Finishing Crazy (13)

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I grit my teeth in pain as I open my eyes, looking around the hospital room. Waking up for the first time since my surgery, I’m feeling less than fantastic.

I instinctively move my hand to my stomach, feeling for the stitches that I know will be there. When my light probing fingers find them, I wince. The pain is much more intense than I expected. The five different needles hooked up to different bags of liquids must be administering some degree of pain relief, but if they are it doesn’t feel like it’s kicked in yet.

My mouth is covered by an oxygen mask that I want to rip off, but I know I can’t. It feels constrictive and nasty, but I leave it there anyways. If I take it off, they’ll just come put it back on.

Despite the sharp needle-like pain my side is in and my uncomfortable oxygen mask, though, I feel sort of refreshed, in an odd way- like I’ve gone from eating nothing but fast food to salads and my whole body’s been cleansed. I’m completely exhausted and sore, but the more I observe the pain, the more I find it’s similar to the pain I get after a particularly hard work-out.

Only a few moments after I’ve woken up, a nurse comes in with a bowl of broth and a side of applesauce.

Good, I’m famished.

“How are you feeling, Kyra?” The woman asks kindly.

“Sore.” I admit. “Hungry.”

She laughs gently. “I bet; most are. You’re probably looking for something more substantial for lunch-“

Yes, yes I am, I think to myself, looking at the small meal disdainfully. There’s almost nothing there at all.

“-but right now it may be difficult for you to finish this. If you find you can eat more, though, call me with this.”

She stops to hold up a remote attached to my bed that says ‘Emergency Call’ on it.

“I’ll get you extra food if you do, alright?”

I nod my head in response and eagerly dig into the applesauce. I love applesauce. However, halfway through the container I loose my appetite. It’s too much to eat, so I turn to the broth, which I think I can manage. I give up the broth after half a spoonful, though, because it tastes disgusting.  

Never expect hospital food to taste good, I internally scold myself.

I push the button on the side of the bed and the same nurse comes in.

“Everything okay?” She asks.

“Oh, yeah. I just finished.”

The nurse eyes my full bowl of broth and half-full container of applesauce.

“Alright,” She says, picking up the tray and turning to leave. Then her footsteps pause momentarily as she turns back towards me, smiling. “Oh, hold on a second- someone brought something in for you- I’ll go get it.” The nurse tells me.

She walks out and is gone for a few minutes before coming in with a gold tinted glass vase filled with tiger lilies. She hands them to me and my heartbeat speeds up as I feel the cold, delicate glass under my hands. It’s patterned with intricate swirls of a light, artfully-faded ivory color. In the center of all of the tiger lilies is a single sunflower, and resting on top of it is a creamy vanilla-colored envelope with my name on it in beautiful, looping cursive.

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