After Dr. W. had departed, blinking with stolid determination due to his brave and noble undertaking, Dr. T. paid me a visit. Asking about my condition, I could not refrain from lamenting my lack of mobility; I no longer was able to draw or take up a craft, among other difficulties. He easily perceived my frustration and proclaimed, "Well then, this won't do!" and made plans for an alternate solution; I beamed with joy to think that I would be able to resume my former activities.
That afternoon, I was greeted by Dr. M. who had received instructions to replace one of my IV's to a vein located slightly below my neck, which would be a more permanent, as well as a more comfortable position. He asked my parents to leave the room; I began to panic! If the insertion of the IV was going to create a lot of pain, I wanted no part of it. I was suddenly stricken with fear, as if all of the events of the past weeks were thrust upon me at once. I could bear no more, and tears welled up in my eyes in apprehension for the relatively simple procedure; I had already withstood much worse, yet my emotional limit had been reached.
I sat, set-eyed, while Dr. M. set to work. Trying to anticipate a stab of pain, I watched him nervously as the minutes sailed by. "There," he said, leaning away from me. "You're not done, are you?" I asked, quite certain that the worst was yet to come, for I had felt no urge whatsoever to flinch or grit my teeth; I had felt no sensation at all. "I'm all finished," he said with a smile. "But it didn't hurt at all!" I said incredulously, nearly wanting to hug him. "Like," I said, "sometimes people feel pain, and other times they don't." I looked at him in admiration.
After the episode with the IV, Dr. M. won my undiluted and devoted trust; he was the doctor who actually performed the bulk of the work load in my case, and as the weeks passed, I knew it was he who I would miss, more than anyone, when I had shed my hospital gown for street attire. Whereas Dr. T. seemed rather like a paternal figure, and Dr. W. a sibling rival, I came to look upon Dr. M. as a friend. It was a shame, I thought, that some patients never regard their doctor as a human being, seeing only the suit or white jacket and ignoring the features beyond.
As the days wore on, feeling myself to have become a permanent fixture, I developed a friendly relationship with one of my numerous roommates. She was slightly older than myself, fifteen perhaps, and had come to the clinic from a southern state. As we rattled on, I found myself unintentionally mimicking her accent, as I often would do when engaged in conversation with one boasting a heavy accent. I always tried to control my propensity, and succeeded when speaking to someone else, yet to her I would inevitably twang the words off my tongue with a hint of a southern drawl; she did not appear to notice, however, and I am sure that if she had she would not have been insulted.
Julie resided across the room for more days than anyone else, for her condition quite perplexed the physicians. She, as well as her entire family, suffered from acute fatigue; throughout the better portion of the day she felt sleepy, and could nap at any time the order was given. Eventually they released her from the hospital's care, unable to pinpoint the problem after countless tests, both mental and physical.
Julie accompanied me on my trips through the halls, and grew accustomed to standing beside me as I stared dreamily at the canteens. Her companionship helped to stave off monotony as the month of August limped along. Even after she was dismissed, Julie still came to visit, as she was staying in the city while tests on other family members were run.
Perhaps there were those who were lonely in the hospital, yet I seldom felt so myself. Having my parents throughout the majority of the day, augmented by patients that one would inevitably begin to recognize and the friendly staff of doctors and nurses, I lacked no conversation. The hospital was quite populous. At night though, when the bustle of the day had diminished and the corridors fell silent except for the rumbling of an occasional cart, and the muffled steps of the nurses performing their nightly rituals or answering a patient's light, I would often lay awake and think of my home far away or watch the people hurrying along the sidewalk below my window, disappearing into a car or stepping from beneath a street lamp into a pool of darkness. How I longed to be out there. . . to feel the breeze, cool on my face, and hear the faint scraping of my footsteps resounding on the cement sidewalk. . . All other desires were overshadowed by the wish to be free, to live as one was intended to live, unhampered by tubes and needles; once I was released I wanted never to return. Evening was often characterized by a slight melancholy, a stab of homesickness, perhaps; yet I knew that mourning for that which one does not have was a pointless, self-destructive endeavor, and I would focus my eyes on the present, resolutely determined to face each challenge as courageously as I possibly could.
I welcomed each new dawn, thinking it to be the start of one less day in the hospital. I was used to the routine now, every aspect a natural part of this temporary form of reality. One day, for amusement, I decided to count the pinprick holes on my thigh, which attested to their receiving a ritualistic shot both morning and night; I came up with a total of 32 in one leg alone, equalling 16 days. It was no great wonder that my muscles were rather stiff and inflexible for this was quite separate from acupuncture, especially on the few occasions when the needle was a trifle dull.
Every day one of the doctors would call on me, asking how I felt. "Fine" was always my automatic response; but for the tube in my nose and no breakfast tray to look forward to, I had no complaints. My incision was healing quite well, and with the new IV, I was relatively capable of anything, within reason, of course. I was becoming stronger, and oddly enough, gaining weight. This latter fact seemed to please the doctors and they would smile, saying my IV solution was like eating a steak dinner each evening. "No offense" . . . I said, "but I'd rather enjoy the traditional kind!"