Nautical Adventure

I’m here again. I hate it. I thought last time was the last time. I miss my freedom. The incessant beeping starts to fuel my rage. The urge to scream consumes me. I want to tear out all the wires and IVs and stop the beeping once and for all. But it doesn’t work like that. My anger uses up all my remaining energy and I am forced to rest again.

It is technically daytime now but the sky is dark blue. The world clock was set to 5 a.m. and paused, leaving the sky paused during its usual dawn routine. A drizzle coats the window. It always seems to rain when I am here. I enjoy it though, it’s suitable for my mood. I try to readjust myself, my shoulder sore from the awkward position I took during my sleep. I am surrounded by the same unfriendly beige as usual. It blends with the dirtied white floors and contrasts with the dark brown crown molding. You’d think in pediatrics they’d incorporate some color to spruce up the place.

The crinkled hospital gown rustles against its dry cotton self. I reach for the blanket for comfort and am rejected by its roughness. The millions of washes to sterilize it has stripped it of all softness. It no longer can provide the solace it was intended for.

I heave each leg to one side of the bed, hitting each on the plastic railing on the way. Slowly, I inch towards the floor, knowing that the last time I attempted this, not just my legs but my whole body felt the cool tiles below. But today is different. The sticky bottoms of the socks grip the floor for dear life, fearing that if they fail their task, my safety would be at stake. I miss my independence and I will do anything to regain it. The squeaking sounds from each drag of my legs send a nurse running into the room. Technically, I am not supposed to do this alone, but what is life without risks?

I am yearning to see more than just my drab cell. Finally, once the door of my room is opened, I can see stuffed animals sporadically about, stripes and bright pinks and blues decorating the walls, and a Christmas garland that festoons the nurses’ station. Behind the computers, a tree sits with a lonely present underneath. The tree is decorated with a few ornaments, none of which match. The ornaments are too close to each other, while some are miles apart. It feels hastily done, an afterthought, lacking the true Christmas spirit.

I beg my nurse to let me see more and explore more of the place where I am so often. They never let me leave the wing, as they say I am a “fall-risk,” but today my nurse obliges. She understands how I feel, how I long for something new. I finally make it past the big doors of the entrance to the pediatric wing, and the laminated tile, at last, turns to a dirty myrtle-green carpet. The grin on my face grows wider and wider as I finally get a chance to explore.

We continue down the hallway, wandering past other patients in a similar state as I. We exchange glances, a quick look of empathy for the other’s situation. In the distance, I catch something nautical. Each weighted limb hinders my ability to move quickly towards what seems to be a model boat. I begin my nonsensical nautical adventure towards her and her dazzling mast. My body, recovering from an operation days before, forces me to traipse towards the object. I try as hard as I can to increase my speed, but the pain from my abdomen pleads me to slow down. The closer I get, the more my vision fails me. I try to focus my eyes on the tops of her pristine white sails, but they are obstructed by an ever-increasing blurriness. Filled with anticipation, I begin to pick up my pace. I just need to get closer. The pain is becoming more intense, I need to keep going but I don’t know if I can. The boat is closer now, almost an arm’s length away. I reach out to touch her, but I can’t.

My vision starts to go dark. I know what is about to happen, but it does not make it any less frightening. A cloud of unconscious static falls over me. This isn’t the first time this has happened, and I know it won’t be the last. I prepare myself for the pain I know I am going to experience. One by one, each limb of mine gives out and crashes towards the floor.

I am on the ground. The back of my head aches from the impact it just endured. I am forced to feel the scratchy texture of the carpet and reminded of its dirtiness. The feeling of the floor roughens my face. And then I am gone again.

I don’t know why this always happens to me. I used to ask myself what I did to deserve this, but I never received a clear answer. I don’t think I will ever understand why some are subjected to a life of pain and poor health, while others are free to prosper and taint their bodies with drugs and alcohol. At least they have control over making their body sick. I guess that is better.

The sky is unstuck now, plunging its way into dusk. The drizzle turned into a downpour, with the threat of thunder in the distance. Stuck back in my bed, I think back to the boat. The image in my mind is clearer now. I can picture her strong bow, composed of wood and coated with thin navy stripes, glimmering in the fluorescent lighting from above. The shining of her propeller, sparkling with silver tones, is unforgettable. She is everything I want to be, sturdy and indestructible, while also alluring and magnificent. I bet she doesn’t come crashing down with every short distance she travels. I guess I am jealous of her.

Tomorrow I will try again. I will advance even closer to her and get a better glimpse.