these things I forget

I remember sitting behind the curtains, alone in the corner of my ward, listening to old Leo coughing into his ventilator. It was almost Leo's bedtime, and he was getting his nightly dose of air. We'd just finished our plastic wrapped meals of over-boiled vegetables. Depressingly bland, just like the room that my suction valve had me tethered to. A tube was sticking out of my chest, and every breath I took caused bubbles to grow and pop in the yellow liquid being drained out of me.

I tried to sit, and let everything be still. I tried to find the freedom, the clear refreshing space that comes with a thoughtless mind. I tried to watch my cares and worries thud against the cotton wool morphine haze in my head, but it was all a mess. My senses were dulled and tired, my physical pain was numbed and my mental turmoil was a blur. Memories, thoughts and images played in smog. I tried to watch them, but they were elusive. They tired me out, and I slept with them cackling behind my dreams.

When I woke, everything I thought to be of import seemed a cliché. I clung onto the things that I thought should be worthwhile, and perhaps I still looked human because of that. But I couldn't find anything beautiful in that room I was stuck in.

I tried to go easy on the painkillers after the operation, and limited my number of morphine clicks the night after they cut me up. I didn't sleep well. I was lying uncomfortably, but was frozen into place with a heavy, overpowering pain. Every move I tried to make was held down by a mountain of throbbing. I gave in the next day, and clicked away with reckless abandon.

I'm out of there now. No more painkillers, no more haze. Back there, every now and then a peek of sunshine might shine in through the blinds and keep me sane. Might. Now I get bathed in it. Open to a clear sky, contented by warm light. Small birds make fleeting chirping noises outside, wind rustles through trees that will one day fall down and die, just as I will. No more cotton wool in my head. Just glimpses of sharp beautiful clarity, making me realise my insignificance, making everything significant again. I'm no longer trapped in a miasma of bad meals, needles, the odd friendly visitor and futile attempts at finding meaning in drawing. Things are real again! Yeeha!