In The Blood

Wakey, Wakey

(Tim)

Someone was singing very close to me. Like, right by my head. I felt my eyelids start to flutter and I became aware of beeps from medical equipment, squeaks of carts, footsteps up and down the halls, nurses talking, something thunking around, the PA paging a Dr. Garland. It was a busy and noisy hospital. Yet the one thing I was hearing and processing in my brain as I was in the end stages of a sleep cycle was how out of tune and sharp the singing was. And the tempo was off for Deck The Halls. And Christmas was over! If he didn't find a damn key (any key; as long as he'd stay in it, I didn't care if it was the right one or not), I was going to strangle him. Who the hell was singing so badly in my ear? I didn't even recognize the voice. Sounded tenor, but it was so bad there was no way it could be Austin or Rob or Mitch. If I opened my eyes and found any of the above standing there, I'd make them go back to music school for singing lessons. This was awful. And offending my ears.

I finally had the sense to open my eyes and turn my head to the right to see who it was that couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. A man in navy scrubs was now kneeling by the bed, doing something down there with a measuring cup of sorts, now softly singing on the third verse (dear God, please tell me there's not a fourth; my ears can't take the musical abuse).

I rubbed at my eyes and tried to find my voice to talk. "Please stop." Even I sounded hoarse and a bit wheezy. But at least I wasn't trying to sing with it, and probably even wheezy and hoarse, I'd sound better. At least I'd be singing the right notes!

He stopped singing long enough to say, "Just emptying things out. I'll be out of the way in a minute." He went right back in to finish that third verse. Butcher it, really. RIP, Deck The Halls.

I coughed. "That wasn't even what I meant."

He lifted his face to me and gave me a smile. "Welcome back from being asleep and out for four hours straight!"

"Um..." What time was it? I lifted my wrist to check my watch but only found my hospital band. Which told me my name, date of birth, sex, admit date, doctor, and a long number of sorts. And a red allergy bracelet. I fingered it, wondering what exactly it was that I was allergic to. I was unaware of any drug allergies. Had they found one?

The dude now back to the first verse of Deck The Halls (I'd deck him in a minute if he didn't stop) as he gazed at the monitor for a minute, I asked, "Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Sam. Night nurse," he explained, making a quick note on a notepad shaped like a drop of blood. "Didn't mean to wake you up; I'm sorry. You slept right through the other checks." He regressed to out of tune humming.

"The singing and the humming is what woke me up," I informed him as he picked up my wrist as if to confirm the pulse he'd just seen on the monitor.

Sam laughed. "Sorry 'bout that. I know I can't sing worth a lick, but I got the song stuck in my head."

"Please unstick it," I grumbled. I was well aware that some people can't sing and that even they have the right to sing should they want to, but between this guy's insistence on singing during patient care and in his terrible voice, and me being forced to be a patient in the hospital, it was irritating the shit out of me.

"Trying!" he said brightly. "How do you feel?"

"Kind of irritated," I said, electing to be forthright.

"I'm sorry," Sam apologized. "I was wanting to know how you feel physically."

"Physically? Um..." I paused, taking stock of myself. Feet, cold despite being under two blankets. Legs... I moved them slightly. Yep, they were OK. Felt like I was lying on one hip, so I shifted my weight a little. There, that's better. Back, sore. Stomach... kind of empty. Abdomen, a touch gassy. I let one fly and felt better. Chest, itchy. I gave it a good scratch. Arms... both shoulders hurt. Neck, also hurting. Head was OK, and my ears were no longer bleeding from the music torture. "Feet are cold. Back, shoulders, and neck hurt. Think I'm hungry."