I'm woken by the pitter-patter of the autumn rain on the ferns surrounding my house. I'm sprawled out on the wet rocks near the river, pale blue blanket spread under me.
God, I just love New Zealand.
I breathe in the wet smell of the morning dew, feel the raindrops bearing cool paths down my face and dress, blink the happy tears from my eyes. The rain and tears mix on my cheeks, salty sweetness soaking into my skin. Thunder cracks and lightning tears across the dark sky. The rain intensifies, dampening the rocks I sit on and slowly adding to the river I have my feet dipped in. The gentle pull of the river, induced by the waterfall, calms me. I could stay here forever...
Then I really wake up and I'm in hospital.
The past three months come rushing back... a happy life with Mum and my little sister Sammy... feeling that first stabbing pain in my side... ignoring the illness... the excruciating pain of a burst appendix going unnoticed... fainting on the footpath... being dragged into the ambulance... the diagnosis of a burst appendix... anaesthetic drugging me as the doctors removed it... being told it was too late...
And worst of all, being diagnosed with sepsis.
The thought of my own blood slowly poisoning me as I lie helpless is sickening.
And all this hell brings us to today: a day just like any other in my stupid, fishbowl little life.
As always, I'm lying in Ward 52, Bed 3, by the window. The rain is pouring down outside, running down the windows. IV drips are in every inch of my skin, rendering me senseless. A mask is strapped over my face, supplying me with oxygen as I sink further and further into the bedsheets. The scent of home is replaced by the stench of chemicals. I hate this place. I've been here for two months, and I'm determined to go home. I'll ask the next nurse that comes if I can go home...
"Hello!" says a kind voice. I glance up, unable to lift my head, and catch a glimpse of a young nurse in the default blue scrubs. She's pretty and fair, blond hair tumbling in a ponytail down her back.
"Hey Jeannie," I croak through the oxygen mask.
"Hey Aster!" she says brightly, perching on the edge of my bed.
Jeannie has looked after me from day dot; giving me medicine, wheeling me to the operation room, delivering the news that I couldn't get a blood transfusion, therefore could never be cured. In short, she's been there for me since the day I came into the hospital with a burst appendix, swollen stomach, and an inactive pancreas. I trust her with my life. Of course I do, she's saved it four times. What would you expect?
She checks my vitals, like she does each hour, and buzzes around me inserting new catheters and IVs, chatting merrily.
Jeannie is the one who broke it to me that I had sepsis and was gravely ill, never to get better. I hated her for that for a short time, until she persuaded the doctors not to send me away to a hospice to live my last few weeks in pain and suffering. I'm so happy I stayed here, but I'd rather be home, at 24 Crocus Grove, in my little house with the cosy armchair by the fireplace. It's hours away from the Auckland City Hospital where I'm practically tied down in my bed. I just want to go home. No thirteen-year-old should have to experience what I'm going through. I'm living proof of the cruelty of illness.
And I'm never going to get better.
No matter how many injections I get,
No matter how much money Mum pays to get me 'fixed',
No matter how hard the doctors work on my insides,
No matter how many of my organs the medical team can save,
No matter how many drugs are pumped into me,
I'm the incurable girl.
YOU ARE READING
Hourglass
Teen FictionIf you were to look through one of the twelfth-floor windows of Auckland City Hospital, you would glimpse a redheaded girl, curls spread out over the pillow, IVs stuck into every inch of her pale skin. This girl is Aster. Ever since her appendix bur...
