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Show 73 He seems pleased with my permission. He seems quite human enough. I am asking him about why I could not breathe and why I could not take that which was smothering me from my mouth. He blanches as I tell him and I understand by his tone that this should not have happened, my remembering being on a ventilator, it breathing when it wanted and not when /wanted, my extremities in restraints. I am watching his explanation in gestures and I hear the words, "I'm sorry," spoken in earnestness. At that, all is forgiven. On his way out of the room, he pulls the cord on the blinds and the world outside my small room is suddenly in view. Nurses move silently up and down the hall. Visitors pause at doorways before entering, composing their first lines to the ill. I suddenly remember my ex-roommate's whooshing ventilator from so long ago. I hope that at least she does not remember. |