Going down // Mark Knopfler

Chapter 3: First night

Half an hour later, John went to room 356. He rapped on the door with his knuckles and then opened it. It was a simple single room. There was a bathroom and a closet. A large round window. There was a hospital bed in the middle of the room. There were two stands around the bed that held a bag of fluid and a bag of blood. There was also a heart monitor that beeped quietly. Mark was in bed. The blood transfusion and the IV both went into the crook of his arm. The tube in his nose was still there. His hair was freshly washed and still slightly damp. He was lying on his back and wearing a hospital gown. His light blue eyes were exhausted and looked at John.

"Hey." John said quietly as he closed the door behind him and walked towards the bed. "Hey, how are you?" He asked gently and sat down on the chair next to the bed.

"I've been feeling better." Mark muttered. Bruises began to form on his skin. Especially on his face. John nodded.

"Do you want something to drink?" The bassist asked when he saw the water jug with the glass on the bedside table. Mark turned his head and looked at the mug himself.

"I can handle it, John. Don't worry." Mark tried to sit up, but fell back into the pillows with a loud groan.

"Damn, how can you be so stubborn!?" John growled angrily. He stood up and poured some water into the glass. Then he went to Mark's side. Since Mark couldn't lift himself, John held the glass to Mark's lips. While Knopfler was drinking, he spilled a little because he was drinking while lying down. John pulled the glass back and wiped the water from Mark's chin with the back of his hand. "Do you want some more?" Mark nodded silently.

"My throat feels like sandpaper." He grumbled. John chuckled as he poured some more water into the glass and then held it back up to the singer's lips. John had to smile a little. He couldn't remember the last time he took care of someone. In reality, he hadn't cared for anyone very often. Maybe this was an opportunity for him too. When Mark had drunk enough, John put the glass back on the bedside table.

"Do you need anything else?" Asked the bassist.

"I'm cold." Mark muttered. John looked around the room for a bit before spotting a blanket. He unfolded it and placed it gently over Mark's body.

"Better?"

"Thanks, John." Mark said quietly.

"No problem. You're my friend." The singer grinned crookedly at him. "Are you still in pain?" Mark shifted a little in bed, biting his bottom lip as he lay on his injured back.

"A little. But not as bad as it was an hour ago."

"Did you get any painkillers?" Mark nodded.

"Not enough to make me delirious." Mark sighed. "I'm tired, John."

"Then get some sleep." John sat back in the chair next to Mark.

"Are you staying here?" Mark asked puzzled and yawned a little. His pain was finally gone and he could relax a little. At least before the painkillers wore off again.

"That's what I was planning on doing." Nodded the bassist. There was a knock on the door and a doctor came in.

"Mr. Knopfler? Mr. Illsley?" They both looked at him.

"Yes." John nodded and stood up. "You rest, Mark. I'll talk to the doctor."

"Mr. Illsley, there is medical confidentiality, I'm not allowed to tell you anything, I..."

"That's okay." Mark yawned. His eyelids slowly closed. The doctor nodded and went to the door with John.

"So?" John asked. The doctor sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"He will need a lot of rest. He will stay in hospital for at least a week and then has to be on bed rest at home for at least two weeks."

"Ok." John nodded. "What exactly happened to him?" The doctor sighed.

"His right rib arch is completely broken, two ribs on his left are broken. It's a miracle the ribs didn't puncture his lungs." John took a worried breath. "He has a concussion, so he might throw up tonight. We've already bandaged the gash on the back of his head. His right arm is broken but already in a cast. We did the best we could to remove the splinters from his back, but he will be in a lot of pain for the next few days. His flesh was cut. Unfortunately, it could also be that he will develop inflammation. But that remains to be seen. His chest will most likely have major scars. We suspect there were nails in the wooden beam because that's what the injuries looked like. As if nails had been torn from his chest. How was the beam removed?" John bit his lip.

"We just lifted the beam and threw it to the side."

"So you probably, torn out the nails." The doctor murmured.

"That was our fault?" John asked with wide eyes. The doctor put a hand on his shoulder.

"You can't change that now anyway. We just have to be careful now that no inflammation develops. He will most likely develop a fever anyway due to the heavy blood loss."

"What about his legs? Shortly after the accident he told us that he couldn't feel his legs."

"There should be nothing wrong with his legs." The doctor reassured him. "He just didn't feel it because his body shut down all other sensations due to the intense pain. But as I said, he sustained major injuries from that wooden beam."

"So he's not out of the woods yet?" John asked. The doctor shook his head.

"You can't say that for another week." John nodded.

"Thank you." The bassist went back into the room. Mark's eyes were closed. This time his body lay relaxed on the bed and his chest heaved as best it could with his broken ribs. John took the chair that was in the corner of the room and pulled it up to the bed so he could sit comfortably. He looked for a while at Mark's face, which was illuminated by the moonlight through the round window because the bass player had turned off the light. "What have you gotten yourself into again, Mark?" John sighed and closed his eyes to get some sleep.