Colorful. That's the only way that I can describe what I'm seeing.
No, not seeing. More like...feeling. My entire body feels hollow and overly preoccupied at the same time, almost as if my body is fighting against itself.
I can feel every vein and every shot of energy coursing through my being. I am a rainbow of cells and it's so...peaceful.
I am floating slowly through pure darkness. Almost like a wooden spoon being tread through molasses.
I'm not scared. I am calm and...happy? Am I happy? Is that actually what I'm feeling?
I feel light like a feather, but the bird is gone...there are no other feathers to connect with me. I am alone in a pool of shadow.
It is quiet here, wherever I am. It's empty but the silence is the most harmonious sound I've ever heard. There is wind rustling my hair, caressing my scalp with tender comfort and tickling my eyelids. I don't want to open my eyes. This might all go away. The darkness isn't something I'm seeing, it's something I can just...sense, and I'm afraid that if I open my eyes then I'll be bombarded with a strong light, shattering the peaceful place that I'm in.
Wherever I am...I don't want to leave. I want to stay here forever. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know if I'm rising up or falling down. I just...am.
How long have I been here? None of it matters anyway. This is what's important.
My fingertips meet with some kind of liquid. It's warm and inviting. My palms connect with the surface and I let my body rest afloat on the smooth surface. Surface? No, I'm not laying down, am I? I feel like my back is against a ceiling, but yet I'm still sinking.
I don't want to open my eyes yet, though. The liquid feels comforting as it soaks my skin. I'm...smiling? Is this water? No, the smell is strong. I don't want to think about it. Whatever it is, i hope I can float atop it...forever.
Newton City Hospital. 4:28 AM, July 21st, 2018
4 nurses are huddling around and holding down the boy's shaking body as the fifth tinkered with a bag of anesthetic.
Something's happening.
"There's been a mistake, too much anesthetic was given to the patient, not all of the nurses were aware of the patient's epilepsy," the nurse continues to hastily inform the nurses of the current situation.
The liquid is getting higher...lower? I forgot I was hanging from my back.
The nurse gasps as the bag pops from the needle she had removed from the boys arm to readjust the dosage. The liquid spills over the boys head and drenches the thin cloth covering his chest.
It's seeping farther over my body. This doesn't feel right. I can feel the liquid pulling on my legs and beginning to cover my chest. I can't breathe.
"Grab a new bag! Anne, get new sheets, bandages, and a gown. Hurry, ladies!"
The smell of the liquid is getting stronger. It's going up my nose and pushing my head under the fluid. It's almost as if I'm becoming deliquescent, like I'm becoming part of the larger body. The calmness is escaping me. I reach out my hand in a fruitless attempt to hold onto what I once held close.
Please....don't leave.
YOU ARE READING
Blossom Boy
Genç KurguA blossoming friendship between a doctor and his patient with Congenital Insensitivity to pain. (I'll be writing an extended synopsis soon)