There is another long, eventful wait in the A & E department in York after which Dan is finally escorted to a psychiatric ward.

To access previous chapters, visit Jane Read’s Author Page.

Chapter 12                                                        

DAN

 

  ‘The Edge’ There is no honest way to explain it because the only people

       who know where it is are the ones who have gone over.’

                 Hunter S. Thompson

 

I’m not quite sure what on earth I am doing in this place, but I do know there must be an important reason for me being here. I must prioritise my Heavenly Father’s mission. People keep on asking me the same questions over and over again, which is irritating.

I pace around in circles staring at my mobile phone. Mum asks if I want to hand it over to her and let her look after it. (She probably thinks I am about to chuck it across the floor, like I did with hers). But I march up to the TV screen, which is mounted, high in the corner of the room and I stand beneath it. ‘Children In Need’ is on. I turn towards the seated patients, holding my phone aloft and gesticulating towards the screen. I am prompting them to dial the numbers displayed above me and to donate their money. Then I notice a text which had been sent to me earlier that day by the stage crew at drama school.

I haven’t been to rehearsals. No-one has seen me all day. Perhaps I had better reply.

 

Backstage crew: ‘Hi Dan, can you tell me where you are right now? We are all getting worried because we’ve not been able to contact you’

Dan: ‘Hi there. I’m in York. My family are with me. They are saying I’m ill, but it is a bit more complicated than that’

Crew: ‘Can you tell us what’s happening? Ill in what way? Have you been to see a doctor?’

Dan: ‘I have, but doctors can’t help with this’

Crew: ‘Are you likely to be coming in this afternoon?’

Dan: ‘No’

Crew: ‘Sorry to bother you Dan, but we need to know what is happening.’

Dan: ‘I’m not sure how to explain it!’

Crew: ‘Well try…simplify. It has to go in the absence notes, so we do need a reason.’

Dan: ‘The reason is GOD.’

 

The texts stop abruptly after that.

The following day, Dad contacts the principal to report officially that they have brought me back to York. I overhear him saying,

‘Well we think Dan will definitely be absent from drama school for a week, maybe two, but we will make sure we keep you informed.’

Tom sits with me in the waiting area. I lean comfortably against him. My body goes completely limp as I relax and I slide gracefully from the bench onto the floor, landing with a bump. My brother shouts to staff that I have collapsed, but I honestly think it’s God controlling my muscles again and fully intended for this to happen. They ask me how I am feeling once I open my eyes,

‘I have never felt better. Things are so easy for me now’ and ‘I don’t have to worry ever again!’

I start some deep breathing, inhaling, exhaling, hissing loudly through my teeth which is a vocal technique we have been taught on my training course. A nurse brings a wheelchair across and raises my feet. I lie on my back laughing. Tom is getting quite annoyed now and demands to know why everything is taking so long. Once I am seated on my wheelie throne, my energy and powers return. I shout a series of loud proclamations to all who are listening,

‘Wake up! Wake Up! All ye who have ears to hear.

Listen to me. The time has come!

This pronouncement earns us the benefit of a private room. I sit bolt upright, slicing the air with my hands as I recite some of my favourite Hamlet soliloquies.  I can sense that people around me are enjoying my performance. They are watching me closely. You never know when there might be an agent around, somewhere in the audience.

I am taken into a room where another bloke with a stethoscope around his neck starts talking at me. They say he’s a doctor, but I think he is probably an actor, or a casting agent or even a director in disguise.

‘All these endless questions and pointless forms to fill in!’ I complain to him.

(I’m quite liking my own performance. I think I am making bold choices here.)

‘God has some epic plans for you.’ I tell the man. ’You are definitely capable of landing a better role than this.  I have discovered who I am and I know exactly where I’m heading.  No one can keep up with the speed of my thoughts.’

I am just getting started when he interrupts me!

‘Can you confirm your name and date of birth?’

            ‘I am Dan, Dan Read, and I was born on 15^th of…. . No, no, no… wait!’

I leap quickly to my feet and run to the opposite side of the room with one hand raised, eyes closed,

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry, I am so sorry Lord ‘

‘No, I was lying.’ I confess.

