Sunday, April 6, 2014

Chocolate, Coughing and Convalescence

Ok...so things were really hectic this week at work and I fell behind with blogging...not a good thing when trying to keep up with a challenge!  However, this weekend, I managed to rest up and am playing catch up.  Looking forward to less stressful weeks ahead and keeping up with my posts!
They are random, that is for sure.  Sometimes, it will be anecdotes and observations from a personal standpoint and other times, like today, short stories.  


She stared longingly at the bag of chocolates.  She was aching to eat one but her appetite was gone.  It was than a lack of appetite, it was the presence of an anti-appetite...there was no emptiness but a sinister sense of fullness constantly reminding her of why she was here.  And that anything she tried to ingest, even chocolate was...due to post-operative gasses causing so much pressure...horribly torturous.

Best to give them to the doctor.  It was only right.  Can't let good chocolate go to waste after all and having it by her bedside taunting her would drive her nuts.  Yes, she definitely will give it to the doctor on his next round to check in on her.  It was Valentine's Day, she had nothing else to give and since he pretty much saved her life, she felt the need to do something in return.

She still can feel the blood rush into her belly, escaping the vein or artery or whatever the hell she had unknowingly wrecked.  Such a small accident too.  She had fallen off her bike at least a zillion times in her life and had even been hurt worse, but never with these consequences.  The whole incident flashed back before her eyes:

The faltering and falling sideways and forward, feeling the handlebar jab her belly...but not that hard, or so she thought at the time.

Sitting in front of the TV that night relaxing, getting up to make tea and then coughing.  The cough of death...sort of.  The cough that caused that small rupture to burst wide and flood her stomach, swelling it instantly.  The instinctual terror that flooded the rest of her body and her mind.  The panicked escape from her apartment to the outside world, stopping strangers in the street to help her.

Then a steel table where doctors (or was there only one?) kept poking her in a desperate attempt to get a blood sample, finally succeeding by tapping a vein in her foot, go figure!

The mask they put over her mouth and nose, soothingly telling her to breathe in deeply and slowly and the fear when she didn't pass out in a nano-second like she thought she should, feeling the doctors marking her body, getting ready to slice her open to free the blood and stop it all at the same time.  Then, best of all, the few seconds of sheer bliss before passing out  (why is this stuff not bottled and sold in convenience stores everywhere?)

Then...the slow healing over the following days, her body pale from head to toe.  Constantly apologizing to doctors and nurses for being a bother because she felt like she should.

The agony after having just a bite or a sip of anything.  The friends coming in bearing more books and food than made sense.  The gratefulness for the care and protection she was getting from everyone around her, especially the doctor who figured it all out and saved her.

Yes, the chocolates were a meagre gesture but it was all she had and it was Valentine's Day.

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