When I get to the Unit, I am told he is in a room of his own. They say that this is just because this is the only bed available.... but when I see him, I wonder.
It is distressing.
"He is sedated" say they.
"We are giving him oxygen."
"He has a broken rib from the resuscitation."
Then they tell me he is not waking up as he should.
And they start to talk about brain damage.
I am introduced to members of the Intensive Care Team who are examining Old Man and trying to wake him up. They apologise to me for what they have to do. And pinch and poke and shout. Old Man groans and carries on being unconscious. He is reacting some, they say - but not enough.
Believe me - I am becoming bewildered.
They have these euphemisms, politenesses, cups of tea.
One doctor orders me to talk to Old Man - because "he knows your voice."
He also takes blood from the Old Man's arm and then gets me to press on the wadding in order to stop the bleeding.
And I think - "This is bizarre."
Euphemise one moment, then get me to join in with the "hands on" process another?
A different doctor rescues me from my cotton-wool-pressing duty.
Truth is. At this point, I dislike both the pussyfoot language and the "invitation" to join in.
Things are becoming increasingly unreal for me.
They tell me that because he is not waking up they will move him to Intensive Care.
Where they can "manage unconsciousness" better.