‘I am not Dan, I am Jesus Christ, who was promised to the world. I was born on 25th December! God will lead me everywhere from now on and tell me what I must to do. My life is in his hands. I don’t even need to read the Bible because I can simply feel what God wants. ………..God is FEELING’ I shout.

‘And guess what happened? I even received a text from God yesterday. I can show it to you if you like.’

 I reach for my phone. The man with the stethoscope is rubbing his forehead and smiling,

 ‘A text from God? …. hmmm….. I see.  Did you make a note of his number?’

They leave the room to go and fill in some more forms. Mum and I wait for a long time. She tells me to rest with her for a while and she sings softly to me for a few minutes. It’s pleasant at first but then I get bored, so I jump up to leave the room, walking straight through into the curtained bay next door where a small, elderly lady is lying quietly on a trolley bed.

‘What is your name?’ I ask her.

‘Margaret… Margaret Simpson’ she replies in a faint and croaky voice.

I place both my hands on top of her thinning strands of wispy white hair and I gaze heavenwards, as I pronounce my special blessing on her,

‘Thy will be done!’ I conclude triumphantly.

Her pale and wrinkled face breaks into the sweetest smile. I know for certain that I have helped to heal her broken leg as well as any other ailments she may have. For some reason Mum is apologising to the old lady’s daughter.

‘We are terribly sorry for disturbing you,’ she is saying, ‘It’s just that he thinks he’s… well…he thinks he is God at the moment!’ she whispers.

‘Don’t worry, it’s quite alright,’ she assures us.

Mum ushers me away from behind the curtain.

I am thankful that my heavenly father is leading me to people who need my healing the most.

The shrill, repetitive sound of Dad’s mobile cuts through the silence, infuriating me. He has gone off with Tom and left it here, inside his coat pocket. I spring to my feet, rummaging in the coat and I seize the offending object and quickly mute it before posting it into the nearest clinical waste bin. It drops to the bottom, with a clatter.

Mum is saying that she hopes Tom and Dad won’t be much longer. She always talks quietly and calmly to me, and it soon begins to dawn on me that she is the one person who God wants me to trust and to listen to. From now on, God will be speaking to me through her. She does get upset with the receptionist when we are told that there could be an even longer wait for the admissions team to arrive.

‘But we have been in here for so long already. My husband and I have been waiting in two different hospitals. We haven’t eaten or slept for almost fifty hours now!’ Because she is getting stressed, I join in. I’m feeling her anger inside of me. I start thumping my fist on the counter saying that we expect better service.

Mum says a few hours later, that she thinks it might be good for me to stay and have a rest in hospital for a  while. She mentions that I can choose to be admitted as a voluntary patient instead of being forced to stay and I agree, because I don’t want to be forced anywhere. God must have some very important purpose in bringing me here, most probably to seek out lost souls and to heal the sick. Dad asks me if he can keep hold of my phone for now. He says he will look after it for me and keep it safe. I agree because I certainly won’t need it where I am going. Tom is apologising to Mum for being so long with the consultant and leaving us alone but I assure him that we were completely fine the whole time.

Two men in uniform are standing a few yards away, waiting to escort me to my place of mission. I stride purposefully towards them with my arms outstretched. Mum scurries behind me, only just able to keep up. There is one scary moment which stops me in my tracks. As I step into the dark corridor, I catch sight of a row of trolley beds lined up against the wall with oxygen cylinders or chemical canisters of some sort attached to them, just above the wheel frame. I’m suddenly filled with terror at the sight of these and I turn back to Mum. I realise in that instant, that I’m entering some sort of alien environment. She gently rubs my back.

‘It’s alright’ she whispers.

‘But will it be ok for them to call me ‘Dan’ while I am in here?’ I ask.

‘Oh yes. That is what they will call you, so always listen carefully to them, take the medication they give you and try to sleep when they say it is time to sleep, because you need plenty of rest at the moment. (Her voice is unsteady.) And don’t forget to drink plenty of water. We will come back and see you tomorrow, I promise.’

Mum kisses me goodbye. There are tears on her face.  I won’t show her that my heart is breaking too. Dad and Tom hug me tightly. My family seem to want to keep me locked in their arms. But I gently extract myself from their grasp. I must go now, and they have to leave. I watch them back out, very slowly through the sliding glass doors.