Aftermath

Ch 4: Apology

Kota

Mere seconds after Dr. Roberts left, a recovery room nurse arrived, evicting Sang.

"I'll see you upstairs," Sang said. As she walked out, Sang turned and blew me a kiss, blushing as she did.

I watched until I could no longer see her.  I was sad to see her go, but I was ready to get rid of some of this equipment.

"Mr. Lee, let's get you a little more comfortable," the nurse said, turning off the heart monitor behind me.

"So you're going to let me go home?" I said, only half-joking.

She smiled sympathetically. "I'm afraid not tonight." She untucked the blankets at the bottom so I could keep the blankets high enough to stay warm and keep some illusion of privacy. I looked away, not wanting to see her remove the dreaded catheter. After a couple of minutes, she was done. "Can I get you a warm blanket?" she asked.

I realized I was wearing nothing under the gown. "My clothes--" I started as I vaguely remembered that everything had been covered with blood, necessitating most of it to be cut off when I first got here.

She dug around below the bed, finding my boxers in a bag. "This is all that's left, but they look clean."

"I'll take what I can get," I said gladly, not wanting to think of lying there later on with Sang around wearing nothing but a thin hospital gown.

She removed the last few heart monitor tabs from my chest, freeing me from at least some of the medical devices. I was stuck with the IV and the pulse-oximeter for the duration, and as Dr. Roberts had said, I would have to keep the oxygen cannula for a while longer.

"Now you hit the call button if you need one of us," the nurse said, putting the call button where I could reach it. "I'll be back to check on you in a few minutes."

She left, and then it was quiet--as quiet as it could be in a hospital. I laid back and with nothing else to do, I began counting the ceiling tiles. At forty-three, I saw a tile that had been altered to fit in a smaller space. How should I count that? If only I could measure it, I would know. . .

I stopped myself. What was I doing? Counting had started as something to calm me as a child. Now, it felt like a compulsion.  I resolved to quit—starting now.

The next few count-less minutes felt long, almost making me feel uneasy. But after I passed that hurdle, I began to feel lighter. Freer, somehow. I should have quit a long time ago.

But then, I felt a tickle in my throat and the coughing began, mostly dry, just like my throat.

The nurse was beside me before I noticed. "Try this; it's just a sip, though." She handed me a cup with just the barest amount of water in it. Then she gave me a bottle of cherry Chloraseptic to numb my throat. Probably against the rules, but I appreciated it.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asked, taking the cup back.

If she was going to break the rules, I might as well see how far I could take it. "Can my—can Sang come back in?"

"No, I'm afraid not," she said. "But you don't have too long now. Your hour is almost up, and you'll be headed out of here. You'll see your sweetheart soon."

I was the patient, and I couldn't even get one small wish. Watching her go, I started to fold my arms against my chest, only to be stymied by the IV and pulse oximeter lines. This wasn't going to work. I was being tied down by too much stuff, too much hospital gear, and memories I didn't want flooded back. Why couldn't I forget all of that?