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Show 133 under my chin, wrists pressing against each other. My neck is stiff and I cannot take a deep breath. Taut immobility. Gnawing pain. But this is not the worst of it. The worst of it is the startle. The worst of it is muscles pulling unrelentingly against each other and away from the bones to which they are attached, achingly arching calisthenics beyond the scope or endurance of any athlete anywhere on this Earth. The worst of it is the oxygen being squeezed out of my muscles and lungs and black spots where breath should be. No. I take it all back. The worst of it all is the arrogance of medical action without knowledge. Dr. Sugiyama has no knowledge. He would kill me. And I will not concede. The door pushes open and I am expecting to see the orderlies with the gurney bumping through the door, despite all precautions to silence, to discharge me to a nursing home. I will not go. I will ask Lisa to somehow get me into my wheelchair. I will ask her to help me call Hy to leave work and come up here to get me. I will sit in the lobby, bent as I am, startle-prone as I am, if I must. I will not go to a nursing home. Dr. Jessop comes around the comer. "I thought you were on vacation!" I am choking back tears. |
