My hospital room was a smallish rectangle. My bed rested pretty much in the middle of the room, lengthwise. A window stretched out across most of the wall to my right. It looked into the hospital wing, the more crowded beds slightly down the hall. The door was just past the window, so when the visitors started to trickle in, they tended to congregate at the foot of my bed.
I figure I must have called David, or Simon, or somebody. I know that I didn't grab enough stuff from my room -- before I knew that I'd be leaving Lancaster, I was still determined to finish some of my homework. It's not like I ever locked my door, so I probably called one of the boys late that first night, when it became clear that I'd be spending at least a couple of days in the hospital. No big deal, I must have said. I just figure it might get a bit boring laying around in bed all day, so if you wouldn't mind grabbing some books from the corner of my desk, maybe some more tapes, whatever.
There would have been laughter. They would have given me endless amounts of shit for being a stupid git, missing the chance to play pool that night, no chance to try besting my high score on the motorbike game. Of course, we'd dance quietly around the fact that they all had to wear surgical masks before they could enter my room, and there would be sideways glances towards the IV running into my arm, but these things are to be expected.
I'm sure that I called them after the test results came in. There was still some hesitation about whether or not my treatment would be in London, or, more likely, Seattle. Not a problem, I'm certain I told Wayne, or maybe Chris. Jim? The doctors had told me, I'd told them, that survival rates are exceptional. Nothing to worry about. It's just that well, bollocks and all, I'd definitely be leaving the campus. Quickly. At most, a matter of days.
And when my friends visited again, later, a gentle, steady, ever-expanding wave of smiling, worried faces from the University, we were still able to laugh together. They brought gifts and get-well cards. I was tired, and nervous, and at the same time that I wanted to rest for the eventual trip back to Seattle, I didn't want to say goodbye. It felt strange -- as the details of my departure were arranged behind the scenes, conversations I was not privy to -- as the waves subsided. I felt stationary, like I wasn't going anywhere. I think maybe I got out of bed, but maybe I didn't. Everything moved around me. Everybody said goodbye to me, then walked away, smiles and waves trailing along the window and past my field of vision.
It felt like I wasn't the one leaving Lancaster, but that my friends were leaving me.
