you. They asked that I stay around, which is standard procedure anyway. So, here we go. Now, Martin, remember all that the doctor and I have told you.'

Nurse Ling unwrapped the mirror as if it were a precious object. She passed it to Alan making sure that the mirrored side was facing away from Martin so as not to allow him even a passing glance at his reflection. Martin watched their every move. When Alan
had hold of the mirror he had a look at it as if to test it. Then he handed it to Martin, still making sure the mirrored side was pointing down.

‘There you go. Sometimes it's best to have a glance, look away and then have a longer look. It's up to you, you're in control.'

For a moment Martin held the mirror against his chest, then he slowly lifted it up until he was looking into his own eyes. He suffered a silent shock. His eyes were completely red with only minute bits of white coming through. He focused on his pupils, leaving the rest of his face temporarily out of focus. His pupils looked untouched, unmoved by the chaos around them. But even when out of focus, he could not help but see the rough unevenness of his skin. Then Martin focused his eyes on the skin on his face. It was bright red in places, and brown in others. He noticed pinky white bits, which looked like flesh with no skin cover, where he could see veins. His whole face had swollen and changed shape. His right cheek was blistered, his left cheek had swollen – the two halves of his face looked completely different from each other. The contours of his face were jagged. On seeing his lips, which were swollen as if he had been in a fight, his breath left him for a moment. He instinctively shut his eyes, then slowly opened them again. He lifted a hand up to feel his head. Much of the back and sides of his hair had survived but the top front had mostly
gone, only small patches were left. Martin was scared by what he saw but he could not look away.