Electrodes on my body.
A tube at my nose.
Lines in both arms.
A button by my left hand.
Call nurse.
Fentanyl.
Six holes in my abdomen.
One drains fluid.
A tube at the anus.
Another at the urethra.
I cannot turn.
What time is it.
Evening.
Or night.
Discomfort.
Pain.
Nausea.
Footsteps.
A nurse passes.
Darkness.
I sleep for a while.
Or think I did.
Morning comes.
Back to the general ward.
They prepare me.
The diaper is removed.
My body is wiped.
No embarrassment.
Only discomfort.
The bed rises.
Lightheaded.
The tube will be removed.
Then the wheelchair.
A small sense of unease.
The button is pressed.
Nausea.
Breathe.
Now.
It is pulled out.
A sudden tearing sensation.
As if something were taken from inside me.
The wheelchair.
The nurse leaves.
Silence.
I cough.
Pain in the abdomen.
The monitor changes.
Then,
a zero.
—
I wake up.
Surrounded.
Hands on my shoulders.
“Can you hear me?”
“Stay with us.”
I had blacked out.
Not the heart.
Still,
not the general ward.
A private room.
For now.