BooksBarbecue
Back Going Under
Chapters (70)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  3. DEDICATION
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART I BIRTH
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EIGHT
  14. NINE
  15. TEN
  16. ELEVEN
  17. TWELVE
  18. THIRTEEN
  19. FOURTEEN
  20. FIFTEEN
  21. PART II LIFE
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. TWENTY
  27. TWENTY-ONE
  28. TWENTY-TWO
  29. TWENTY-THREE
  30. TWENTY-FOUR
  31. TWENTY-FIVE
  32. TWENTY-SIX
  33. TWENTY-SEVEN
  34. TWENTY-EIGHT
  35. TWENTY-NINE
  36. THIRTY
  37. THIRTY-ONE
  38. THIRTY-TWO
  39. THIRTY-THREE
  40. THIRTY-FOUR
  41. PART III DEATH
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. THIRTY-SEVEN
  45. THIRTY-EIGHT
  46. THIRTY-NINE
  47. FORTY
  48. FORTY-ONE
  49. FORTY-TWO
  50. FORTY-THREE
  51. FORTY-FOUR
  52. FORTY-FIVE
  53. FORTY-SIX
  54. FORTY-SEVEN
  55. FORTY-EIGHT
  56. FORTY-NINE
  57. FIFTY
  58. FIFTY-ONE
  59. FIFTY-TWO
  60. FIFTY-THREE
  61. FIFTY-FOUR
  62. FIFTY-FIVE
  63. FIFTY-SIX
  64. FIFTY-SEVEN
  65. FIFTY-EIGHT
  66. FIFTY-NINE
  67. SIXTY
  68. EPILOGUE
  69. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  70. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

‘What’s the problem?’ I ask Sally, trying to sound confident and together, and like, you know, a doctor. (The truth is that whenever someone approaches me in the hospital and opens with, ‘Excuse me, Doctor’, it’s enough to make my heart sink so fast I’m surprised blood doesn’t start seeping out of my shoes. I feel my testicles retracting and I don’t even have any. There aren’t really any words to describe the all-encompassing dread that grips my entire body.)

‘He’s shaking. I think he’s got a fever.’ Sally looks as scared as I feel. What she doesn’t look is confident in my abilities, which I find strangely comforting. It’s as if we’re soldiers together, in a situation neither of us can handle, but at least we have each other. We’re Batman and Robin. Sherlock and Watson. Dr Who and companion. We are—

Except that, as a nurse, Sally doesn’t really have any responsibility beyond informing a doctor what is going on—and that doctor is me.

There’s no Batman and Robin; there’s just Batman. Sherlock has no Watson. Dr Who has no … whoever Dr Who usually has.

I walk quickly to Mr Waters’s bedside. The sight that greets me makes me want to curl up into the foetal position and start crying. Sally’s right. He’s sick. He isn’t even just a bit sick. He’s fucked. I stare at Mr Waters, the Shark’s number one VIP patient, in abject terror.

Mr Waters is shaking so hard that his IV pole bangs against the metal bedframe with every convulsion. He has beads of sweat running down his face, and his teeth are chattering.

‘Get … Dr …’ he gasps as his eyes plead with me for help. I have a feeling that Mr Waters knows I’m totally useless and is giving me the right advice. I need a doctor. A real doctor. STAT!

I ring the Joker, who declines to answer. So I try the Smiling Assassin. The call goes straight to voicemail. With little time to spare I bite the bullet and call the Shark. I stammer something incoherent into the phone but manage to convey the important details. The Shark, who I’ve never seen or heard looking anything other than iceberg cool, sounds extremely angry. He yells something about a CT scan and hangs up. Time starts moving very quickly. I run to the computer to try to order a CT scan on the internal hospital system, but I can’t find the right code name of the scan. I’m so flustered I can barely function. Sally runs back over to report that Mr Waters is simultaneously vomiting and shitting blood! His blood pressure is dropping! His heart rate is through the roof!

‘Should I do a PACE call?’ she asks me, looking frantic.