The photos of my nieces were still on the wall. They smiled beautifully and it comforted me. So pretty and charming. The picture next to them sent shivers through my pain-riddled body. Red. Pink. A distorted vision of… Of… Is that my son? Why does he look that way? Where is his face? I don’t want to look at it. Why would they put this next to my bed? I can’t make sense of it. Three black spots. One flies away. An insect. A fly. Two black spots. I close my eyes to escape my impending panic attack and several nurses and doctors enter my room. The pipes in my neck and nose are to be removed. Yes? Please? Does this mean I can eat now? So hungry. The morning scramble brings trays of breakfast swishing past my glass encasement. The other patients must be outside of my isolation chamber. They get breakfast. I helplessly cry internally for some sort of sustenance. The doctors are rambling. The nurses nodding in agreement. I am so focused on the food traveling past my window that I don’t even take note of the pipe removal situation. They leave my room and I am left wanting. Food. Water. Conversation. Sunshine. My lips can phrase words now but my voice doesn’t follow the action through. I have a visitor. It’s him with a black shirt this time. He looks good. Long, black hair, pale skin. I muster a smile and his face comes to life. He coos over me and strokes my face. It hurts to the touch and I flinch. So dry. I want to tell him to wipe my face but the audio logs are blank and my lips sound the motions. He doesn’t understand. I mouth it once more and he goes over to the sink in the corner of the room to moisten a paper towel. My solace. He walks to the left side of my bed and starts to caress my face with the water saturated piece of heaven. I close my eyes to fully embrace the affection and bliss. I smile again and his eye starts to twitch. Don’t cry. Leave that to me. I am okay, I want to say. I am better. I have so many questions but I just want to bathe in the current moment. He strokes my swollen hand and starts telling me stories of our cats and new baby. Cats. We have cats. How many? Where do we live? Where is the baby? My mom enters the room and her sentiment floods the environment. She says a prayer in Tamil and starts to sprinkle ashes around my bed. Her tears are flowing while she does so and I mirror her. Awash with joy and love and pain, all at the same time. She looks weathered. Shadowy eyes and sullen face. I have pained her. She is happy to see me awake and smiling. I cry. I cry out of hunger, pain, uselessness and love. They leave and I am left in my confines. Confined to this bed. Confined in this mind. Confined in this pain…

He comes back and his face is a twisted ensemble of love and worry. He tells me that he needs my bank pin number. To pay the rent. My.. pin number? Numbers? My mind is blank. He says that he will point to numbers on his phone and I am to blink when his finger lands on the correct one. How do I tell him that I don’t know what he’s talking about… My.. Pin number? I furiously search my mind but all I can recall are three black spots, needles, pain and hunger… He assures me it’s okay but I know the situation is far from it. My pin number. I need to remember it. What was it? Not a single number came to mind and uselessness sets in once more. He leaves again and I am plagued with memories I can’t remember. I will remember them. I must try harder. Two black spots are dancing in the remainder of my sanity. Taunting me and shadowing my reprise. I will remember. I must remember. A nurse fiddles with my machines and flashes a smile of sorrow at me. I am awash with anger and start to use my working leg to kick the edge of the bed once again. Get away from me. Leave me alone with my forgotten memories. The lights flash. My skin feels like it’s floating off of my body leaving me full of exposed blood, organs and disease. Dropping red spots stain my white sheets and my nose starts to gush out the red elixir of life. The ceiling is topsy turvy, under me now and nega-gravity takes flight. I must remember my pin number. For him. For us. For our family. She holds my contorting body down while another injects something into the drip by my shoulder. I feel the cool potion move its way through my  chest and I want to run once again. Run. Now. Go. Sleep.

My pain (Masterchef)

My pain (The pipes)

My pain (Welcome)

 

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9 thoughts on “My pain (Pin number)

  1. Pingback: Khajiitwitch

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