Thin Air (Complete EDITING)

17- Cal

17 Cal June 5, 2020

It smells bad. Like old people and baby powder. I have never understood why they try to make elderly folks smell like infants. It's nauseating.

I hate this place already. They moved me here from the hospital late last night. The astringent clinical cleanliness there was a thousand times better than this stench. If I could gag, I would.

I wish I hadn't woken up this morning. I was having the best dream. Robert never came to town, Barbie didn't hit that tree, and I didn't blackout on June 28, 2002. I close my eyes praying to get back to it, but a familiar voice in the hall catches my attention. I try to turn my head, but the only thing that moves are my eyes.

"Thanks for switching sections, Bianca. I don't know how aware he is, but if Cal has any clue what's going on around him, he isn't going to want a stranger taking care of him."

Oh, I am very aware.

"No problem, girl. I know this has got to be hard on you. Besides, your normal group is much easier." Bianca teases.

A set of footsteps fade down the hall and another pause over to my left where the door is. All I can see from my current position is an open closet filled with boxes and the edge of a window. There are no sounds for a half a minute, then I hear a sniffle, someone drawing in a steadying breath, a few steps, and then I feel the pressure of someone placing their hand on my leg.

"Hey, Pops, looking good this morning."

Good morning Jamie. You are as beautiful as ever.

"How about a cup of coffee, huh?"

Yes, please.

Coffee sounds amazing. I have not had coffee since the morning of my stroke. I'm not sure how this will work with me not being about to move, but I'm excited to get a little caffeine in my system. Who knows, maybe it will jump-start things and get my body connected to my brain.

Jamie raises the head of my bed and adjusts me, so my shoulders are squared. Then perches on the edge close to me and reaches for a plastic pink mug. She takes the lid off then stirs in 5 packets of sugar and some white powder from a pouch. I don't like cream in my coffee, but I guess she forgot.

She stirs the coffee and says in a cheery voice, "Unfortunately, this is decaf. Don't worry, though. I remember how you take your coffee. Sweet and black. This isn't creamer; it's a thickener. It'll make your coffee easier to swallow." She must be able to read the disappointment in my eyes. Decaffeinated coffee is a waste. "Sorry, doctor's orders."

She brings a spoon to my lips, I'd rather take a drink like a normal adult, but I open my mouth as much as I can and try to be a good sport about it.

What the hell is that?! She wasn't apologizing for the lack of caffeine. She was apologizing for this. I thought she would pour a little coffee off the spoon, and I'd take a sip. That was not what happened. This is disgusting. She just dropped a glob of hot congealed slop onto my tongue. I make a sound that comes out like a grunt. She mistakes it for a happy sound and smiles as she continues to push spoonfuls of the abomination into my mouth. I sit there and helplessly eat the rest of my coffee while she catches me up on the headlines from the newspaper.

Based on the date, I had my stroke three weeks ago. Where has the time gone?

When it's finally over, she wipes my chin and happily informs me that the doctor has okayed me to try a pureed diet. If it goes well, the feeding tube down my nose can be removed. I really hope she doesn't mean she's going to be feeding me baby food.

She lowers the head of my bed some and leans me over onto my left side, facing the door. She wedges a pillow behind my back and says she will be back in a little while to unpack my room. Now I'm looking out into the hallway. Nothing exciting happens, so I decided to see if I can get back into my happy dream.

The one where everything hadn't gone to shit.