Writing for Fun
January 2019
Reflections - Jan Norman
I winced as the revolving doors flung me out of the warmth of Sheffield’s Axley Engineering Works into the teeth of the biting North wind and driving sleet. Flinging up the hood of my padded jacket and tightly clutching my briefcase I made a dash for my car.
Switching on the engine and heater and loosening the waistband of my trousers to ease the pressure on my ever burgeoning stomach, I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes. In the relative warmth and calm of my Ford Focus I took stock of my day so far and tried to plan ahead.
So far it had been a bitch of a week. As a salesman most days found me on the road but I tried hard to plan my appointments so as to cut down on the stress of travelling but this week was going to be bad.
Yesterday I had been in Manchester and today Sheffield. It was now 5 pm and tomorrow I would need to be in Essex by 9am. To cap it all I had been feeling lousy for the last 24 hrs; a bit of a temperature, vague stomach and chest pains and lots of belching. Lord, I was getting too old for this job.
I sighed. Feeling sorry for myself was not going to help. I sat up straight, set the sat nav, buckled up and headed for the road.
Twenty minutes later I joined the M1 at junction 35, southbound. Needless to say the traffic was appalling, the road slippery and visibility poor. High winds were trying to push everyone off the road. My windscreen wipers whined in protest at having to work hard to clear the sleety drizzle. I sighed, Hey, Ho, only another 180 odd miles to go; nothing really, just a walk in the park I told myself.
My plan was to get as near to my destination as possible before stopping for the night. Normally this journey should take about 4 hours but conditions were not good and I still had to have dinner as well before I turned in.
I shouldn’t have made light of it for as if tempting fate I experienced the worst pain to date. Heartburn I suppose but weirdly I still felt really hungry.
Daylight was fading fast. Spasmodic stretches of lit and unlit motorway tired my eyes. Junctions came and went.
J 34, turnoff, Meadowhall lit up to my right, then junction 32, where the M18 joined. Worksop turning came and went.
A few miles later and only 148 miles to London was the Chesterfield turnoff.
Woodall Service station beckoned, tawdry bright lights bleeding onto the tarmac and traffic. The reflections distorted by wind and rain confusing the senses, tiring the mind and draining the soul.
Reflective strips on lorries and tankers ahead helped me to focus but sometimes the only guide forward was the reflections of the myriad cat’s eyes strewing the four lanes, red delineating the hard shoulder until the change to green marked a slip road joining; white cat’s eyes offside marking where one lane ended and another began.
Junction 29, the car’s headlights reflected off the Mansfield and Matlock turnoff.
Signs flashed past every few yards it seemed:
Tiredness kills take a break
Services in 6 and 10 miles.
Nottingham Forest Visitors Centre 2miles
Emergency stop area 1 mile
Overhead gantries and roadside signs disgorged information at you until your head spun: road works, speed restrictions, lane or even junction closures.
As the miles passed Tibshelf, then Trowell Services looked even more inviting than Woodall as does the raddled lady of the night begin to seem more attractive to the drunk or really desperate when she is the only choice.
The sleet luckily had turned to rain but had started to fall in gusting sheets. The windscreen wipers slowed to a crawl manfully trying but failing to deal with the onslaught.
It was now nearly 7.30pm and then it appeared, the sign that struck dread into the hearts of all motorway drivers. The overhead gantry displayed in huge orange letters, Accident ahead at junction 21, Birmingham and M6 turnoff.
I thought quickly, next services were Donnington at Junction 23a and there was also a Travelodge. I had had enough. I’d eat, get a good night’s sleep and set off early tomorrow morning as I was still over a hundred miles from London.
Donnington was definitely the most alluring lady of the night that I had ever seen. I pulled into a parking space as near to the services entrance as possible and, using my smartphone, booked a bed at the Travelodge on the same sight. Then I went in search of a meal.
Berger King beckoned. After two burgers and chips with coffee I felt restored. Well as good as I was going to feel tonight I suppose. The shop next door supplied Rennies, Paracetamol, chocolate bars, crisps and a couple of cans of beer and a bottle of water. I needed something extra tonight to soothe my soul and my, literally, my troubled breast.
Finally, in my hotel room, after donning sleep track suit bottoms and T shirt, I laid down on the bed, beer and food on bedside table, switched on the TV to catch some snooker and finally relaxed. My ‘phone alarm awoke me at 5.30. I felt awful. Acid raged up and down my gullet and the pain had spread. The tightness in my chest was worse and now both shoulders were aching. So much for a good night’s sleep I thought.
A hot shower, three cups of strong coffee and two Paracetamol and I felt able to continue on my journey. Crunching Rennies I left the Travelodge.
Conditions on the road were, if anything, even more appalling this morning than they were last night. The wind was howling and the rain torrential. I ran to the car and then wished I had not. Pain had tightened its grip around my chest and I now felt breathless to boot.
Once in the car the pain subsided and as I turned off the slip road onto the M1 I began to wonder if I had imagined the severity of attack. Anyway there was nothing I could do this morning but I resolved to make an appointment with my Doctor as soon as I got home.
Half an hour later on the road the sign for Watford Gap Services appeared, which was just as well as the pain was now again reaching a crescendo. Increasingly breathless and with vision blurring, looking out for the actual turnoff was getting to be an impossibility. Reflections of lit road signs, street lights and traffic headlights were beginning to spin around and coalesce into a rainbow swirl before my eyes and sounds were fading. Instinctively I wrenched the wheel to the left and headed for the hard shoulder, breaking as I went . . . and then all went black.
As consciousness returned I sensed I was still moving but clearly something was wrong as my limbs were not propelling me anywhere, as I was flat on my back. I tried to call out but there was something over my mouth. Struggling and panicking now I tried to move my hands to remove this obstruction but found I was unable to. Senses dimmed again. Oblivion descended once more.
I opened my eyes through a thick fog of pain and watched the necklace of bright lights pass overhead. Light that refracted and danced before my eyes. Was this heaven? If so I was disappointed, as clearly there was still pain to endure even here. I closed my eyes in despair and once again all went black.
I heard voices first, normal everyday voices, calm and soothing, then the beeping, loud and regular. The pain in my heart was dulled but bearable. I screwed up my courage and opened my eyes.
In the dim lighting I could see rows of beds, each occupied by swathed, motionless figures, each attached to machines and drips by a melange of wires and tubes. I blinked, trying to comprehend. The penny dropped. I was in hospital, possibly Intensive Care. What had happened to me? The last thing I remembered was being on the M1 in my car.
A soft warm hand touched mine and a soothing voice insisted that everything was OK and that I was to go back to sleep to recover from my heart operation. Comforted I nodded sleepily and then slid back, once more, into the cosy embrace of Morpheus.