It’s so far away. The dull sound.
Beep, beep beep, beep beep. It’s getting louder and faster.
Answer that damn phone. Turn off the alarm. Anybody, make that noise stop.
It’s not a phone. It’s louder, from the distance, and it’s in my ears, deafening.
Where am I? How long have I been out?
Staring up at the ceiling, I see a pouch of clear fluid hanging above me. I feel the pinches in my skin and in my nerves. I’m sore, everywhere. This IV fluid dripping through these tubes serve me a stale smell and taste in my mouth that I can’t escape.
The sound is here, and I realize I don’t want it to stop, because that will mean that I am dead. This heart monitor is now a sweet melody that I welcome.
I’m torn between feeling grateful that I’m alive and the pounding feeling that I wish I weren’t. The pain. It’s heavy. It doesn’t stop, and it’s increasing as I become slowly more aware.
To get here, it was worth it, all of it, and I’d do it all over again, the exact same way.
I am awake.