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Show 21 I want to yell to the nurse to please come take that dead body away from my door. I cannot. My voice is weak, unsupported by muscles that refuse to take my command. Nor can I move to reach the call light. I must remain in the position I was placed in by a different nurse than the one now laughing at the end of the hall at the nurses' station. My mind jolts clearer in a minute and I am now acutely aware of the aching from not having changed positions for so long. The reason why I am awake, the reason why I even know about the blue blanket blocking my imagined escape: my bones are settling onto each other. I am positioned onto my side and even through there are pillows placed between the opposing joints, the pillows must have flattened with time because it seems the bones of my top knee are grinding into the bones of my lower knee. It seems the bones of my top elbow are grinding onto the bones of my lower elbow. It seems my hips bones are becoming one bone, tearing flesh and gristle in their merging one to the other. It seems my shoulders are caving into my chest, breath by breath. I am startled by a groan and am shocked for a moment to think that it is coming from the recently deceased illegally parked in front of my door. I now realize it has come from me. The recently deceased does not feel any more pain. I do. Why doesn't anyone come change my position? It surely has been two hours. As with all immobile tatters of humanity, I am to be moved at least every two hours. Not to do so is to invite trouble. Decubitis ulcers. Bed sores. |
