It’s been an incessant part of his life the last…how long has it been? He really doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember when he got here, but does remember those few moments before he got here; the pain, the dimness, the…what was it? It was like time slowed down, and he became aware of a growing pain…
But he beeps are incessant in this hotel room. He assumes it’s his heartbeat or pulse of simply reminding the healthcare professionals huddled around this bed that they’re on and working. His hearing is shot; he can’t make out what they’re saying and he can’t read lips, but their brows are furrowed and every now and again one of them looks at him and looks back to their colleagues.
He wonders how he looks to them. He can’t really move, and his peripheral vision doesn’t let him look around too much. He is sure he has all of his appendages; he can see his feet and his fingers, and feel the hundreds of tubs lying on him, conveying liquid to or from his body. Man, they weren’t kidding then someone described the human body as a sack of skin holding all of these gooshy, wet things together.
He can’t talk; there is a tube down his throat that hurts like a motherfucker, and as he thinks about it, one of the machine’s beeps gets a bit faster. One of the nurses pauses and looks at him, and he hopes that she can see his eyebrows arch in a concilitory way. Sorry, my bad. Just started thinking about these tubes is all, and maybe the ol heart got a bit spastic.
He is suddenly and keenly aware of a change in the atmosphere, in the room, as the medical people sense someone approaching them. They all turn expectantly to someone in the hallway he can’t see. His curiosity is piqued, but the physical strain of simply being awake for these…few minutes?…cause him to suddenly become droswsy…and he falls asleep to a steadily slowing beep.
…
She gets to the desk in ICU, directed by the nice security guard at the front door. The smell of the hospital still creeps her out but she’s here..for him. Hoping she makes it in time, hoping that she gets to see him..hoping. And because she hopes, and cannot actually do more than that, she is somewhere between hopeless and angry at her powerlessness.
The nurse looks up as she approaches, notices her air, and steels herself for a confrontation.
But, after a quick exchange, she and the nurse quickly exhale, and no conflict is had, and she is pointed down the hall to a room where she is told “all the doctors are there, so you can’t miss it.”
She hears the doctors first before rounding the corner. As she approach they hush and look at her. They know from her look and her walk that she is coming to check on him, and they steel themselves for…what? A conflict? A necessary interaction where fuzzy truth will be sprinkled with platitudes? Or one were the bare truth will be given with the minimum of bedside manner and no sugarcoating?
“Mrs…?” says the head doctor, extending his hand.