Blood Type-O

Chapter 14: C is for Coughing

The boy continued to scream and I took a step back from the bed. My hands shook slightly from his screams and labored breaths. But even more from the possibility of what I had done. Did I truly have a healing touch? I stared at my small thin hands in disbelief. They were red with the chilly draft and scabbed from my habit of picking.

I shook my head impossible. The boy was a rabid after all and surely other doctors didn't take of him properly or quickly like I had.  I decided to go back to my part of the room and sleep. I wrapped the blankets over my head and to drown out his ragged coughs. I felt bad but tried to ignore him. However the little voice in my head told me otherwise. It called to the healer in me. To the protector who wanted to make sure the boy was okay. I sighed and puched myself off of the bed.

The boy was still coughing and carrying on. I flipped through the medical book I had found and flipped to the section coughing again. Only this time I had hoped that maybe that section would contain something about stress coughing. There was no such thing. In fact upon further examination of the table of contents I didn't find a single thing on stress or mental sicknesses. I let out an exageratted breath. How was I supposed to help him when I knew for a fact that he wasn't coughing just because of sickness but because of stress?

I slammed the book shut and went back to the rows of cabinets. My mind ran through things that could be helpful in reducing stress coughing. Had I come acrossa human medical book that talked about this? But why was there even a seperate medical books for rabids? its not like there completely different from humans. I sighed frustrated with my lack of knowledge. The boys coughing sounded like sand paper and rusted nails in a blender. He needed my help. Than I spot it. I find a small metal dish and fill it with warm water. I go back to the shelves wondering what kind of medicine they had. I see dozens upon dozens of glass bottles and many jagged looking syringes. I scan the shelves again only this time to find ten tiny blue colored glass corked jars. They were huddled together on the corner of the built in shelf as if trying to fend of the angry looking syringes. I scoot them forward and read their labels carefully. Peppermint, rosemarry, ginger, parsley and so many more labels stare up at me. There names scribbled hurridley on yellow steno paper. I snatched them all up and hurry back to the boy.

He still lies there only now he's floundering about and all the machines he hooked up to start pumping out a frantic squawking rthym. All this damn noise flooded the room ringing off the very high ceilings. it was a wonder none of the other patients were waking up and joining the chaos. Still I kneel by his bed and set the water pan by my side along with all the different bottled herbs. I pick up the peppermint figuring it's minty spice  would let his lungs slumber. I pulled of the cork and dump a good amount into the hot water. than I place the cloth in the center of his chest. He breathing calms and I make sure not to touch him directly. Maybe that was what freaked him out to begin with or maybe the doctors and others of this facility aren't nice. If they were anything like my father or his college I would understand his anger.

"Your okay. Please rest," I said as reassuringly as I could. Beads of sweat trailed down the boys face and I itched to press my hand against his forehead but his shrieking and anger from before stop my cold. I needed to make sure he calmed down.

"Why do you help me?" the boy croaked. ti was so soft and hoarse my ears barely caught his honest question.

Why had I helped him? He was sick. Rabid or no I could understand how it felt to be sick and injured. How it felt to lay there helpless as the pain and sickness eat away at you. In those early days of moving to the outter ring that was all I had felt in those early months. Mother didn't really take of me that much and Ana sat in a chair mouthing words to me but not ever speaking. And I had watched as mother struck Ana and beat her. For not talking. Not being the little girl mother wished. Yes my own memories of misery fueled my want to help. But I couldn't tell him that.  Or anyone that.

"I am a nurse...I think that is what nurses are supposed to do," I said. No lie. I was confused about my sudden situation anyways. being shoved into a room full of hospitalized Rabids. All hooked to a crude looking machines. Their eyes like dolls bright, shiny and lifeless.

"You sound way too young to be a nurse and your voice is way sweeter than what the nurses here sound like," the boy croaked again his lips twisted into a frown. I supposed that if I saw his eyes that would make his confusion more clear.

"Well I think that's what I'm here for."

"Impossible. Nurses here only check our machines and make sure we aren't too far from life. They never bother to try and heal anything else. Never."

"I'm new. Very very very new. I was kind of forced into my position and don't wish to be like others."

"Hmmm. Still such an odd voice you have and an odd way about you. Nurses at the rabid labs don't heal."