Ouch. I look the other way as she slides the needle into my extended arm. Tubes run from my chest and stomach to various machines. Moniters on my finger and throat feel heavy, and the oxygen prongs make my nose twitch.
"How are you doing?" she asks, and I smile.
"I'm doin' great," I lie--is it a lie?--as the cuff on my arm begins to contract once again. Two other women come in, busy I'm sure.
"Are you a smoker? Are you HIV or AIDS positive? Do you have..." words I can't pronounce spill out of her mouth as she runs through a terribly long checklist.
He enters the room and throws out a quick "ready?" I don't remember answering, but I must have mumbled consent. He pulls out another one of those damn needles. Needles. I cringe.
"So you go to school in Nebraska?" he tries out some small talk while lifting one of the tubes connected to my body. I watch as whatever he injected poofs into the IV bag before apparently disappearing.
The ground begins to shift slightly. My eyes flutter.
Nothing. Silence.
.
.
.
I wake. Touch my numb jaw. Damn toothfairy has stolen my wisdom.
No comments:
Post a Comment