The Hospital

You wake up in the wee hours of the morning. Carelessly throw on what every clothes are closest. Get in the taxi and head to Manhattan, all the while trying not to think of that upcoming horror. Fill out some forms and get into your paper gown, and you wait. Seven different doctors and interns tell you the same things and ask the same questions seven times. You walk into the operating room. The white and shiny-ness of the whole room almost blinds you as you lay down on the table. It’s freezing in here. They’ll give you a heated blanket, and fuss around you for a minuet getting ready. At my request Kanye West is playing in the background. There having trouble getting a line in to administer the anesthesia to knock me unconscious. They put a mask over my face; ive already requested the injection of anathema and not the mask so they tell me its just oxygen. But I taste the gas. Slowly my world blurs, spins, Kanye's voice slows to an almost inaudible growl, and darkness. I wake up several hours later. In pain. Unable to move or talk. Thirsty. There are doctors all around me still, making sure im alive. Wiggle your toes if you can hear me they say. And I do. Im rolling rolling. Elevator. Rolling. This was three weeks ago.

I hate the hospital. I don’t go there unless I absolutely have to, which actually is quite a lot. Ive got at least 5 doctors, 5 specialists, all working out of hospitals, so even when im not really ill I still have to go to the hospital a lot. 19 hospitalizations in 11 years. It’s hard to write about. Ive tried so very hard to block it all out, but its always haunting my memory. I don’t think I can do this… sorry.