Water Lilies

Preview

Weakened and immobilized laid my body on a typical hospital bed. I felt my chest rise and fall with a twinge of pain every time I inhaled air dozed with the distinct scent of iodoform. Sluggishly, I gazed around the room which echoed with the relentless beeping of monitors placed around me. My eyes darted around the cream-colored walls; it was nothing fancy, just the occasional cheap painting dotted around the walls. Originally, the paintings were intended to bring about some sense of comfort and lift the monotone atmosphere of the hospital room, only for me, it did quite the opposite. It created a fake sense of security.

In the corner of the room sat a single wooden table, next to it was a cushioned arm chair; occupied by my mother and father in a tangle of vivid fatigue. My eyes spiked with tears at the familiarity of my parents, they looked the same, however their foreheads were creased with worry and the bags under their eyes unmistakably displayed lack of sleep. The way they were resting, my mother cradled on my fathers lap with her head tucked into the crook of his neck and my father's arms wrapped around my mother - formed a painful smile to stretch across my face.

Deciding not to disturb them, my eyes scanned the rest of the candid room and came to rest on the needle imbedded into my arm. It was connected to a long transparent tube transporting blood, which attached to a drip stand that held none other than a blood transfusion bag. The bag sagged under the volume of thick red liquid, it drooped like an overfilled water balloon threatening to burst any second.

Unsurprisingly, the disturbing sight set off a wave of nausea to roll through my stomach; you see, I have a love hate relationship with blood. One minute, I'm fascinated by it and by the next - I'm sprawled across the floor laying in a puddle of my own drool. Times like those made me want to be erased from existence; not because of others reaction to my odd response to blood - but because it made me seem similar to those characters on TV who were depicted as overly dramatic. I was never one to be theatrical.

Luckily, before my vision started to blurr the sound of someone pushing open the heavy tainted glass door diverted my attention. A middle aged looking woman entered wearing a white jacket and hosting a stethoscope around her shoulder. As if it wasn't painstakingly clear, I came to the conclusion she was my doctor.

A lanyard suspended from her neck, it read Dr. Khan - Head of Department. She had dark hair which sparked grey streaks; emphasizing stress. Her skin was lightly coloured and her eyes... Her eyes frightened me most, for they gave nothing away. Everything was tightly hidden behind the smile plastered on her face.

Dr. Khan slowly sauntered towards my bed. Heavy silence which hung in the room like a vibrantly visible cloud silently encouraged me to sit up. I nonchalantly pushed myself up as she drew closer towards me, now, at an arm's length; she softly smiled and stuck out her hand. Being the awkward person I am; it took me a few seconds to register her gesture. I extended a limp arm and uncertainly shook her hand. "Hello Lotus, I'm Doctor Khan but you may call me Naina." She introduced.

I managed a hoarse "Pleased to meet you Naina." before triggering a coughing frenzy.

Without hesitation, Dr. Khan reached towards a glass of watch perched beside my bed and calmly placed it in my hands; gratefully, I drained the contents of the cup in a matter of milliseconds. Acknowledging my unadorned thirst, the Doctor kindly poured me another glass and wordlessly examiner me as I quenched my thirst.

"Lotus?" called the sweetly frailed voice belonging to my mother. As she rushed towards to my bed side, I noticed wisps of hair sticking out from her normally seamless light curls. When she was near enough, she engulfed me with a heartwarming embrace. Not long afterwards, my father squinted awake and was placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

Most say I look like my father, with his fine facial bone structure and his contemplative psychological appearance. Yet he himself believes my mother's characteristics were more prominent through the coloration of my eyes.

A softly interrupting "Ahem." yanked me out of mypondering and forced my attention to the person who it came from.

Dr.Khan stood uneasily at the foot of my bed; with all focus resting on her, she visiblyseemed anxious. She offered a weak smile before asking "Mr. and Mrs. Finch, may I talk to you in my office?"

The faces of my parents noticeably paled as my father managed an impassive "Sure." My mother who was more hesitant to leave stayed behind for a few seconds; offering a reassuring glace and not before long, she too left.

***

Anxiety and dread reverberated through my veins, my breathing was shallower and my hands clasped together in a sweat swathed knot; I examined the pallid countenances of my rigidly composed parents. They seemed wary like before, except this time, it was distinct there was something more disconcerting than before.

Dr. Khan stiffly at the foot of my bed; her hands strangled a file containing masses of paper whilst her visage resembled a brick wall. This contrasting outlook made my stomach clench in apprehension. What's more, her usual forced smile was nowhere to be seen.