The Emergency department is pretty quiet right now, possibly because it's the morning of a weekday when the majority of people are working and kids are in school, and not a Friday or Saturday night after all the clubs and bars have emptied of their inebriated and often volatile patrons.
We have only been waiting for 10 minutes when a nurse calls me through to be seen. Noah asks if he can come along with me and I'm actually grateful, I'm not a huge fan of pain or blood, so am glad of the company to help keep me distracted.
Once again I am seen by Dr Kendall, whose eyes widen with recognition when she sees me, then confusion crosses her face as she directs her gaze at Noah, no doubt wondering why I'm here with a man other than the 'boyfriend' I was with a few weeks ago, and again, with injuries to my face. The suspicion on her face is clear as she stands and extends her hand for me to shake.
"Hello again Miss Benfield. You enjoyed your visit here so much last time you're back for more?" she jokes, gesturing I sit in the chair beside her.
"So, what can I help you with today?"
I attempt to speak but sound like a toddler just learning to form words, drooling bloodstained saliva down my chin as I do. I look to Noah pleadingly and he replies on my behalf with a short and sharp "she fell!" before turning away and gazing out of the window.
Dr Kendall raises her eyebrows at this, then crosses the room and puts on some gloves. Retaking her seat she removes the cloth from my face and inspects my mouth, pulling my lips around, making me open my mouth as wide as possible, checking my teeth aren't loose and ensuring I haven't bitten my tongue.
She hands me some clean gauze to press to my mouth and hands the wet and bloody cloth to Noah, who promptly drops it into the clinical waste bin with a rather disgusted face, then scrubs his hands clean before sitting back down and squeezing my hand as Dr Kendall explains that most of the damage is thankfully inside my mouth. A two inch split below my bottom teeth, a few small punctures in my top lip probably as a result of biting it in my fall and a superficial split to my outer bottom lip.
There are no stitches or treatment required, the wounds will heal on their own and shouldnt cause permanent damage, but I will need to regularly rinse my mouth with salt water, keep my teeth clean to avoid infection and eat soft foods that don't require too much chewing until it is no longer painful. She advises me that my mouth will swell over the next few days and that simple pain relief may help, before injecting some local anaesthetic into my mouth to help with the pain for the next few hours.
Doing my best to thank her for her time again I stand to leave but she places her hand on my arm and gently guides me back into my chair. Turning her attention to Noah she asks him to please wait outside as she needs to ask some personal questions before I can leave.
Noah doesn't hesitate and immediately leaves the room, telling me he will be waiting in the car for me. She thanks him politely then turns her attention back in my direction. Smiling at me and placing her hand on my arm she tells me that she is concerned that she has seen me with facial injuries twice in a month, and suggests I get a full health check to make sure there is no medical reason for both of my 'falls'. Maybe, she suggests, I have low blood pressure or anaemia? Both easily treatable conditions that could mean I end up with far less injuries from falling.
Something about her tone tells me that she is worried about me, but I don't think she is worried about my medical welfare.
"Sydney, I know speaking is difficult for you right now, so I'll ask you some simple yes/no questions and I'd like you to respond with either a nod for yes, or a shake of your head for no. Is that ok?"
Nodding with an "Mmm-hmm" I sit up straighter in my chair, suddenly nervous about the questions she intends to ask me. As if reading my mind she reassures me that if I do not respond to a question in any way she will presume I'd prefer not to say and will move on to the next. Again I communicate my understanding with a nod. Swallowing my nerves and wringing my hands in my lap I anxiously await the first question.
"Sydney. Are you safe?" She asks with genuine concern on her face, leaning forwards in her chair and placing one hand on my trembling knee.
My bewilderment at the question must be discernible as she rephrases her enquiry.
"Is someone hurting you Sydney?"
