Heat, pigmented views, like a television, with voices screaming, shouting, yelling. There are voices, but now I do not know if they are screaming or just speaking to me, and there is heat. And now I want to succumb to sleep, to lie down and rest and rest. But then I am drawn back out of it and the pigments flood me again and the heat flushes me. I open my eyes and see the doctor's hand slapping me with the words, 'Boy, Boy' and then him running out of the room. His white coat flows behind him as he runs and says, 'Fuckin, fuckin' in short, exasperated bursts of Greek-accented speech. When he returns he is accompanied by a nurse with a plastic bone hanging around her neck. She says to me, 'What is your name?' I say my name then scoff in a lazy fashion at the notion that I would not know my name. As the two bicker my eyes stray across the room and I see needles and diagrams and then both of them leave, at separate times or at the same time I cannot remember. I am sweating and the nurse helps me take off my coat and I am thankful for this. It is hot. I lean back and rest and they tell me to do this and then I smell the cauterised wound on my head. Is it burnt flesh that I smell or burnt hair, I wonder. Eventually I get up and am taken to another room where all I can think about is that I left my book in the other room and that this is what it feels like to have to be helped by doctors and nurses and for you to be able to do nothing. People can be left so vulnerable. And I only fainted...