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on her rounds, closing the door on her way out.

    Around mid morning there came a knock at the door. The man who entered was young, wearing a uniform not too dissimilar from the nurse’s outfits. He was tall, had bushy sideburns and long blond curly hair.
    “Hi, I’m Ed.” He introduced himself in a cheery tone. “I’m going to be your physio. We’ll have you up and about in no time at all.”
    Before giving Iain any chance to respond he was over to the bed and pulling off the sheets.
    “Right, you stay there for now, just try and relax.” He took hold of one of Iain’s legs and bent it at the knee.
    With a body unused to movement the stiffness caught Iain by surprise, causing him to yelp.
    “Sorry,” said Ed and proceeded to lay Iain’s leg out flat again before doing the very same thing to the other one. “It might be a little uncomfortable to start with but it’ll get a lot easier. I promise.”
    After repeating the process a few times with each leg he proceeded to move onto the arms, working in a very similar fashion. All the time he was speaking, and laughing.
    Iain wondered whether he ever shut up, then told himself off for being uncharitable. After all, it was good to hear a friendly voice after all the quiet; or was it? He had become quite accustomed to the silence and now this man was overloading his senses with needless chatter. Iain wanted him to go and leave him in peace.
    The whole process only took about twenty minutes, at the end of which, Ed gave instructions for Iain to spend as much time as he could each day trying to move his arms and legs, he also produced a tennis ball which he told him to spend time squeezing to build up the muscles in his arms a little. By the time he left, Iain was quite exhausted.
    Upon his departure, Ed had left the door open which allowed Iain to see at least one small part of the world outside the room. As he lay in bed watching people scurry about a shadow passed across the opening. Iain thought it looked like a figure, but greyed out. Nobody in the corridor had seemed to notice and for Iain it was only a fleeting glimpse. While he lay pondering the apparition and whether it had simply been a figment of his imagination, Tim made an appearance.
    “Hi. How are you today?” he asked, closing the door behind him.
    “Erm, OK,” Iain croaked back, wondering who the cheerful new visitor was, for Tim had only ever visited while Iain was asleep, and not being a stickler for tradition, never wore a dog collar to identify himself as a man of the cloth.
    He must have seen the confusion on Iain’s face, “Apologies, I’m Tim, the hospital clergyman.”
    “Hi.”
    “Do you feel up to talking?”
    Iain nodded and shrugged at the same time. He didn’t really feel like a conversation about God. He was tired and wanted to be left alone for a while, but didn’t want to appear rude.
    “You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
    Iain nodded in agreement and signalled towards the cup of water. Thirst now gripped him, ravaging his throat and lips. The clergyman passed the cup and Ian drank, spluttering a little as his throat was not yet used to swallowing. Tim took a tissue and gently wiped the expelled liquid from Iain’s chin.
    “I just wanted to introduce myself and let you know that if you ever need to talk about anything, feel a bit down or need some support then I’m here to help. I know an experience like yours can be, errm, difficult.”
    “OK, thanks.” Iain was grateful for the offer but didn’t know how a vicar could help and sank his head further into his pillow, his eyes half closing: A subtle hint to be left alone.
    Tim picked up on this, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to be preaching to you, I’m not that kind of guy. I’m literally here for moral and spiritual support when you need it.” He was very aware of not wanting to overstate his point or overstay his welcome.
    There was so much he wanted to ask but sensed that it was not a good time.