My New Life

Chapter 1

Panting for breath, I sat up as if I just woken up from a nightmare. My sight was blurry and I could only hear some voices which were not clear as well. The machine near me beeped loudly, the sound echoing in my ears. My hands were hurting from the amount of needles in my veins. It was after a few seconds that I could see some doctors rushing towards me and nurses were called immediately. They were astounded as if they had just seen a miracle. I looked around me, surprised by the amount of machines around, connected to me. I didn't understand how I ended up here. I was supposed to be at home in my own beautiful and comfy bed, right? At that point in time, I even doubted my existence. I couldn't remember anything. My head was aching like it had never before. I asked the date as I felt I had been here for a few days.

"16 y-years" I counted on my fingers, unable to believe any of those people in white coats.

"I'm 22 years old?" My thoughts trailed off.

I looked at my own body. I was tall, with a curvy slim figure. Every inch of my body has changed. It was like my soul was trapped in the body of a complete stranger. The only thing I remember was when I was little, with a small body and dainty little fingers. I had straight short hair and wore cute dresses. But now I have long messy hair and only wore an ugly hospital dress.

The doctors comforted me and said that I could be discharged in about a week, if my health continued to improve. But I was still shocked at all of the things happening that I couldn't take in any new information.

"Can I have a mirror please?" I asked, ignoring what the doctor was saying to me.

"Y-yes of course" he replies, rushing around, finally understanding that I was not paying attention to him at all.

I held that mirror in front of me like it was something rotten. I touched my face, slowly getting used to how I looked and felt. I didn't recognise myself. It felt like I was seeing another person in that mirror.

"Is that me?" I asked the nurse for the hundredth time.

"Yes, you look so beautiful" she replied as patient and as comforting as ever.

Every single hour, doctors or nurses, dressed in formal white clothes, a board and pen in their hand, a stethoscope hanging around their necks, came into the room, checked a board that hung on a piece of steel in the front of the bed along with some charts and a paper with all my personal information, updated it and looked around if everything was alright and then left to check other patients. Some even asked if I wanted anything, even though there was a buzzer at the far end of my head to call the doctor if anything was amiss.

At first, I considered this gesture as something normal and that they cared about me, but soon I felt irritated by these questions, of me having to deny them constantly.

"Why are you so caring about me? Don't you have other patients?" I yelled at a poor doctor as he asked me about my health.
He shuddered, and I suddenly felt a pang of guilt hit me

"I'm sorry" I said in a low voice, my head down.

"It's ok. I know it's hard for you" he said with a reassuring smile.

I felt weird at human contact. It felt weird to talk after so many years, to have emotions. The surroundings around me made me feel sick and anxious. The only colour I could see was white and maybe a few places of deep blue. The walls, the floor, the curtains, the bedsheets, the machines were all white. Even my hospital gown was white and blue. The food I was served three times a day was pathetic. It was tasteless and the sight of them made me lose my appetite. I wore a plastic band on my left wrist, proving that I was a patient of the hospital. On it was my name and the number 521. Maybe that was my room number...