Still, be still, the doctor insists His eyes are frustrated, dark, like a storm, and his hands are invading. They may as well slip into my rib-cage and stroke the smooth warmth of my organs. Instead, he affixes the electrodes to my head. The cotton feels hot, and already, phantom pain spasms through me. I know what the machine does, and yet he says, still, be still. Mister Male Doctor, would you be so inclined to stay calm, when your brain is a conductor for a mass amount of electric? I didn't think so. But what can I do. My teeth are clamped down on a tongue protector, and my eyes are painfully wide. I want to tell him, I'm sorry, and to sit back into my too-small bed without a single word befalling my lips. But it's too late. Damage done. The machine is warming up, buzzzzzzzing... I tremble. His hand reaches out.
