Ok, so this is officially the shittest I have felt in all of my life so far. Doctor Turner (the guy who I'd spoken to in the hospital) had discovered that I had a serious fungal infection in my spinal cord. The only to stop it essentially digesting me was to cut a huge chunk of my back and spine out. I can no longer feel or move anything below my chest.
Remind me again why I wanted to live.
Oh yeah, that's right. To get my own back on the fucker who did this to me. He's got two deaths on his hands now. The victim's partner killed himself. Jumped off a bridge in front of a tanker. Apparently there was blood everywhere. I don't want to think about it. Two and a half. I'm for all intents and purposes half-dead.
At least they sorted me out a wheelchair. Shame I need to have help getting in and out of it. I wheeled myself out of the hospital, to be met by two cops I didn't know.
'The chief wants you at the coroner's, ASAP.' said one of them.
'Why? Am I already that defunct?'
'You'll find out when you get there.' he bluntly stated. Wow. Talkative.
The worst part was being manhandled into the cop car. They drove off with sirens and lights. What am I, a criminal?
My new life had already got off to an amazing start.