Wave of Mutilation
I’m ten. I share a room at school with Tim.
One night I fall out of bed and land on my back with my head in between the bed and the bed-side table. I’m unable to roll to get up. I haven’t yet developed the strength and coordination to sit up on my own. I’m stuck.
I try to keep still so my head doesn’t ricochet off the bed’s caster wheel and the bedside cabinet. I’m suppressing a spasm which is like pulling back a spring, or the pin on a pinball machine: building up more energy the longer you hold back, dreading the inevitable release as you fight against it. When you can’t hold back any longer your body bounces around, smashing into nearby objects. My head bounces between the castor wheels and the bedside table, each hit setting off another spasm. Like dominos, again and again and again.
I shout out to Tim for help but no answer. Ping, ping, ping, ping. Right to left, left to right my head bangs. The pain sears on both sides as I start to see coloured shapes.
I shout out for Tim over and over, each time with more urgency than the last, my brain bruising the inside of my head as well as the out. I’m screaming with pain and frustration without even a peep from Tim. I can’t think why he’s not answering me. My brain feels like it’s getting shredded up in a blender powered by my own spasms. My head is just the container for the mush of my being, continuing the perpetual self-torture.
I cry out for Tim one last time in between spasms, only having a few seconds before they start up again. “TIM!!” After expelling the last cry which takes all of my energy, I temporarily can’t spasm for a few seconds, paralysed from exhaustion. This allows a moment of clarity in the preserved part of my mind. The sinking feeling and stupidity as I remember, “Oh yeah, Tim’s deaf…”. Ping, ping, ping, ping. The stupidity is rewarded by pain with the return of the spasms. I’m too far away to pull the call buzzer. In my ten-year-old brain I know I’m doomed; stuck in the darkness forever.
An eternity has passed. Calling out occasionally, more whimpering now as I’m tired and cold, knowing the tiredness will only feed the spasms. I’ve worked out that if I keep my head pressed against the side table, which is now wet from my tears, I can interrupt this relentless wave of mutilation.
A beam of light comes from the hallway, blinding me as one of the night staff comes in to find me on the floor. At last, I’m saved! She picks me up and puts me back to bed. Warm under the covers with my cuddly toys, I instantly fall asleep.
The next day I wake up, get out of bed to find Tim still fast asleep. I walk over to his bed and start hitting him to wake him up. He doesn’t respond but I can tell he’s awake. I don’t stop until he gets up.
He puts in his hearing aids, looking annoyed and confused.
“Why were you hitting me?”
“I fell out of bed last night and was calling for help!”
“I didn’t hear you.”
I am speechless.
Note to self: Deaf people can’t hear. Especially not in the dark.
