Writer’s Note: By the time you read this, I’m hoping you, yes you, are settled into a comfortable spot and ready to read the continuation of Chapter 4!! AND I WILL ANNOUNCE THE WINNER OF THE TAGGING/SHARING/LIKING CHALLENGE TO HAVE YOUR NAME AS ONE OF THE CHARACTERS TOMORROW!!!! WAHOOO!!! …it’s going to take me a moment to count them all. 😉 In the meantime, quell your anxious spirit and dig on this sweet, sweet flow of word combinations.
Chapter 4 (continued)
By the time my eyes flutter open, the digital noise of a heartbeat soothes my panic. Tubes coming from my veins.
A manly woman sits in the corner with a stern sympathy and a condescending smile smeared across her brutish palette of facial features.
The doctor walks into the room, clearly upset that his patient is awake. He sits on the edge of the bed, his indentation into the mattress gently tugging on the tubes feeding into my arm. The man looks like he never leaves the hospital and has seen more of the worst life moments that its greatest hits. He breathes deeply and does his best to soften his age battled face. Dr. Emmett Fine. He describes what happened to me starting from when I was riding the bike. When descriptions got to be too gruesome in layman description he shifted his body, tugging at the tubes, and began using medical jargon and hand motions.
In summation, I crashed – an economical, environmentally friendly, electric, super quiet engine, ain’t-gonna-get-a-date-in-this car was moving towards its destination on the road, and I went into a crosswalk while I was having some kind of epiphany. I was taken to the emergency room. The manly woman in a beige pant-suit nodded, and gave grunts of approval to continue; she was now standing on the opposite side of the bed and appearing cautiously ready to pounce. And this is where his words had more pause, more purpose. Dr. Fine tells me I was alive when I arrived at the hospital but obviously badly damaged. He says my heartbeat slowed and my blood pressure dropped. He began restraining his vocabulary while his tone became uneasy. The anticipation and uncertainty dripping from his nervously condensating brain; eager to be done with this conversation and watch his malpractice insurance cost be launched by an intercontinental ballistic missile. Dr. Fine tells me they did everything they could to keep me alive and mentioned that I’m an organ donor. The waiting list for organs is long and the would-be recipients are in urgent need. He said my organs are a perfect match for several patients on that list. They needed to move quickly to get my organs to the recipients once I had passed.
For a time, I hadn’t realized he was talking about my organs when I died. Wait. When did I die? Pop. Zip.
Dr. Emmett Fine told me I died and they had prepped me to take my organs.
I told him I’m not dead.
He quickly corrected me while the man-woman began to shift, pulling out documents, official in appearance. Forsooth, I had died for 45 minutes and spontaneously reanimated right when they were about to remove my body parts and repurpose them. He emphasized that there were absolutely zero vital signs indicating life; neither through physical observation or on the digital life readers.
Now, I’m not one for fainting, though I did on this occasion – briefly. The man-woman, Phyllis Bradsteen, recited a disclaimer for all situations, covered with feigned sympathy. Disclaimers have taken the place of human sympathy.
….to be continued….