A Very Special Need

Edward lay down exactly as asked, and when Hugh bent his knees up, propped them against his hip and rocked the boy gently, curling and uncurling his spine with slow, careful movements, he could feel the pull of the taut, spastic muscles fighting him all the way. ‘I just want to get this area moving a little,’ he explained. ‘See if I can get some freedom back into this joint.’ He supported the spine with the flat of his hand, rocked away gently for a while and gradually the muscles began to give a little and he was able to get more movement through the joint.

‘It’s very tight, isn’t it?’ he said to Edward. ‘Is it often?’

‘It always is,’ the boy replied. ‘I have a lot of spasticity in my psoas muscles as well.’

No flies on this kid, Hugh thought with interest as he worked on the tight muscles. What a damn shame he’d been damaged at birth. He made a mental note to ask Judith—no, Miss Wright—the circumstances. ‘Who does your physio?’ he asked.

‘Mum—and the physio comes to school once a week to see how things are going. I have a special session with her when the others have got games.’

‘Do you do any games?

‘I work out in the gym a little with some special exercises when the others are there, but I can’t play football, of course. I go riding on Thursday with the RDA.’

Hugh had heard of the RDA—the Riding for the Disabled Association—a charity which with the help of volunteers and fundraisers offered an opportunity for disabled children and adults to ride carefully chosen ponies and horses. The Princess Royal was a great supporter of the organisation, he knew.

‘Do you enjoy it?’ he asked.

‘Yeah.’ There was an enthusiasm in his tone Hugh hadn’t heard before, and he guessed this was one part of being disabled that Edward didn’t find too irksome! ‘Although,’ he continued in his slow, careful speech, ‘sometimes I’m not sure who’s disabled, the ponies or the riders.’

Hugh laughed. ‘Are the ponies all old crocks, then?’

‘Not really. Some of them are quite young, but most of them have arthritis. There’s one, Pipkin, who’s new. He’s only nine but he can’t do much any more because of his leg. He’s a lot like me. He’d like to do more—I can feel it in him. He was sort of boiling inside with enthusiasm, but his body just won’t do it any more.’

‘I guess you would identify with that,’ Hugh said gently.

Edward gave a little snort. ‘Just a bit. I get so sick of everyone thinking I’m thick, just because I talk slowly and can’t move fast. People talk down to you—patronise you. It makes me mad. I get so frustrated.’

Hugh moved round to the other side of the treatment couch and spread some cream on Edward’s back, then turned on the ultrasound machine and ran the head lightly over the area of his sacrum and lumbar spine.

‘Do you get bullied much at school?’ he asked casually.

Edward stiffened a little, and Hugh rested a warm hand on his hip and squeezed gently. ‘Don’t tense up. Just let the ultrasound do its work. Just breathe deeply and let go.’

Gradually the boy relaxed again.

Hugh tried a different tack. ‘So, tell me again how you fell,’ he said softly.

The silence was broken only by the ticking of the timer on the ultrasound machine. For a long time Hugh didn’t think Edward was going to answer, then he drew in a shuddering breath and let it out.

‘This kid tripped me up on the stairs. He’s a new kid in my year. He’s been gunning for me all week, trying to prove something to the others—make his place or something.’ There was a wry chuckle. ‘Big mistake. They’re all used to me now, and they get a bit defensive. That’s why I don’t want to say anything. They’ll trash him if they know.’

‘They?’

‘Al and his mates. He’s my best friend. He’s Jamaican—his kid sister Flora’s got CP too. He gets really mad if anybody messes with me—makes the Mafia look like kindergarten. He’ll get in trouble if he’s caught sorting this kid. He’s done it before for me.’

‘And you think he would again?’

Edward snorted again. ‘I know he would.’

‘Perhaps you need to have a quiet word with the one who tripped you up—warn him off.’

‘Yeah, right—like he’ll really listen to me!’

‘He might—it’d be worth a try if it’ll keep your friend Al out of trouble.’ Hugh put the ultrasound head down and, using his knuckles, kneaded gently into the taut muscles.

‘That feels a little better. How does it feel from your side?’

‘Easier. Thanks.’

‘I won’t manipulate it today—it’s too fresh and fragile at the moment. What I want you to do is go home, ice-pack it three times a day for ten minutes and rest as much as possible. I’ll see you again on Monday evening at the end of surgery so I can spend as long as I need without time restrictions. I think the diary’s looking a bit hectic for early next week and I don’t want to just cram you into a little slot. Can you manage to get dressed again?’

Edward gave him a withering look. ‘I expect I’ll cope.’

Hugh laughed softly. ‘Often my patients need help. A bad back’s a bad back, Edward. It would be silly to mess yours up even more and make it worse just for the sake of your fool pride, wouldn’t it?’ He winked. ‘I’ll send in your mother in a minute.’

He found Miss Wright—not Judith, he reminded himself—where he’d left her, staring out of the window at the front garden. She swung round as he came in, and he felt the now-familiar thunderbolt slam him in the midsection.

At last! She was beginning to wonder if she’d ever see her son again. She found a smile. ‘Hi. How is he?’

‘Stiff, tender—he’s got a partial subluxation of the lumbosacral joint, caused by his fall, and the spasm of his psoas muscles isn’t helping him stand properly.’

‘They give him trouble,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It’s postural, and because of his spasticity.’

‘Yes. Anyway, he should be a bit more comfortable now. I’ve told him to rest over the weekend and he needs some frozen peas on it three times a day for a few minutes. Put them in a plastic bag and tie them up, and wrap them in a teatowel so he doesn’t get freezer burns. Just refreeze them after each session.’

She smiled again. ‘We have a bag of peas on the go most of the time,’ she told him softly. ‘Injuries are no stranger to him. He often turns his ankles.’

‘He would. It’s unfortunate—’

A noise in the distance caught their attention and he lifted his head. ‘Was that Edward? Did you hear him call?’

Judith shook her head. ‘No—is it someone at the back? I thought I heard someone a moment ago.’

‘Christine. Let me just check she’s all right. Would you like to go and make sure your son’s managing to dress himself, and then we’ll make you an appointement for next week?’

He excused himself and went down the corridor. She was just crossing the hall when he came back, looking distinctly harrassed.

‘Problems?’ she said instantly, searching his face for clues.

He rammed his hands through his hair. ‘You might say that. Miss Wright, have you ever delivered a baby before?’

Judith froze for a moment. A baby? Oh, Lord, no, don’t let her have to get involved with a delivery. Not after the disaster of Edward’s birth…

‘Well? Have you?’

‘Only Woody,’ she told him automatically.

His brow creased in puzzlement, but he moved on. ‘I’ll call an ambulance, but if you could go through there and talk to her? I think things are moving really very fast and she’s a bit scared.’