Waiting

I sat in the chair, waiting. It was one of the hardest things I had ever done. The white walls of the room squeezed in on me as I processed the decision I made. It always seemed harder when you were the one who made the harrowing choice. Before it was okay because it was not my decision to make. I just had to go along with it. 

But now sitting here, on the wheeled surgical table made me tremble. I was all ready, sterilized, and starving. But they had not called my name. I forced myself to look up at the clock. They were running late. They were forcing me to wait. Did I make the right decision? It was impossible to know. 

I knew that I could turn back now, make it all go away, but I would lose so many opportunities. They had told me the risk was low. But my mind whirled. That was the interesting thing about the brain. Its ability to imagine was limitless, it could make a small risk large, if it had enough time. I had the chance to give up, but my mouth would not comply.

My mother sat next to me. She held my impaled hand. The IV needle stuck into my flesh like a wasp's stinger. It didn't hurt my physical body, but it stung my brain. Mom smiled down at me and stroked my hair. She kept telling me that it was going to be okay. I forced myself to look out the window. Children were being wheeled around on the surgical tables. Their unconscious bodies still with the artificial sleep. I felt myself start to sweat. What if it didn't work. In less than a second I could be gone. I was playing poker with death and I had a royal flush, but you never knew exactly what will happen. 

A knock at the the door shook me. My mother called them in and the surgeon walked up to my table. He had a long vial of medicine. "Are you ready?"

 I finally nodded. Sweat was dripping off my brow. There was really nothing wrong but I was still scared. 

"I know that in the past you have not liked this medicine, but it will help you fall asleep," the surgeon told me. The medicine always reminded me of flipping a switch between wakefulness and unconsciousness. I nodded faintly. He stuck the vial in my IV and my eyes faltered for a minute. Mom gave me one last squeeze and I was rolled out. Slowly my eyes got heavier until I couldn't open them any more.

My eyes fluttered open.  I was told it had been two hours but it had felt like less than a second. Mom stood next to me, my leg was in a cast and I was sitting on the same plastic surgical table. I was okay. I could feel the fear melt away as new experiences awaited me.