Story With No Title, Day 4

The man in the gurney next to mine was moaning quietly.  He was strapped tightly to the frame, shaking, but not in a way one could see, just vibrating in the bed.   More heard than seen.  Moaning quietly; but conscious enough to occasionally lift his head to look over his feet into the surrounding commotion of the department.  We were both in the hallway; the dozen or more rooms already filled. 

 

Most of the attention was focused on a room on the opposite wall, across from the nurses station, where numerous physicians and staff huddled over the body of an old man, variously taking turns pressing on his chest and squeezing the ventilation bag, speaking quietly to each other: breathe – 2 – 3 – 4. Others were carefully studying the electronic fingerprint of the still body, occasionally conversing quietly between themselves, pointing to changes in the strip, calling for a different drug, stepping back to the body to feel for a pulse or shine light into vacant eyes. One would call some number and place paddles to the bare chest.  All would step away and there would be a small jump, the only activity mimicking life.  And it would start over, breathe – 2 – 3 – 4; studying the strip.

 

The gurney kept vibrating, accompanied increasingly with quiet moans, so wrapped in his own misery as to miss the drama of death across the hall.  But others were missing it, too; the police officer sitting in watch over a handcuffed patient, writing his report; 2 nurses busily typing something into the electronic medium; the cleaning crew carefully wiping down a room just vacated and being made ready for a new story.

 

“Hard to watch,” I said.  But he didn’t answer, only continued his low moaning. 

 

I could see in the waiting room a young couple clinging tightly to each other, love or fear, I couldn’t tell.  I wanted to warn them away.

 

“Do you see them?” I said, nodding to the couple.  “At the beginning of their journey.”

 

 

Hey.  Just kidding.  It’s me, remember?  But how’s that for some good writing.  Maybe I should sell it.  Hmm… that gives me an idea.  I’ll come back to that later.

 

So here’s the straight story.  I dragged myself to the hospital with bent antenna and broken leg.  Okay, so I ran.  But anyway, when I got here the place was crazy packed.  There was like no place to sit.  I’m seriously lucky I didn’t get stepped on.  I mean it.  I waited at the check-in desk but people all around were complaining about how they had already been waiting for hours.  One old geezer in the corner said he had been waiting for days.  He also had a bottle in a paper bag, so I wasn’t surprised.  They were probably waiting for him to sober up.  Ha!

 

I decided I needed to take things into my own hands and headed to the back. 

 

I watched one guy get an IV and then a dose of hydromorphone.  It sure looked sweet and I’m sure it would have helped with my antenna, but the fucking needle was bigger than my leg.  You know what I’m saying?

 

I found a Band-Aid in a drawer and started to put that on but then got stuck on the adhesive.  I admit I started to panic, thinking about my kindred on the flypaper.  Jesus Christ… oof… let.. go.. jeez!  By the time I got loose, I was in a major panic attack.  I was hyperventilating up a storm.  I could barely walk.  Has that ever happened to you?  But I knew what to do: breathe in a paper bag. 

 

The only bag I could find in the joint was one of those oxygen ventilator bags.  I had trouble getting the oxygen on but finally got it going and started huffing and puffing.  In no time I was feeling better.  I was feeling fine, actually.  I mean really fine.

 

When I woke up I was on my back on the floor, looking upside down at the tank:

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Okay, so not exactly oxygen but at least I wasn’t hyperventilating.  The gurney was still shaking and the guy was looking at me.  Can you believe it?  No one ever notices but this guy.  And I could see his hand clenched.  Lucky for me he was strapped in so tight or that could have been it for me.  You follow?  Anyway, I stumbled back under the counter until he settled down.  Then I went at it again. 

 

The third time I think I must have hit my head, based on the headache, but oddly my antenna was straight again so I could pick up the news.  Hey just kidding.  But here’s what I wanted to let you know.  Back on the counter I found a half vial of hydromorphone 1mg/ml with maybe 3 ml left in it.  So… if you’re interested, let me know.  I’m just saying.

 

I need to do something about my leg.  I’ll get back to you later. 

 

TO BE CONTINUED…