Jenna

Ch. 1 -- I Want to Get Better

The walls are spinning, morphing into a wood cabin, cherry tinted walls glistening from the moisture of the drops pounding against the small shelter, and I can't stop the voices from fading.

"Jenna!"

Shaking me, the voice repeats my name.

Questions rise as I look around, finally focusing on the eyes.

They're a deep hazel, with sprinkles of scattered gold.

Have I seen her before, I wonder?

Turns out to be a nurse, who's coming to play a game. I haven't met her before.

Briefly, before dashing to her next patient, she grabs a deck of Uno cards, and sits next to me, propping me up on a set of pillows that smell like disinfectant.

"How are you feeling?"

"Terrible."

"Do you think it's the new meds?"

"I don't know."

Truth is, I'm holding back the urge to slam someone, myself or my doctor into a wall, just so they might notice that there is a medical option that could work.

Doctors still refuse to try it, even as they push me further towards a coma, as I give in to the pain.

"Mom!" Feeling like a minnow out of water, so happy she's here, that I'm struggling to sit up through all the wires connecting me to life.

"I want to get better."

Mom is sitting on a bench near my bed, staring into space, her whole shoulders tensed, and neck curled, a bridge about to crumble.

Realization hits me, she must have already talked with the doctors.

Eventually the distracted man in a white coat comes in, his nose wrinkling, and biting his lips, making me wonder if I'm his first patient who's dying as he watches.

"We need your approval to try a medication induced coma." Shit. He's looking at my mom, as if I don't matter. "Wait," is my plea, for the doctor to hear the fear in my voice "Can't we try anything else?"

"I'm sorry," his head shakes like the clouds hovering before a downpour, "we've run out of options. Besides, we don't even know what's wrong with you."

Admitting it to my face, he sure has some nerve.

My body is being torn apart, disease gripping my spine, and everything that connects.

It is living hell. Mom barely meets my eyes, as my gaze moves toward her, she looks at the ground. She's going to say yes.

"Do it." Pools of silver fill her eyes as she stares grimly toward the door.

No. No. No!

"It will be a two day coma, just so she," meaning me, he probably forgot my name already, "can rest, give her body time to heal. It's just like a long nap."

A long nap, except there's no saying I'll wake up.

"Jenna, let's give it a chance."

"Fine."