Memoria in Aeterna by Americnxidiot.pdf

Memoria in Ae te rna

Bella figlia dell'amore,

schiavo son de'vezzi tuoi;

con un detto, un detto sol

tu puoi le mie pene,

le mie pene consolar.

Fairest daughter of love,

I am a slave to your charms;

with but a single word you could

relieve my every pain.

- - - - -

Beep.

The incessant noise pounded behind my closed eyes, amplified by muffled conversation

and the swish of fabric and footsteps and squeaky wheels on linoleum and dozens of

little nuances that I could recognize and name. I knew those noises. I knew those things.

I knew that my feet were wrapped up in thick wool socks, an emblem for University of

Illinois at Chicago Hospital stamped on the ankle in faded black ink. I knew my

shapeless robe was patterned with small blue flowers and that the string holding the

fabric to my body was white and mechanically threaded. I knew that my sheets were

white and taut; my pillow beneath the white case yellow; the blanket draped over my

legs the same blue as my flowered robe.

I knew that my favorite nurse always wore faded purple scrubs and pink foam shoes

covered in dime-sized holes. I knew that the discolored necklace draped over the violet

fabric was in the shape of a cross. I knew that when she closed her eyes and lifted an

olive finger to trace the metal, she was praying. I knew that she did that whenever she

left my room.

I knew that my neurologist had long, blonde hair that she always tied back into a tight

bun. I knew that my own hair was brown and that it matched the color of my eyes.

I knew that my vitals were okay, though my oxygen levels were still worrisome. I knew

that the tape over my hand held intravenous lines in place and that the bandage over

my chest covered what used to be the entry point for a central line. I knew that if I

pressed the red button held in my palm, a dose of morphine would trickle through the

clear tube and into my bloodstream.

I knew where I was, at 1740 Taylor Street in Chicago, after reading it off the business

card of one of my doctors.

The thing was, I didn’t know why I was here.

I didn’t know my name, my parents, if I even had parents or siblings or any family.

I knew that I’d been found on the pavement on 14th Street after jumping five stories,

because they’d told me that.

But I didn’t know why I’d jumped.

I knew that my injuries were severe: a shattered kneecap and a broken arm, six broken

ribs, a collapsed lung, a broken nose that was now mostly healed. A plethora of scars

and cuts dotting my pale skin.

I knew that I shouldn’t be alive.

But I was.

I lived.

And I would live.

I just didn’t know who I was.

My eyelids fluttered until I only saw darkness, and I focused again on what I knew.

The quiet footsteps of the nurses. The dull yet all-consuming ache that faded slightly

when I stayed still. The incessant beeping of my heart monitor that faded into melody

as I let the morphine drip lull me to sleep.

***

II.

My thumb bounced up and down on the remote, flicking from channel to useless

channel. The neurologist had once mentioned that seeing a familiar person could spark

my memory, but these tan and beautiful faces meant nothing to me. The storylines

were alien. The jokes weren’t funny.

It was more bearable now that I’d been awake for twelve days. The frustration was

expected.

After my fall, I slipped into a coma for eight weeks. I had no forms of identification on

my person, and, in the nine weeks I’d been in this hospital– this sterile, cold, and

uncomfortably bright hospital– not a single person had come to claim the young Jane

Doe as a relative or friend.

All I really knew was that I didn’t have a criminal record, since my DNA and

fingerprints returned with no matches. The doctors estimated my age to be twenty-two

or twenty-three. They also noted that I had had both my tonsils and my wisdom teeth

removed, and that I had, at some point in my life, broken my right arm twice.

But it was impossible to piece together a person from some scraped together medical

records, so I stayed in the dark. If my life was so terrible that I had wanted to end it at

the tender age of twentyish, maybe it was better this way.

I did wish I knew my name though. I was getting a little tired of the sad looks and the–

“How are we doing this morning, honey?”

The plump and elderly nurse who had treated me several times since I “woke up” peered

at me grimly, her wrinkled cheeks awkwardly forced into what she assumed was a

comforting smile.

