You are getting very sleepy... {mara0107}
Sept 27, 2012 0:49:31 GMT -5
Post by Redd on Sept 27, 2012 0:49:31 GMT -5
[/img]
Nico Grace[/center][/size][/b]
Nico Grace[/center][/size][/b]
I wake up to the sound of the electric door opening down the hall. I roll over in my thin hospital gown and pull the rough, almost papery sheets up to my chin to avoid the morning chill. The doctors say that keeping the temperature low makes it harder for germs to survive. A shiver creeps down my spine and I fantasize about a large blanket. I hear the clicking of approaching footsteps. As they draw nearer, I wonder which nurse or doctor it might be. My swings open and the pungent stench of strong floral perfume and antibacterial soap assaults my nose. It isn’t hard to tell that I am receiving a visit from Nurse Nancy.
Nancy likes to talk; it is ok with me though because I like to listen. And listen I do. She tells me all about her sister and her new boyfriend and how Dr. Schultz has been too friendly for her taste with his new receptionist. Nancy drones on as she takes my temperature and blood pressure, records my weight, and checks my ears, nose, throat, and eyes. Nancy lets two drops fall into my eyes. They burn. The nurse pries them open and scribbles notes on her clipboard. Then she is back to blabbering in that high pitched, scratchy voice of hers about her new pair of shoes.
Now is when she should go away. Now is when I should get breakfast and listen to my music and not be spoken to until my lunchtime physical. But Nancy persists to talk. “Dr. Shultz would like to see how your eye medicines react with different doses of anesthesia,” She trills. “I will take you to your new room. It is just downstairs. Your stuff should get there shortly.”
Walking is hard. Most people understand that I have trouble with this due to my condition. Nurse Nancy was nice enough to hold my shoulder to guide me to my new room, but in her rambling, she forgot to tell me things like when to step down or when to keep the door from hitting me in the face.
By the time I finally get to my new room I have several bumps and bruises from walking mishaps to remind me that I am pathetic. The walk down one flight of stairs and a hall has left me winded. My calves burn and a bead of sweat roll down my face. I must look a mess. “Here we are,” Nancy says cheerfully. She lays me down in a bed and hooks an IV into the port conveniently located on my arm. “You will get very sleepy.” She pulls down my gown to stick a few suction cup monitors on my chest. She sticks two to my head for good measure and tells me to count to ten.
1…I am frightened of testing anesthesia.
2…
3…I wonder how long I will sleep.
4…
5… My eyelids feel heavy.
6…
7…I drift off to sleep before I finish counting.
The sound of someone breathing wakes me up. They sound very close by. Maybe even beside my bed. I try to talk to them, but my dry mouth can only produce a raspy whisper. “Hello.” I hope that whoever is next to me is another test subject. I am tired of listening to Nancy’s mindless chatter.