My Personal Sun: Part 1

Heavy fog. Headache.  Laboured breathing. The world rushing past. Voices. Shouted orders. Two steel doors parting. A steel cubicle. White halos of light shining down. Distant pings. Where am I? Who are these people? Where is my voice? Mom? Why can’t I feel my body? Where are my hands? Panic. And then, realization. I’m in the hospital. I’m on a gurney, inside the elevator. They’re taking me back to my private ward. I can’t keep my eyes open. It’s like my eyelids are made of lead. Is it over already? But…how long was I out? I remember choking as the dark, thick mask of rubber descended over my mouth and nose, blocking the air and suffocating me, and then within seconds everything went dark. The two huge, blinding lamps adjusted above my heavily sedated body were gone. No voices, no thoughts. No pain. Until now. I feel myself let out a shriek of panic as a stabbing pain cuts through my lower abdomen, but no sound comes out. It hurts. It hurts bad. “It’s okay, sweetie. Hold on.” Who is that? Is that you, Mom? No sound. What have they done to me? What’s wrong with my belly? “Hold her hands! She’s trying to rip the covers open!” Steely grip on my wrists pinning them down on my sides. Darkness.

White walls. Faces peering down at me. My throat hurts. I can’t swallow. My mouth is dry. Something is beeping very fast and loud right beside my bed. My head is clearer. I think I can find my voice now. “Where’s--"  I see my words fading into a cloud of fog as my lips move. An oxygen mask. “Don’t speak, dear.” It’s Mom. She has stepped forward from the circle of people around me all of whom I fail to recognize as my vision is blurred. This feels like the worst hangover ever. “Where’s grandpa?”, I manage to whisper with every speck of energy I can muster. Mom leans towards me to hear me better, “He’ll come and see you tomorrow.”

“What time is it?”

“A little past nine.” Nine? I was in the operation theatre for three hours? They said it would take only half an hour tops.

“Water”, I croak. Mom looks troubled.

“Not now. Wait for a while.” I know that voice. It rings a bell. That’s the Doctor. I sigh and close my eyes.  I can hear people talking, feet shuffling and then the room falls silent except for the high-pitched beeping that’s starting to annoy me now. I open my eyes. They adjust slowly to the surroundings and the room comes into a better view. There are some nurses, the Doctor’s gone. Mom is standing closest to me on the left side of the bed, her expression pained. My Uncle’s standing a little farther, his expression unreadable- tired, maybe. My sister’s on the right side of the bed, standing a bit far, her face contorted in shock, her mouth hanging open, and a hand hovering inches from the open mouth. Her eyes are watery. I try to see myself through their eyes now and what I see explains their reactions. My hair is disheveled, I am wrapped in a dark, woolen blanket, a tube has been forced in through my nose which is apparently the reason for the terrible pain in my throat, I am wearing an oxygen mask, a pulse sensor is clipped on to my finger and plugged in to a monitor which is the source of the annoying beeping, my mouth is dry, my lips are chapped and my eyes are bloodshot. I try to smile at my sister and she staggers a step backward. My smile fades. I groan in pain. Somebody who has been standing near my bed hurries forward and stops right at the edge of the bed. I hadn’t noticed him before. I lift my eyes to look at him and take the view in. He looms tall beside the heap that is me, his eyes staring down at me. I can see the pain in his eyes even through his glasses. His hair is messed up and a stubble is darkening his chin. He stands there with his jaw clenched, clearly at a loss as to what to do.

So you came. You kept your promise. In sickness, in health...

How couldn’t I?

You look worried.

I am. Just look at you. Does it hurt bad?

Uhm…

It does. I know. Don’t worry. I’m here now. 

Thanks. Did you meet everyone?

Don’t remind me.

Haha. Poor you.

Yeah, alright. Don’t stress yourself out just yet. Try to sleep.

You’ll stay, right?

Duh.

Chuckles. 

The monitor beeps faster and faster until someone yells for the nurse. He kneels down beside the bed, his eyes on the monitor. Slow down, please. I have never seen him so shaken. The nurse arrives. She picks up a syringe from the side-tray and loads it with a transparent liquid. He takes my hand and our eyes lock for a brief second, yet the entire night seems to pass in that one moment. And then, darkness.