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Show 260 I settle back into the bed and regard my fingers. I clench them into a fist and try to straighten them suddenly, hoping to catch them unawares and force them to open fully. My fist only opens into a "C." It is happening quickly. We will turn on the pump very soon and then it will only be a matter of time before the next swing into overdose. But maybe this time I will not overdose. Maybe this time we will get the dosage right. Maybe this time. And even if we get it wrong, I am thinking, the respiratory therapist has always managed to bag me long enough for the antidote to begin working. So far. He will do it again, I am sure. It is a bravado tone that echoes hollowly even in my thoughts, this I know. But I do not care. If I say it to myself enough, I am thinking, perhaps it will continue to be so. If I say it enough, perhaps I can avoid intubation. R2-D2, silently mocking me in the hallway, is not so sure. |
