Iridian

02. DUSK

.memory (fragment #1)

The incessant 'beep beep beep' of machines stirred me from my sleep. I twisted to relieve one side of my body and immediately regretted that action as a lancing pain shot through me. Damnit... Why wasn't I dead yet? Part of me wanted to believe that I truly wished those words, but I've never been much of a liar, so lying to myself didn't work. Whatever bravado I was trying to throw up to make myself feel better—

—the truth was, I didn't want to die. I didn't want to be lying in this awful, stiff bed with those machines and monitors and intravenous needles reminding me just how close to death I was.

How had this happened?

This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen to me. I played safe most of my life. I never once got a speeding ticket, never ran a red light, I didn't smoke, drink, I exercised to stay healthy even though I did occasionally indulge in a cake binge. My friends, though not many, were decent people. My family—

—well, let's not talk about my family right now. They were a guilt-inducing subject. I knew I ought to be thinking of them while I was in this state, but I couldn't. I couldn't because had they been aware of my situation they would come rushing to my side, but I just didn't want them to see me like this. I didn't want anyone to see me like this—so vulnerable. It was selfish and pathetic but it didn't stop me from asking—what had I done to deserve this fate? Which karmic god had decided now was the time for me to make up for some past-life misdeed? Or was life being taken from me because I had failed to appreciate it?

I was being unreasonably fatalistic and dramatic, but it's hard to be anything else in the face of my prognosis. Dr. Ahmed said in his gentlest voice that they were doing their best to figure out what was wrong with me. Dr. Eng, with those sympathetic brown eyes, came along later to say something similar. I was so lucky to have not one, but two, kindly doctors attending to me, but that didn't make me feel any better. In fact, it made me worried. I mean, who gets two doctors attending to their case? Doctors are scarce enough to spread across the rest of the world so what made me so special that I got to have two?

And then finally, Dr. Burkinson—an advising third doctor—along with Drs. Ahmed and Eng had a quick-conference just an earshot away, discussing my condition. They thought I couldn't hear but in these late hours of my life, my hearing had become more acute, as if all the world had suddenly become crystal clear just to remind me of what I would soon be leaving.

A gift? A curse? I don't know. Whatever it was, my auditory senses had become much sharper since I'd woken up in this hospital bed; that's why that machine beeping irritated me so. I was sure none of the other patients in this ICU were bothered by their machines, but I... had I the strength, I'd probably throw the blasted thing out of the window.

However, even over all the minute sounds impinging my ears, I could make out quite clearly what was being said in low voices just a few feet away. I kept my eyes closed because I didn't want them to know that I was awake.

Drs. Ahmed and Eng were arguing against moving me to another facility. Dr. Eng was showing a very strong, determined streak in that sweet soothing voice of hers. Dr. Burkinson insisted there was nothing else they could do for me, other than fly in another specialist and that would take days because the man was busy enough that they had trouble tracking him down. There was more heated argument but in the end, the conclusion was, whether they moved me or not, whether the specialist came or not, I only had a few days left. My vitals were failing rapidly. Soon I would be on life support and probably brain dead if my lungs or heart didn't fail first.

I have to say, no matter how hard I tried, it was difficult trying to keep the tears from falling. I hated feeling sorry for myself. It was such a miserable emotion, but at that moment in time I was the most miserable person in the whole hospital and I barely even had the strength to cry. I think I managed perhaps a few meagre droplets, but my body was so dehydrated despite the drip that after a while, all I could feel was the heat behind my closed eyelids and the dull ache that tends to accompany heavy weeping.