Starry Skies

Hospital

I don't remember how it happened, but one minute, I'm falling asleep against Anwen, my breathing is even, my heartbeat is regular, my chest doesn't hurt and my head isn't screaming at me for 4 tabs of extra strength Tylenol, and the next, I wake up.

I wake up with shitty lungs, palpitations, a migraine, and I feel like I'm choking. It prompts Anwen to call 9-1-1, and then I black out. I don't remember anything that happened between then, and when I woke up in the hospital, surrounded by Mom, Dad, and Anwen, with my doctor, Dr. Anderson, right alongside them, I felt a little confused. 

"Your condition has gotten worse," I expected it to, truthfully. Dr Anderson asks if she and I can have a minute alone, and everyone obliges, Anwen leaving last. She presses a kiss to my head and gives my hand a squeeze before she goes. "You had about 7 months left of the original time line I gave you, correct?" She asks, in turn, I nod.

I listen to the beeping of my monitor, and the beeping of other monitors in the hospital. Not far away, I can hear doctors screaming about a trauma, people screaming in agony, and its because of that that I remember the worst part about hospitals.

"You're deteriorating, a lot quicker than we'd expected you to," she says, optimistic smile on her face. "If you really want to live through the rest of the year, we can get you started on treatments-- breathing exercises, radiation, surgery. I think you'd do well with a new heart and some new lungs!" I shook my head, and raised my right hand, waving it dismissively.

"There's really no point to it anymore. I said I didn't want treatments four months ago, and that is something that still stands. Please, Dr. Anderson, don't pump me full of medications!" She nods, sitting at the end of my bed, and grabbing my left hand in hers.

"Its best you stay here for your remaining time, but I won't object if you ask for discharge papers," I nodded. She pulls back, waving the first finger of her right hand at me. "ah-ah-ah, you've gotta promise you'll stay home, and take pain meds that'll be prescribed!" I nodded.

"I promise! I promise!" She chuckled, and let everyone back in. Mom grabs a bag from the far corner of the room, and plops it into my lap.

"Your clothes are in here," she says. "I might or might not have signed the discharge papers!" She looks at Dr. Anderson with a sheepish grin, and all that Dr. Anderson does is chuckle, smile back, and mention getting me a wheelchair.

"We've got a wheelchair at home," Mom says after shes gone. "Its one of Peters old ones, from before Grandma and Grandpa took him, but Anderson says you're too weak to move around too much." I smiled appreciatively at her, and ushered everyone except Anwen out of the room, asking her if she'd help me get dressed.

Anwen agreed, and the second that I had my normal underwear and a bra on, she smiled at me. "How're you doin, fighter girl?" I smiled, shrugged, and pulled a hand through my hair, sitting on the bed and taking a breather.

"I have shitty lungs, but I'm okay. How're you?" she shrugs, pulling her hair up into a ponytail and pushing her bangs out of her eyes.

"I'm alright, considering the fact that the love of my life has a lot less time then we originally anticipated," I grabbed the Mr. Robot sweater, pulling it over my head, making sure my arms went through the arm holes, and my head through the head hole. The hood ends up covering the back half of my head, but I don't do anything to adjust it.

Anwen helps me back into my light grey sweatpants and bright green socks, then smiles, and the door opens, revealing the one, the only, Dr. Anderson, with a wheelchair in front of her.

So, I shuffle my way over to the wheelchair, plopping into it with a sorry smile. Dr. Anderson pats my shoulder while Anwen gets behind the wheelchair, grabbing the handles, fully prepared to wheel me out of the hospital and to my parents car.

"Take care of yourself, Kid," Dr. Anderson says, I nod, giving her two thumbs up as I felt Anwen press a light kiss to the back of my head. "The only time I want to see you back here is if you've decided to do treatments." I shook my head.

"I think that means that this is my official goodbye to you, then. Thanks for everything, I appreciate the work you've put into treating me!" All Dr. Anderson did in response to that statement was smile, and wave me off.

Anwen and I talked as we walked down the hallway, and got into the elevator. She told me that we were gonna spend the remainder of my life in my parents house, in my old room, just so that I wasn't trapped in a small, cramped, overpriced apartment. I thanked her, and at that point, the elevator had hit the ground floor.

We made it out the door, where my parents were waiting, and it was Mom who helped me into their truck while Dad got out, walked to Anwen, and insisted she got into the truck and sat beside me. "I'll handle this," he said, referencing the wheelchair. Anwen smiled gratefully, and got into the seat behind the drivers, then scooted to the middle so that we could be right beside each other.

She didn't hesitate to grab my hand and interlock our fingers, and I didn't hesitate to put my head on her shoulder. "You two alright?" Mom asks, I nod in response, and Anwen shrugs.

"We will be," she says. I can tell, shes just about as tired as I am. "After a nap, maybe." Mom laughs, and I look into the rear view mirror at the front of the truck, catching her nod. 

"I think its safe to say that for all of us!" she turns her head to look back at Anwen and I, and I see a terrified smile on her face. She seems as though shes trying to walk on eggshells. "I was thinking we stop at home, get dressed, and go to True North for dinner?" I nodded eagerly. I loved the food at that place.

To clarify, or, just, give detail, True North Diner was a diner in downtown Halifax, in the same area where you'd find the Sunnyside mall; the big one with the Giant Tiger and the Swiss Chalet, and the Superstore a bit further up. It was a diner that was modeled around the 60s and 70s, with waitresses who wore their hair up, and even wore those long skirts.

The milkshakes and burgers there were killer. 

"I'm in!" I whispered tiredly. Mom laughed, leaned over, and ruffled my hair. I yawned, and waved my right hand dismissively. "After a quick nap, though!" Anwen and Mom laughed at that one.

"A quick name, and some grub. Sounds like a good end of day to me!" Peace. I felt peace at that moment, and I loved it. I hadn't felt such a normal emotion in so long that it was almost foreign, but I welcomed it nonetheless.

It is on nights like these, nights wherein I'm sat in front of my laptop, writing my story for whoever wishes to read it, read the tale that, as I write this, is furthering its end. It is nights like these in which I realized it sooner. I wish to have realized that the presence of people is important; whether one has an entire life to live, or less than one tenth of it.

People matter whether within the presences of life, or death. Having someone who has your six is always something of importance or, at the very least, something to consider.

I didn't have anybody who had my back, and then I did, and only when I was staring down the face of death did I come to such a realization.

Never let your emotions push those important to you out of your inner circle. Never let your mind trick itself into believing that nobody is there, because, almost always, somebody is. Somebody is out there, waiting for you to collapse into their arms and admit that everything isn't okay.

Somebody is out there, waiting for you. I promise it.