quantification

noun

1. the expression or measurement of the quantity of something

Wallace was a true champion, getting me to the hospital, getting his own doctor to see to my knee and other ailments my body was sporting. An MRI was performed straight away, the huge scanning noise adding to the headache pain. By the time I was in a VIP ward, Mum had arrived.

First thing she did was hand over an overnight bag and apologised she couldn't arrive any earlier.

"Mum, its OK. I wasn't doing much, just getting jiggy with the team at MRI. You bring me any coffee?"

"No can do, Kiddo." We both looked at Wallace as he butted in, and not because he butted in.

"My dad used to call me that," I said softly.

"Good, that works for me too." No apology, just a declaration that he'd be calling me that from now on as well. And I kinda like that.

"How's her leg? Does Dr Styles have a diagnosis or prognosis?" My mum starts fussing around the bed I'm sitting on. My leg is up on pillow, covered in ice packs and blankets. She lifts up the covers and finds the ice packs covering my leg from thigh to calf.

"No pants, I see." Wallace clears his throat and I giggle. He was in here earlier when they had to cut my black jeans off me and got an eyeful of my hot pink boy leg undies.

"They had to cut them off, that's why we asked for a clothing delivery. And a sports bra." I rub my bruised boobs again.

"What happened, honey? They said you went flying over the upstairs railing at the mall? How the heck did that happen." Both Wallace and my faces turn sour, frowning at those fucking idiots. He pulls her to the side of the room away form the bed and gives her his phone to show her what the CCTV cameras recorded in the mall. She gasped when they hit Grant and he went down. Then again when I came barding in. Then she nearly screamed when I was hit and piratically thrown over the safety railing and fell two stories to the floor below.

"Oh my god, Lily!" She began crying, realising how close it was to a fall on the head. If I hadn't flipped mid fall, I would have landed head first and been insta dead. She turned to me, hand over mouth, eyes tearing up. Wallace caught his dropped phone as she rushes to me and pulls me gently into a hug.

"Oh my god, Lily." Her hug gets tighter as the memory replays for both of us. Ten minutes later and Dr Styles has arrived with the results of the MRI.

"Thank you for seeing to our daughter, Dr Styles." Mum is pulling herself together, wiping her tears and pasting a smile on her face.

"You're welcome, Mrs Overmeyers. Congratulations to you both, by the way." He smiles at the newly wedded couple then moves into the room, looking at me and including me in on the conversation. I really like that about the old doctor. I'm not just a young patient to be talked over, but apart of the conversation as the one who is in need of medical treatment.

"You have what we call an Anterior Cruciate Ligament sprain, but it is a little more serious than that sounds. The ACL ligament in your knee has completely torn with 100% mobility, which means your knee will be moving in ways it shouldn't because there is now no support to keep everything together. If you weight bear, it will likely collapse and cause further damage to the ligaments around it. The medial meniscus around your upper tibia all have significant bruising. The tibia bone itself is intact but also bruised. Contusions across your chest, right arm and mild concussion. It was a dramatic fall that not many would survive. You're lucky to be alive young lady."

"You've seen the footage?" My mother asks.

"Yes, and I hope your nail those delinquents to the floor, Ma'am."

"Well, that's up to Lily, she's the one they assaulted," Wallace says and they all look down at me.

"Hey, they were beating on Grant, they deserve to be thrown in juvy. Where is Grant anyway?" I ask, because I don't like the sad look on my Mum's face, pity with a hint of worry. She knows my sporting career is over.

"He was sent home to re-cooperate. His mother picked him up while you were in the MRI." Wallace raised an eyebrow.

"You care for him?" he asked, curious.

"Yes, but if you think it is anything sexual, don't. He's gay. Don't tell his parents, he hasn't come out yet. Please Mr Overmeyer, keep this to yourself."

"I see. I can do that for now." He gave me a solemn nod.

"Thank you, Sir. I like Grant very much, he's a good friend. I wont let anything happen to my friends, Sir." I give him my most serious look, even when half lying down on the hospital bed. "I'll trust you with this." Trust you until you break my trust then you'll never get it again. That's what I really want to say but I don't have the courage to do so to such a powerful man.