“I don’t know,” I replied, the same response I always gave to their banal questions.

Minding my plastered elbow, I lifted the remote from its resting place on my thigh. If I

moved slowly, the pain would remain subdued. Rotating my shoulder, I kept a clumsy

hold on it until I hovered over my bedside table. It fell with a clunk to the plastic

surface, and I smiled. I would have patted myself on the back if I could have.

“Dear?” My focus shifted lazily back to the nurse, and I nodded for her to continue. “I

asked if your knee was feeling all right this morning.”

I frowned in concentration, trying to pinpoint a specific pain somewhere in my leg.

When nothing jumped out at me, I muttered, “I think so. Is something wrong?”

“It’s just a little swollen, that’s all.” Her warm fingers lightly prodded the exposed skin,

and then the large metal brace, before folding the blankets back over my legs. “But if

you’re feeling up to it, we may try standing again today.”

Nurse Cope continued her normal routine, checking lines and monitors as she hummed

to herself. I fought away the clammy nausea that threatened at the thought of sitting

up and taking steps. For the past two days, I had been forced to roll from my back to

my side, to push myself up with my less damaged arm until I was seated, to rise from

my bed with the help of a nurse and a walker. And every time, a searing spasm jerked

through my torso, causing me to gasp and then wince at the pain in my lungs. It took

three of us thirty minutes to bring me to my feet the first time. Yesterday, it took

twenty-six, and I knew they would only push me further today.

Eight weeks of muscle atrophy had taken a toll on my strength.

I often imagined a day when I could walk and stand as easily as the hospital staff.

They smiled, multitasked and drifted around the unit as if their movements were

second nature. But since I couldn’t remember a day without this pain, I took the

victories where they came. Like setting a remote control on a table.

Or like two hours later, when I stood up three minutes faster than the day before.

- - - - -

“Have you checked on 3B yet?”

Outside of my room, I heard the warm voice of my favorite nurse, Angela, addressing

someone, and willed her to hurry up so I could get this over with. The exertion always

left me shaky and nauseous, and now that they were making me sit in the

uncomfortable chair in the corner every day for twenty minutes, the pain was even

worse.

“No, not yet. The poor thing,” another nurse answered.

“I know. Dr. Cullen is going to do his best but there is just so much damage.”

“Too much. And did you hear he’s Dr. Hale’s future brother-in-law?”

My ears perked up at that name. She was my neurologist, the one with long, blonde

hair that she always tied back into a tight bun. And she was the only one in this damn

hospital who had any grasp of the confusion I’d felt since I woke. She put me at ease

and wasn’t hesitant to berate someone for bothering me. I liked her.

“That poor family. It’s almost tragic.”

“The young prodigy, forcibly retired at the age of twenty-five.”

“It’s like a Lifetime movie.”

They continued to gossip for several minutes about the other patients on the floor while

I listened without shame. There was a young mother who both nurses agreed was a

“cold and nasty bitch.” Angela complained of the elderly man who made obtuse sexual

passes at the female staff. I tried to visualize these people, only slightly frustrated when

I couldn’t remember meeting someone to fit these descriptions. After sixteen days of

blank, the emptiness was becoming customary.

As desperate as I was for human connections, even I got bored of the business of

strangers eventually. I smiled in relief when I heard the other nurse mutter goodbye

and take off down the hallway. Angela rounded the corner a few seconds later, her

purple scrubs frayed at the bottoms where they dragged on the floor. Her fingers drifted

to her necklace and she smiled.

“All right, honey, ready to sit for a little while?”

Let the fun begin.

- - - - -

Wake up.

Eat an applesauce.

Fall back asleep.

Wake up so they can prod me with needles.

Watch two hours of television.

Have a nurse push me around the floor in a wheelchair.

Sit in the corner chair for thirty minutes.

Fall asleep.

Repeat.

The routine was grating on me, the intense boredom almost making me wish I was back

in the coma. It had been eighteen days since I’d woken. Any memory I had regained

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: