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The First Customer |
| Written by erik grossman | |
| Friday, 02 May 2008 | |
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Share it:      "What the hell is happening to-" I can't even finish the thought before my chest tightens up and sends a rush of sickly air up through my throat, forcefully pushing its way out of my mouth. Something accompanies the air on its exit. It's warm and thick; it is as though syrup is dangling from my hands, just not as sticky. I move my hand away from my mouth to see blood dripping in smooth motions off my fingertips, gently falling from one to the other as it dances with the breeze I have let in through the open window. I don't care anymore. I grasp my steering wheel and punch the gas pedal to the floor. The roar of the engine fills the scene as I race down the highway, climbing to a loud wail until a shift in the gears brings it down to a deep roar. I'm like a raging bull as I fly through stop signs and red lights. I have no concern for others around me. A whirlwind of blood is thrown around the car from my mouth. My chest tightens up and I can feel my lungs strangled until they are finally let go of. The air in my lungs picks up that same something on its way up that sends another hurricane of blood shooting from my mouth. The blood splatters itself onto my windshield and all over my control panel. It does not matter, I'm almost there. I spin the steering wheel and fly the car into the hospital's parking lot. I speed into the emergency parking space and struggle with my seat belt for an instant. I realize I have entered a state of shock; I can barely think. "Slow down," I tell myself. I manage to pull myself together and get out of the car, but the minute I step foot on safe ground, hysteria takes over and I burst into the hospital exhausted and out of breath. My eyes are shaking and I can feel the tears forming. My lungs take another "one last breath". I fall to my knee and brace myself. The nurse at the counter leans over and shouts something at me but I cannot hear it. The only thing I can make out at the moment is the pulse of my heart beating in my ears. My lungs tighten up as they spit out another dose of blood onto the floor. The pounding of my pulse subsides and the faint screaming of nurses and doctors rushing to my aide are all I can hear. I turn to see who my voyeurs are. A little girl gripping her mother's arm looks at me in terror. The woman turns her daughter's head away while covering her own eyes. Am I a monster? I'm shaken back into reality by the tug of a doctor and the push of a nurse as I am settled down into a wheelchair they have brought out. The doctor begins bombarding me with all kinds of questions. What have I eaten? What did I do? Had I taken any drugs? Do I have any allergies? I don't have time to answer any of them before the next question is asked. The nurse asks her superior where to take me. "Take him to the nosebleed ward," he answers. They have a nosebleed ward? My mouth has become a faucet for my blood and the doctor, in all his wisdom, wants to put me in a nosebleed ward? They start rolling me down a hauntingly plain hallway with paper white walls. Ahead of me lie two steel doors that burst open as I am pushed through. They take a sharp left that jerks me to the right. I cannot believe it, before my eyes lies a door that reads: "Nosebleed Ward." My jaw drops in disbelief. The nurse goes ahead of the doctor and I to open the door. I'm pushed into a new type of nightmare. Red is the choice of color here, dark in some areas, light in others. All around me are sobbing children and the soft winces of older patients, all of them shooting blood from their noses like an orchestrated water show. "Oh no!" My nurse screams "What?" I ask. She doesn't answer me but instead speaks to the doctor, as though none of this is my business. "It's full." She says. I **** my head to the side and stare at her with wide open eyes in anger. They have a nosebleed ward, and it is full? I want to argue with them, I want to tell them that I am in pain and need medical attention right away! I am saved the trouble. My chest folds in, my throat tightens up, I can feel the giant pulse of air gathering. In seconds I release a maelstrom of blood onto the ground and my legs, only adding to the red décor of the room. That's all it took for the doctor to make a decision. "Take him to critical." He says. They turn me around and push me down some hallways and through other doors. For a room that is "critical" it seems awfully far away. Finally I am there. They take me off the cold leather prison with wheels and drop me down onto a cold cloth cot. They poke and prod me in various areas; suddenly I am a voodoo doll, and they are wishing terrible luck to someone's arms, chest, and face. Flashlights send a bright beam of solid white into my eye. Great, now I'm coughing up blood, and I'm blind. With a few blinks, the after effect goes away and I can see again. My bed has no privacy unlike the other two beside me. They have three sheets while I only have two. The doctor jots down some notes and leaves. Of course the minute he does, I contaminate the air with infectious blood that explodes like a hand grenade. I turn my head and notice the nurse at the foot of the bed next to me, having just witnessed the spectacle. She turns to talk to me, the thought of help and relief begins to fill my mind. "Are you alright?" Shock and awe at such a question stuns me, prompting my reply. " **** you." She sighs lightly, noting to herself that she shouldn't have asked in the first place and makes a solemn exit out of the room. I lay my head down and stare at the ceiling. I try to catch some rest and slow myself down. All I need is a little quiet, just some relaxation so I can get my head together. I get what I want; everything is silent...except for a continuous beep...beep...beep. I turn my head to the left to see the offender whose bed the nurse was standing at the foot of just seconds ago, a man whose detested heartbeat continually shatters my peace. He is not moving. It does not seem like he is even breathing, but the constant beep of the heart monitor says he is. I begin wincing at each of its declarations of life. Beep...beep...beep. I grip the sheets of my bed in anger. I tell myself to calm down; everything's going to be okay. The doctors will come back with some medicine, fix you up, and send you home. Next thing you know you'll wake up tomorrow right as rain and go grab some breakfast. My mind starts to visualize it all: the warm, hot, deliciously brown pancakes; the golden, greasy layer of hashbrowns; the sizzling strips of bacon and sausage. It all seemed so peaceful. Beep...beep...beep. I start raking through my mind, how the hell can I get better when I can feel my sanity dissipating? I grab the "call nurse" remote and start frantically pressing the button - within moments the nurse arrives. From the few blood-spurting fits I have had while in the hospital, I am completely covered in blood. Maybe that is why I react the way I do when the nurse asks me, "Is anything wrong?" I start screaming. I scream of all my worries and all my problems as panic takes hold once again. I scream of how I'm still broken and the doctor won't come and fix me. I scream of how I cannot even get a moment of silence because the man on my left won't get better and leave or just die. I am shouting so loud I start crying. I can feel the sensation coming yet again: blood shoots from my mouth like a star and sprays all over my stiffened clothing. All I want to do is leave. I want my pancakes in the morning - I want those sizzling strips of bacon and sausage. I want to wake up knowing everything is alright. I'm so loud I barely notice the beeping has stopped. I tone my levels down as the nurse and I turn to the man on my left. There is no more beeping, just one, continuous...beep. Everything seems dreadfully silent now. The nurse backs up at first, but gathers the courage to approach the man on my left, a walk which lasts much longer than it should. She takes a deep breath after awhile, which she lets out in successions of short release. Taking hold of the metal bars lining the man's bed, I can see her knuckles turning white. In a cracked, hopeless voice she mumbles, "Wake up. Please." She doesn't notice that I'm staring as she keeps her eyes fixed on the man to my left. She clears her throat, but it doesn't stop her from shaking slightly as she commands him to wake up. She grasps his arms harder than she should. "Wake up!" She screams in a sudden burst. In a frenzy, she throws the heart monitor to the ground, ending the continuous beeping. Her arms fall limp to her side as she backs up and sits down on a nearby stool, tears gathering in her eyes. I watch as one small drop rolls down her pale white skin and begins to hang on her chin. Her bottom jaw starts to quiver as the tear drops to her lap. She turns her head to face me. "D.N.R." she whispers. As my stomach sinks to its very bottom, she breaks down and cries. I'm not dying. I'm not even close. I had popped a blood vessel, which formed blood clots in my throat. The blood clots irritate my throat initiating a cough, which causes harsh vibrations that in turn pop the blood clots. The end result is coughing up blood. It's nothing serious. I belong in the nosebleed ward. The man on my left died tonight. If it was because of me, I'll never know for sure. The doctor who arrives says it wasn't my fault. I want to believe him, but the overwhelming sense of guilt will not abide. The doctor begins to explain how the man was sick, hanging on by a thread. I interject to pose a question that's been burning in my stomach. "Why did she cry?" The doctor looks at me, confused at first, but a second later, who "she" is registers. He doesn't say anything, but peers out the window behind me. I turn around and stare out the window giving me a glimpse into the hallway. The nurse is sitting on a chair, her head down, tissue in hand. Between her fingers she gently caresses a gold band as if she was trying to rub the memories into her skin. It all makes sense now. The doctor's words fade as he continues trying to convince me that it wasn't my fault. I piece my crime together in my head, and I'm repulsed that my only worry is if this feeling will ever go away. I take a second glance at the nurse. She doesn't look at me, or anyone for that matter. I'm released from the hospital at six in the morning. I step into my car, hearing the cracks of dried blood breaking on the leather seats. It's everywhere. On the windshield, on the seats, console, and every window for the world to see. A tangible reminder of my ordeal. I decide to stop by my favorite breakfast joint on the way home, but a red light blocks my path, so I wait. Using the walk signal to her advantage, an old woman begins to cross the street. It's just us out here; at this time of day the world is a ghost town. The sun is rising just over her head as she stops in front of my car to turn and stare at me. It's as though she can see right through me, staring directly into my conscience. I don't make a sound as she continues to stare long after the light turns green. She turns her head away in disgust, and walks to the other end of the street as I pull into the parking lot and walk on in. I order the usual: two hot cakes, some golden hashbrowns, and two strip of bacon. I'm waiting for the waitress to bring me my food when the beeping suddenly returns, slow at first and unobtrusive, yet quickly gaining momentum. I drop my head into my hands and wish it all away as the waitress arrives, not failing to take notice. "You OK, honey?" She asks. Groggily, I answer, "What?" "You look like you've been in a fight or something." "No. No fight." She nods. "Enjoy your breakfast." She drops the plate in front of me along with a cup of coffee. "Oh, I didn't order a coffee." "It's on the house. First customer of the day." She looks surprised when I'm not smiling. I don't deserve a free cup of coffee. I try my best to get rid of this grim reminder. "I...I really can't take this" I say as I gently push the cup away from me. She tilts her head and shoots me a curious eye. "Drink the damn coffee" she says with a calm voice. She smiles a little and heads back to work, but I stop her for a second. "Hey, you were a nurse right?" "Oh yeah, but that was a long time ago." I'm afraid at first, but I ask anyway, "What does D.N.R. mean?" "D.N.R.? Do not resuscitate." I whisper a "thank you" and she returns to work as I turn back to my plate and stare. Slowly, the sound of the dead man's pulse begins to fade as the sizzling of bacon creeps in. And for the first time since blood dripped from my mouth, I smile. "Do not resuscitate." The Nosebleed Ward, the blood splattered walls, the critical room, the old woman crossing the street, even the dead man who lay next to me does not matter. Nothing matters now, nothing besides my bacon. Copyright 2008 erik grossman |
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