48 hours
I would take the time to set the stage for you, but time is of the essence. Right now, time is my greatest enemy, and every minute that passes is a moment I’ve lost and will never get back again. These 48 hours are the difference between real life and real death for me.
Hour 1:
I find myself unfamiliar with myself. As I lie in this unknown bed, it is uncomfortable and unfamiliar to me, yet at the same time there is a strange familiarity. I look around and my eyes seem unable to focus. Or is it that what I am able to focus on is equally as unfamiliar to me? And the people milling around me are unfamiliar as well. I don’t know these people, but somehow they seem to know me… at least the part of me they seem to be attending to. It’s weird. I know I have been here before, but something inside my brain wants to distance me from ever remembering this place. The familiarity is in no way reassuring. It’s actually kind of disquieting. This is no place anyone ever wants to be.
Hour 2:
My focus seems to be better… at least a little bit. The people still hovering over me are as unfamiliar to me as the last time I opened my eyes. I’m not sure how long ago that’s been, though. Time is kind of standing still, but I know it’s moving. I can tell it’s moving because this time when I opened my eyes there were different people hovering over me; checking me, talking amongst themselves as if I couldn’t or maybe shouldn’t hear them. At times, I can barely make them out. But some things are a little clearer than others. Some of the people are flipping papers and taking notes. I feel their hands on me; at my wrists – a gentle touch as if they are checking my vitals. I feel pressure on my arm; squeezing tighter and tighter, and then easing up again. I can hear noises. They sound distant at first, but if I really pay attention, I can make out the steady, rhythmic ticking and beeping of the machinery that must be around me.
There are rises and falls in the noises I hear. Some are higher pitched than others. It’s like a mechanical symphony of noises, barely heard over the hustling and bustling of the people attending to me. Me? I’ve been somewhere between awake and a dream state; hovering between consciousness and unconsciousness. But now, I’m starting to feel some discomfort, even some real pains that were previously unfamiliar to me. I hadn’t felt or realized the pain before now. Some of the people attending to me are asking me how I’m feeling. The question did not really register for me before. I don’t know if I answered their question or not. Seems kind of hard to speak, you know, to put my words together. But the more I stay awake and try to focus on what they are saying, even though it’s still hazy, their words of concern are becoming clearer. It is taking everything in me to keep my ‘oh so heavy eyes’ open. I think they are open, but I still seem to see nothing. I want to ask one of these unfamiliar people to help me with this increasing pain, but the words that are in my head don’t seem able to make it to my lips. I think I’m speaking, but this enormous cloud of confusion weighs so heavily over me… At the same time, the heaviness feels like it’s coming from inside me.
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