My Lengthy Recovery

It was too hot.

Those were the first few words that struck me when I awoke. My limbs were tangled in with the paper-thin sheets, which should - by all means - provide little warmth to my body, but I found myself utterly sweltering. Sweat dripped down every crevice of my skin; under my arms, between my breasts, down my stomach. It was like I had awoken in the middle of a desert somewhere far away. So hot - hot, unbearably hot -

With some sort of manic desire, my sweaty hands ripped the sheets off my body in a show of defiance. To what? The world - of course. I'm alive! You cannot kill me yet! I panted, each breath sending my chest into a flurry of movement. The sheets were still in my grasp, yet soaked in the areas where my hands came into contact with it. How utterly gross. How disgusting! I was suddenly revolted with myself - and thus, my unkempt body. Covered in bandages that crept under the flimsy material that could barely be called clothing, the grime was clearly visible.

I eyed the help button suspiciously. See, since I was in such a horrendous state, I was completely mortified at the idea of letting somebody see me. Not even a nurse - I knew that they snickered and jabbered about patients. I would not let myself become a victim of workplace gossip. They would laugh behind their dainty hands and discuss my ugly figure - my sweat-caked fingers and oily, knotted hair. I'd become a laughing stock. And when I'd finally get dismissed from the hospital, I'd tremble down the white corridors with all eyes on me.

The future of my life was too unbearable. I decided, with complete resolution, that I would clean myself up first. I would become presentable in the face of others, lest they saw me for who I truly was.

The restroom was located adjacent to my hospital bed. As miserable as I was, the fact that I had a room to myself was something I was dearly thankful for. It must've been midday - the sun was casting dancing shadows among the walls and floor of the room. It made it look rather sinister. Curtains fluttered about tediously as if they were reaching out to someone - certainly someone other than me.

I tried to leave my bed with one small step. But as my left foot made contact with the cool floor, my knees buckled and I was suddenly sprawled across the dirty ground, only adding to the filth that encompassed me. The first thing I did was clutch my knee. A bright red spot replaced the murky white of the bandages. It was like a sunrise; the first pop of colour to litter the monochrome world I was being forced into. The pain in my knee was nothing compared to the feeling of being alive for the first time since my eyes opened just a few minutes ago.

So I curled up on my side with the sun on my face. I closed my eyes. I screwed them shut, hard and tight. I lay there as a nurse came in, and upon seeing my eyes closed, she made the assumption that I had fallen asleep. There would be no benefit of my presumptuous correction - it would have been rather embarrassing for her to mistake my form as unconscious. I did what any good person would do; kept my eyes closed and breathing even, trying to stave off the frantic beating of my heart as I was carried to my bleak hospital bed.

Truthfully, I had no such empathy for the woman. It never even crossed my mind how she would be feeling. The thoughts rapidly running across my brain - almost like ink hurrying across a blank piece of paper - were almost entirely consumed by myself. How utterly mortifying, I screamed. To be caught in a vulnerable position! To be incomprehensibly weak. To be a snivelling child once again in my large adult shoes.

When I opened my eyes for the second time in the day, the room was once again a desolate pattern of shadows and sterile equipment. A walker lay next to my bedside, taunting me with every flicker of light that danced over it.

A single red apple was placed on the table adjacent to the menacing walker. It was in arm's reach - whoever put it there must have been an idiot. A nasty, vile person who placed it there to laugh at me. I couldn't recall if it had been placed there at the same time that the walker arrived, or if I had been careless to the lone piece of fruit in the face of my myriad of worries. A red, shining apple, like the colour of blood.