Lets Relive Everything

I trawled up the stairs and opened the door to my bedroom. It still wasn't a bedroom I was used to walking into, even though I'd been there over three months now. It didn't feel like it belonged to me, even the white of the walls seemed unfamiliar. My clothes didn't feel like my own there, and I just didn't know why. I wondered if it was because I was so used to seeing them strewn on a different carpet. The bed faced the wrong way. I hated it when things were different. I sat down on the edge of the bed and put my book bag down next to me. Another uneventful day at university. I swung my legs round and pulled the duvet up around myself. The December air was even more biting than usual today and I didn't know how to work the heating. At home Mum or Dad always dealt with the heating. But here I was on my own. And I felt too embarrassed to ask one of my housemates; what kind of 18 year old doesn't know how the heating works. Besides, they were all out anyway. They all had boyfriends and girlfriends who occupied them most evenings. But I stayed here in the quiet and cold and wrapped my duvet around my body as tightly as I could. It unnerved me, being alone in the house the majority of the time; the stairs creaked and a breeze with no apparent origin made doors slam unaided. I was constantly worried that there was someone downstairs and I made multiple trips to the top of the stairs to stand as silently and still as I could listening for any signs of movement. That never happened back home,

I always had the knowledge that my Dad was in the next room to frighten off any intruders should anyone break in. And there I was used to the sounds the house made. These sounds were foreign; I hadn't adapted to the rattling of the pipes or odd noises that I still had yet to assign a cause to.

As I opened my laptop to check my emails my phone rang. I fumbled around for it in my bag, sifting through papers trying to find the source of the light glowing through them.

“Hello”

“Hi Dyl”

“Hi Mum, how're you?”

“I'm okay love, how're you getting on?

“Okay thanks. Just a week to go now.”

“Oh yes, goodness, I can't believe you've done a whole semester already. It seems like only yesterday you left!

“I can't believe it either.”

“So which day are you coming home?”

“Saturday night. I haven't actually got that much stuff to bring home, so I'll just get the train.”

“Okay love, how about we go out for a nice meal Saturday night when you get here?”

“Can I pick where we go?” Mum laughed.

“Of course love.”

“How's Dad?” The silence lingered for a moment longer than I was comfortable with.

“Well don't get too worried, but he's in hospital with a nasty chest infection.”

“Really? Did he go in today?”

“Yes, well I didn't want to say anything, but I took him to A&E yesterday and they gave him some medicine, but today he seemed worse so I took him back and they admitted him.”

“Is he okay though?”

“Well he's in the best place. At the moment they're thinking it's pneumonia, but I don't know much about it really.”

“Pneumonia? When Daisy had that in primary school she was off for a whole year!”

“I don't think so love, I think it clears up in a few weeks.” I began to tap furiously at the keyboard of my laptop.

“That's definitely what she had; you know I never forget.”

“Yes Dyl, I know you never forget. But I'm sure it doesn't usually last for that long.” I typed 'pneumonia' into a search engine and loaded up the page.

“I'm looking it up now.”

“Oh Dylan, please don't get yourself worried. He's still his cheery old self, joking with the nurses and laughing about being in a ward called E Bay.” I smiled. But I was worried. I remembered how ill that girl in my class had been in year 3, even her friends weren't allowed to visit her. The page I was looking for online popped up. I read out loud.”

“With treatment, most types of bacterial pneumonia can be cleared within two to four weeks and mortality is very low. In the United States, about 5% of those diagnosed with pneumococcal pneumonia will die.”

“Dylan!”

“I'm interested!” Mum hated it when I looked up fatality percentages. But I'd always done it, since I was 8 or 9, whenever I became unwell I'd get straight on to the computer and look up my chances of survival. It put the illness into perspective for me. Dad had a 95% chance of surviving the pneumonia, and that gave me comfort. He was a strong man, in so many different ways; I knew he'd get through it and be back to his fighting self in no time.

“Well don't read too much into it love, please. He's going to be fine.”

“Okay mum. Just keep me updated, won't you?”

“Everyday dear, of course I will.”

“Thanks Mum.”

“Okay Dyl well I just wanted to let you know. I've got to head off for evening visiting at the hospital now, but I'll give you a call after you finish uni tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. Send Dad my love.”

“Will do darling. Take care of yourself.”

“Bye mum.”

“Bye love.” I hung up the phone. I didn't like to think of my Dad in hospital. He was usually so resistant to illness; he went to work everyday regardless of how he felt. I knew he'd been run down in the past few weeks; he'd been working a lot of overtime with all the implementations that his job entailed. But I just hadn't expected him to be taken into hospital. I wasn't used to the image of my Dad being unwell, so much so that I couldn't really picture him lying there in a hospital bed. Throughout my life there had only been a couple of occasions that I could recall him being ill at all. He was your typical Dad, seemingly immune to health problems. But I kept reminding myself that he had a 95% chance of making it through, and that knowledge kept me from reading any more into it on the internet. I closed the window and read through my emails, and on finding nothing interesting, I flicked the television on with the remote and relaxed back into bed.

When I got back from university the next day, I fished my phone out of my pocket to find two missed calls. My stomach instantly harboured an uneasy feeling; Mum never rang me during uni hours. I sat down at the kitchen table and dialled the home phone. It only rang twice before she picked up.

“Hello?” She said.

“Mum, it's Dylan. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, why didn't you answer your phone earlier?”

“I was in a lecture.”

“Oh, sorry love, I thought you finished at three. I just wanted to give you an update.”

“What's the news?”

“Well they're keeping him in another night at least, but he's still in good spirits. He told me today that's he's so bored that he's been making a trip to the toilet last ten minutes each time; taking baby steps on the way there and back, just to pass the time.” I laughed.

“Sounds like Dad.”

“Yeah. He seemed a little better to me today though.”

“Oh that's good.”

“But they have confirmed that's it is pneumonia. It's a type I've not heard of before though, called Lobar Pneumonia. But just because I'm telling you this Dyl doesn't mean you can spend hours trawling the internet and getting yourself worked up.”

“I won't Mum.” I lied. I'd always been interested in the medical side of life, and as with anything, doing a bit of research always eased my mind a little. I hated not being in the know. One of my housemates walked into the kitchen at that moment and I made excuses to end the conversation with my Mum. I put the phone down on the table and Georgia sat down opposite me.

“Long day?” I asked as she took off her coat and scarf.

“The longest.” She smiled. “Been in the library. 2,000 word essay due on Friday.”

“Sucks to be you.” I smiled back.

“How was your day?” She asked.

“Long as well. My Dad's been diagnosed with pneumonia.”

“Oh God, Dyl, I'm sorry.” She got up instantly from her chair and began to root around in her cupboard, taking out a bottle of vodka and pouring me a glass without consulting me. She topped it up with orange juice from the fridge then pushed the glass towards me.