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| This Night by � moon_grace I glanced more at equipment than at you, fearing if I looked too close at you I would be lost in an abyss of dispair and not be able to function. I'm sorry. One by one, I held up your legs while the other two applied dressings. None of us spoke except to say, "Hold his leg a little higher. Hand me another roll of curlex, he's bleeding again." Methodical movements. First gauze, then curlex, then the ace wrap to keep the bleeding down. Next, I held up your arm. I know it's ludicrous, but I'm hoping you were left-handed before. I'm hoping you'll get to keep that left hand, but honestly, it doesn't look good for one either. I sweat in these clothes and never can breath right in these isolation masks. We fill the first trash can and one of the others gets the extra one while I start unwrapping your trunk. The wounds across your chest don't look too deep. I don't think there'll be much scarring. I'm not sure about the places on your stomach. We'll have to wait and see. Gingerly, I roll and hold you up on your side so the others can change the dressings across your back. I don't want to hurt you. Honestly though, if you wake up on this much pain killer, it'll surprise us all. Hopefully, the Versed will keep you from remembering. And from experience, I know you won't remember this. Most don't. They remember maybe the step-down unit and they all remember being in a regular room. Hardly anyone remembers us. I wonder what they'll say when you wake up. I sure wish they'd start you on an antidepressant soon, so it could have a chance to kick in before you wake up. Your heartbeat's regular. I expected that. No matter how sick young people get, their hearts are usually in good shape. Honey, keep a strong heart. Not the beating one. The one that gives you strength to endure. Christmas came. You came in on the twenty-second. They didn't do the amputations until the second of January. Up til then, they had hope. They gave you every chance to rally before they amputated at your knees and took off most of that right hand. They really did. But honey, those limbs were gone before they were taken away. I saw pictures of your kids hanging on the IV pole. Cuties. Your wife called twice tonight. She had to stay home because your oldest is sick with a cold. Your mom said to tell you she'll be back in the morning. I tried to explain I've never seen anyone awaken with this much sedation, but I don't think she understands. When you wake up, I hope we don't scare you. We have to wear these masks and gowns because the bacteria that started all this is pretty contagious. Personally, I think barriar gowns should be green or blue, not this crook neck squash yellow. I hate yellow. Never did look good in it. The masks are weird too. If you think they look weird, try wearing one. I call them duck masks. They look like some orange bill of a duck the way they stick out. Your temperature's down. You really gave us a fit there for a while tonight, kiddo. Maybe the antibiotics are kicking in. When you wake and find all you've lost, I don't know how you're going to feel. I won't be here to talk to you about it. I only work here once a month. But the others, well some are really good and if you need to talk, just talk all you want. If you wonder why we did this, well, the only thing I can tell you is there were two different camps. Most didn't want to go this far. But, your mom and wife weren't ready to turn you loose yet so things had to be done. I worry for your future- your kids and wife and family. I wrote a note for my husband to pass on at church. I hope you don't mind. I keep telling myself it was for you, but I think part of it was for me. Well, I guess that is all. Like I said, you won't remember me or tonight, but honey, I will never forget that wavy hair and sweet face. I hate to leave like this, but the shift's over. It's time to give report to your dayshift nurse. Your mom will be here soon. You rest now. moon_grace |
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