What?! She thinks Noah did this to me!? Oh my god, she really does think I'm being beaten! My eyebrows rapidly arch further upward as I suck in a shocked breath. I can feel nothing except for the hammering of my heart and the icy fingers of fear running up my spine. The thumping of my heartbeats the only sound I can clearly hear, like a succession of cannons being fired after the announcement of a Royal birth.
My entire body feels frozen stiff. I can't move!
I'm paralysed....
...... with fear!!
Memories of my life with Harry begin to flash through my mind, the only details I can see clearly are of his face, contorted with rage or disgust. Visions of his rapidly approaching palm or the sole of his shoe flash past my eyes at speed. I feel as if I am about to float away, my body becoming limp, the edge of my vision becoming blurrier and darker. The last image I see is Harry's 'real face'. Not the stunningly handsome, charming, well brought up, famous and smiling Harry that the public fawn over, but the Harry that I know.
The monster.
The sadistic bully that tortured me during our relationship, and torments me still, not by his actions as I haven't seen him since our divorce, but just by the knowledge I have that he is a free man, able to travel on a whim, a man who could find me anywhere..... and promised me he would, when I was least expecting it he would be there, and he would make me pay for daring to leave him.
I open my eyes.
I am lying on my right side on the floor, something soft under my head, my left leg positioned at a 90 degree angle from my torso, left hand under my right cheek. I sleep like this, but given my current position on the floor I realise I have been placed into the recovery position. What the hell happened? I slowly sit up and open my eyes to see the concerned but smiling face of Dr Kendall, and the tear streaked mask of terror worn by Noah who had been recalled to the room by a nurse after my collapse.
Before I have a chance to do anything else Noah lifts me from the floor and places me back on the chair I had been sitting on. He pecks me on my cheek and after a small nod at Dr Kendall he leaves the room.
Turning back to Dr Kendall as she begins to speak I feel embarrassed that I have lost time, humiliated myself by passing out, and annoyed that I probably haven't convinced her that I'm fine!
"....... so I believe you had a panic attack brought on by what you were experiencing in your mind in that moment. I can recommend some great therapists and psychiatrists to you" she continues, tapping computer keys as she speaks.
"No.... no. I fwwine. I oh-ay!" I dribble incoherently while vigorously shaking my head from one side to the other, my intention to reassure her that I am 'fine' and 'ok' although I'm not sure that's what she took from the string of unintelligible nonsense that I could vocalise, unable to make my lips move because of the local anaesthetic. Every word was also accompanied by a drop of blood or spit.
"I ang thathe! I did thall! Ine clunsy" I tell her, hoping she has a PhD in deciphering gibberish.
"I'm glad you feel safe, and some people are clumsy, lord knows I am, but two quite significant facial injuries in such a short space of time, along with some other behaviours have me concerned for you. Did you notice how your companion didn't allow you to come in to see me alone? How he was tightly holding your hand? These are behaviours we see in abusers. It's a form of control. Add to that the pleading face you gave him when I asked you how you got hurt, as if asking for permission to speak, or rather for him to answer on your behalf, and also the panic attack that came on after my question and there are a few red flags there for me that I cannot ignore. I understand how frightening it can be to experience violence and control, to feel powerless and vulnerable, but I can help you. If you need help to leave there are charities that can assist you. Would you like me to get you some details Sydney?"
"NO!! No need, honetht!! Ine not in danger. Ine thathe, learly! Thankyou thor your concern though!" I manage to get out despite the immobile lips.
She hands me some literature and suggests I read through it, imploring me to visit someone to talk about my situation, again reminding me of all the help available to battered spouses nowadays.
"Sydney, I believe you are suffering from PTSD. Something in your life either has, or is affecting you for you to respond in that way. Have you heard of repressed memory? Trauma can cause our minds lock away things which will hurt us, as a way to protect our wellbeing. When something triggers you, and it can be something seemingly insignificant, like a smell or a sound, panic attacks can occur. They are a symptom of something else. Please see a therapist. It might help, and come back and see me if you ever need to. I will help you. Be safe Sydney. Goodbye"