We make a brief stop back at Pendle, just long enough for me to duck in through my open window, stuffing a few odds and ends into my backpack: some homework from my Shakespeare and Victorian Lit classes, my Walkman, a few mix tapes, extra batteries, toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant. I exit through my door, locking it behind me. I pass by David on my way back outside, giving him the condensed version of recent events - I'm going to the hospital, probably overnight, not sure why, will call with more info later - before I'm on the road again into Lancaster proper.
The sister leads me through the Royal Lancaster Infirmary. It is old and worn. We wind our way through narrow corridors. Paint flakes from the walls and ceiling. We stop outside a small room, where we are greeted by a young man in a white coat.
"You must be Robert," he says, shaking my hand briskly. He looks exactly like the first doctor, the one from the campus infirmary. Except he's older, and he doesn't have a beard, and his hands aren't cold. Plus he doesn't ask any questions. Maybe it's the eyes.
"This will be your room," he says.
He leads me into the room. It is just across the hall from what looks to be some kind of nurses' station. I mean "sisters." That's what they call nurses here, at least the ones I deal with. There are windows on two sides of the room. A smaller one looks into a narrow alley, the other, larger and wider, gives me a view into the interior of the hospital.
A simple bed rests in the middle of the room, white sheets and white blankets, enough space to walk on either side. It surprises me that I have my own room. There is a vast ward just outside the room, with beds no more than five feet away from each other, light curtains separating them. But here I have my own bed, and walls, windows, a door. Seems odd.
"This is mine?" I ask, a little uncertain about the arrangement. It can't be more than a few hours after I first walked up to the campus infirmary. My mind is slow to catch up. And with all this walking around and everything, meeting all these new people, only getting fourteen hours of sleep the night before, I'm beginning to feel pretty wiped. Before I settle down, I want to make sure.
"You might as well make yourself comfortable," the doctor says. He pats the bed.
"What's next?" I ask. "Do I have to do anything?" I'm thinking a nap would be nice. I'm hoping there's not much for me to do other than sleep, get some medicine, maybe catch up on some homework later. It occurs to me that I haven't had any lunch yet. Can I even eat? Will they bring me food? Hospitals do that sort of thing, don't they?
"We're going to want a sample of your blood, first. A good sample. One of the sisters will be here in half a moment to help out. She'll draw the blood.
"From there, depending on what the blood test tells us, we might want you to meet a specialist, here, a hematologist. He's fantastic. Dr. Gorst. Marvelous."
"A what?" I ask.
"He's a specialist," the doctor says again. He moves throughout the room, adjusting the blinds, checking the bed, lining up a row of empty plastic bottles on a small table underneath the interior window.
"We suspect something might have gone bad in your blood. This quick test, from the blood draw the sister will do, this will help us understand more about what's happening. Dr. Gorst, he'll have some additional tests he might want to run, when he arrives later."
The doctor stops short, as if remembering something.
"But I'm getting ahead of myself. What's next? Try to get some rest. We'll be just outside if you need anything."
"Thanks," I say.
The sister from the University, who has been standing in the hall, reaches through the door and hands me my backpack. She smiles tightly.
"Good luck to you," she says.
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