Friday, July 23, 2010

Succeeding to fail 3 - Orange juice with cancer.







Note:: Please read Succeeding to fail part one  and part two  before or after, thanks.


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My mind feels unburdened. It feels light. It feels….. like I’m floating. Every negative thought seems to have left my body. It’s a lot like my first encounter with heroin. Lower than half the dose and minus the exhaustion afterwards. It’s not happiness….it’s joy.


Or maybe I should throw my evening’s dose worth of these psychotic pills out the window. If I’m going to die, I rather die without all this trash in my bloodstream.


I’ve had enough. Really.


I overheard the doctor saying there was a slim chance I could actually make it. Something about will power. And then he rambled about miracles I have to admit,. he had good bedside skills.


I believe in miracles. But miracles happen to people who deserve them. I, am not one of them.


Miracles don’t happen to a person who hits his best friend until he can’t lift his hands to hit some more, or smash his windscreen. Miracles don’t happen to someone who sees a man dying and doesn’t do anything to save him. Miracles don’t happen to people who have visions of brutality towards people they love. Miracles don’t happen to ungrateful useless, mediocre people who indulge and drown in their cold lake of sin.




Miracles don’t happen to people like me.


I realize I’ve lost track of time while I’ve been here. I look around for a clock. None. I look around for a calendar. None. I instinctively reach for my absent cell phone. I decide enough is enough. I decide to take a walk.


I pull out all the wires and tubes from the back of my hands. My heart monitor starts screaming out to the room that I’m dead. I pull the plug and switch it off to avoid a flood of specialists through the door ,strapping me to my bed like I’m some kind of animal who doesn’t know what’s good for it.


I stand on my two feet. And try to walk. I fail miserably. I crawl to the chair on my left next to the coffee table and pick myself up. It’s like all the energy and strength I garnered in the last 18 years of my existence has gone on holiday.


I manage to regain my balance…and some strength. I slowly walk to the door. I rest myself on it. “You are weak only if you think you are” I smirk to myself. I push it open.


The first thing that hits me is the unique medicated hospital smell. I stagger towards the wheelchairs and I see this nurse running towards me. I wonder if I should race and have her chase me around the hospital like in those Hollywood comedies.


I decide not to.


“Excuse me. Can I help you?” She asks.


“License and registration? Or was it because of the seatbelts?” I ask.


She laughs. That makes me kind of happy.


“Where would you like to go?”


“Home.” I say to myself. “The cafeteria” I tell her.


“I’m going there as well, may I help you?” She asks again.


“Only if you want to” I say.


She doesn’t let me complete the sentence and begins pushing my chair down the corridor. I look around. Hundreds of people here to try save other people’s lives. Relatives, Friends family….all hoping for a happy ending.


I spot a huddle of women weeping outside a room which happens to be the neonatal intensive care unit. I guess someone will never become a mother. I guess someone has just taken a bypass route to heaven . Just a guess.


“So what are you in for?” She asks.


“Nothing serious. I swallowed a whole bunch of pills and was hell bent on killing myself. Better than jumping of a building. I figured it would hurts less and there wouldn’t be much of a mess to clear up.”


I don’t know if it is the subject of discussion, or my casual tone that makes her look like the way she is.


“Oh uhm…I’m sorry….” She says.


“Oh don’t bother, I failed at it anyway. Much like everything else. It’s safe to say that I’m used to it by now”


“Right…..oh look we’re here, nice chatting with you” And saying that she walks away.


I make a mental note to stop being so frank. I wheel myself around trying to find a table where I can dock my chair in. All the empty ones have chairs that I don’t have the energy to move.


Finally I spot one.


“What will you have sir?”. I see his name tag. He’s an intern in the department of psychiatry. Is it coincidence or is it faith?


“Get me something that tastes better than the crap I get in my room, orange juice and throw in a self help book about manic depression and obsessive compulsive behavior while you’re at it.”


“Rrrrrrright away sir.” He smiles.


I always looked around and saw people happy. Only now it doesn’t bother me anymore. I’m going to be going on the trip of a lifetime.


It seems like I’m the only person sitting on a table alone. Even people who can’t remember their friends and loved ones and look at them like strangers, have people around them….all hoping that one day the memories will come back.....


I believe everyone at some point of time or the other wants to erase certain memories. Even I did. But after a while you realize that even the good ones will make you nostalgic, and leave you with a sense of longing…..and gets you uncomfortable after which you make up your mind to shut them out as well.


The noise of a tray landing on my table brings me back to my chair with wheels. I look down and see a glass of juice, two pieces of bread, some jam, a black pill, an orange pill.


“You’ve got to be kidding me right?” I express.


“Well it’s your first solid meal, eat light” He tells me.


“What…no chicken? .......and what are the pills for?”


The sight of any kind of pharmaceutical drugs makes me feel like throwing up.


“The pills are to make sure, your stomach takes it easy…..those pills did their damage….anyway it’s a good sign that you want to eat.”


“ So if I recover fast enough, can I get a hot dog?”


“No”


Why not?”


“This hospital serves only vegetarian food”


It’s like I’ve waken up to another nightmare.


“Enjoy your meal” he smiles.


“Wait…..how do you know about my pill binge?”


“I’m the guy who comes around during the night to make sure your heart’s still beating. I basically make sure you stay alive at night.”


“So you’re the reason a guy who wants to die is still breathing….I oughta sue you for that.”


“Haha, go ahead, by the time either one of us wins we’ll be too old to bother, or dead………..see you later”


“Not so fast. One last question. Are you going to stalk me around all the time making sure I don’t eat or….. swallow things I’m not supposed to?”


“Naah, I just work here part time, don’t feel like going home. Don’t worry.”


“See you, good day”


Either it’s because I haven’t eaten anything real in a while. Or it’s because I haven’t eaten bread with jam in a long while. Either way, every bite is heaven.


While I finish my juice, I notice a girl sitting a few tables away. She has very little or no hair, seems frail and weak. From a distance for a split second it’s like something out of a science fiction movie. I am not used to seeing women without any hair on their heads.


She turns around and our eyes meet, she smiles. It radiates a kind of happiness that seems like a ray of sunshine in this dark damp place. I smile back. It takes a split second of eye contact and an exchange of smiles and I feel like I’ve known her for ages, almost like I’ve met up again with an old lost friend…maybe a sibling. I wheel over to her table.


“Hi. Tell me your story” she says.





3 comments:

Lizzle said...

Very good until the last sentence - it's such a blatant way to lead into more about your protagonist.

Then again, I haven't looked at the other parts yet.

Also - thanks for commenting on my blog. It looks like everyone just wants comments, but no casual users are willing to say much.

UjSen said...

Thank you. Yes you're right,I ended in a rush to be able to post it on time......you'd know the background if you read the other parts earlier...... :)

Appreciated.

Holly said...

Can I get a signed copy? lol Great story :)