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SEVEN SIXTEEN THIRTY-NINE

By Chuck Semenuk

Knee replacement surgery completed, I’m in bed with a number of hoses attached to my veins.  Hands push and pull on my leg.  “What’s the pain level on a scale from one to ten?”

“Ten”

“Who are you?” commanded another voice.  “Where are you?  What day is it?”

My mind attempted to comply but every question seemed to bring another question.  My lips moved but incoherent noises were all that came out.  Images of worried family members float past.  Busy hands poke more needles into collapsing veins.

“This one isn’t working,” said still another voice.  “We’ll have to find another spot.”

“What’s wrong with him?  Why doesn’t he know who he is?”

“Sometimes there’s a reaction to the anesthetic.”

“What is your birth date? Do you know why you’re here?”

“Leave me alone, dammit!  Why do you people keep badgering me?”

“Why aren’t you eating?  You have to eat.”

“That stuff tastes like crap.  Even the water is bad.  How can you screw up water?”

“You haven’t been pushing your pain button.  Push the button.  Get more of that medication in!”

Someone stuffed a button attached to a cord into my hand and I dutifully pushed the button.  The instrument on the other end of the cord beeped as it pumped another dose of mystery fluid into my arm.

“My God, it hurts.  I thought this stuff was supposed to help with the pain.  I’m so tired.  I need to sleep.”

Faces of family members fade in and out.  A compression sleeve intermittently squeezed my leg.

“How’s the level of pain in your leg?” the voice asked.  “What is your birth date?”

Another voice from someone tugging at my leg commanded “Okay, time to get you up.  It will hurt but you need to start putting weight on the leg.”

“It will hurt?  What the hell does she think it’s been doing? “

Two female therapists trained in the ancient art of torture began to ready me for my first trip out of bed.  Rusty was a youngish redhead with so much energy it seemed sinful.  The other one, I learned was well known at the hospital as the Disney character Cruella DeVille and seemed to derive considerable pleasure in trying to scare me into submission.

As the leg was moved off the edge of the bed, the pain was excruciating.  Another session of bending and stretching muscles and tendons that cried to be left alone.  A few steps with a walker and then to a chair for more stretching and bending.  Finally, back to bed.  Must sleep.  Can’t sleep.

“What day is it?”

“How in hell would I know?”

“What’s your birth date?”

Struggling to remember.  “Why can’t I remember?  Seven sixteen thirty-nine.”

“Do you know where you are?”

I know where I am but struggle to answer.  So many questions.  So confusing.

“What is your birth date?”

“Six sixteen thirty-nine.”

“Are you sure?”

Futile attempts to sleep.   More questions.  At some point, a new voice; dark and ominous sounding.

“What is your birth date?”

“Five fourteen thirty-nine.”

The new voice laughed.

“It won’t be too long now.”

“Too long for what?”

“You haven’t been paying attention, have you?  Don’t you realize that every time you give your birth date you reduce it in time?”

“So what?  What’s the difference?”

“You’re counting down to your date of conception.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your date of conception, fool.  The date that you were conceived.  When you reach that date, you will no longer exist!”

“That can’t be.  I have to be somewhere.”

“You will be nowhere.  There is no place for you.  You never existed before that date.”

The old voices returned.

“Have to take some more blood.”

“What is your birth date?”

I refuse to answer.  Somewhere in my mind I hear the dark voice laughing.  “That won’t work.  You can’t stop it.  Not much longer now.”

So tired.  Have to sleep. These damn hiccups.  When did they start?  Asleep or awake, they continue; wearing me down.

“What is your birth date?’ asks the dark voice.

“Twelve one thirty-eight,” I mumble.  “I hate these damn hiccups.”

“Maybe they’re a good thing,” says the dark voice.

“What do you mean?”

The dark voice angered.  “It means that some part of your worthless soul is still fighting to hang on.  Just a matter of time; just a matter of time.”

It’s dark and quiet now.  Finally some rest.

########

I awake to find myself walking down the hallway outside my room.  What’s going on?

I see nurses going up and down the hall and I instinctively reach behind me as I realize that the back of my hospital gown is open and I’m “taking pictures” of everyone who passes.  Strangely, no one seems to be aware of me.  I suddenly notice that I am not using a walker and there is no pain from my leg.

I didn’t think healing would be so fast.  As I walk further, I notice a young girl of about 16 years of age standing in the hallway looking into the next room.  As I get there, I see nurses and doctors working frantically on someone.  Curiously, she looks a lot like the girl that I’m standing next to.  A man and a woman, obviously the parents look on, trying their best to maintain control of their emotions.

“What’s happening?” I ask the girl next to me.

She turns and looks at me sadly.  “I guess I’m dying.”

“No.  You mustn’t die!  Look at your parents.  They’re devastated.”

“They’ll be better off without me,” she says.

“How can you say that?  It’s obvious that you are the most important thing in their lives.”

“I’ve been a lot of trouble to them.  I haven’t been doing well in school.  I hang out with a bad crowd and stay out all night sometimes.  I know they’ve been disgusted with me.”

“How did you end up here?”

“I took a bunch of pills.  I thought it would be the easiest way.”

I look at the parents and remember my own.  Then I remember my own children and how I felt with each crisis as they were growing up.  What would I ever do without them?  I push the thoughts from my mind.

“You can’t do this.  You have to fight.  Come back to your family.  There is so much in life that is wonderful that you’ve yet to experience.”

She looked at me.  “They probably won’t forgive me for the things I’ve done.”

I place my hands on her shoulders.  “Yes they will.  I can tell you that they’ll never give up on you.”

“I don’t want to die,” she sobbed.

“Then fight!  Come back.  You don’t have to end this way.”

The girl began to walk toward the figure on the bed.  Suddenly, the chest began to rise as she began to breathe on her own.

“She’s back!” shouted the doctor who had been using the electric paddles.

I started walking back toward my room.

“Well.  That was a something that I never expected,” said the dark voice from somewhere beside me.  I turned and looked but couldn’t see anyone although I could feel a presence there.

“Why don’t you leave me alone, dammit?”

“It looks like your lucky day.  I’ve been overridden by the big guy.  I have to turn you loose.  I lost you and the girl both today,” he said angrily.  “Get back to your bed.  Maybe I’ll get you next time,” he laughed loudly.

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A new day begins as family members walk into my room, staring at the empty bed.

“Oh, My God!  What happened?  Where is he?” 

The alarm for the bathroom goes on.  The family opens the door.  I’m sitting there in my best “thinker” pose, my elbow resting on my knee while I held my chin, trying to figure out what I was doing.  For some reason, family members seem relieved at the sight; I don’t understand why.

Now, I’m back in my bed; still another vampire returns to suck my blood.

“What is your birth date?”

“Seven sixteen thirty-nine,” I say confidently.  For some reason I take particular comfort in that fact.

Therapists Cruella and Rusty enter with a smile, eager to make my day miserable.  Time for some more torture.  Strangely, I’m enjoying cracking jokes with Cruella while I hold on to Rusty for dear life.

“Wow, that’s way better than yesterday!” says my wife with a big smile.  I love her so.