The morning after

"Just take some deep breaths." I heard a female voice say to me.  I was just coming back into consciousness.  My eyes were closed, my awareness vague, but I knew she was addressing me.  It's probably the pain that brought me out of peaceful unconsciousness…and it was intense.  "Yes, I know, I meditate," I answered, knowing not why I was saying it.  No breathing exercise was going to ease this excruciating pain.  She must have been aware that I was waking, and in pain, or she may even have been stationed there to monitor my waking.  I don't know.  

Was the medication helping?  Not at all.  The pain continued regardless of what they injected into me.  The aftereffect of the morphine needed to be counteracted with another medication and so on.  But I managed to endure the pain without screaming the place down.  After all, I wasn't the only one in the ward, there may have been at least eight others lying there on their death beds, only they didn't seem to be suffering to my extent.  She obviously interested in my level of pain and kept annoyingly asking me what level of pain I was experiencing on a scale between 1 to 10.  I was hardly in the mood to discuss these details.

As I lay there I never experienced such overwhelming weakness.  My entire body seemed to be unfunctional.  If I needed to get up out of bed that would have proved entirely impossible.  I must have been in this helpless condition for days.  Annoyingly, as the nurses are in hospital, they would have shown me no mercy where morning showers are concerned.  "Get up and shower." doesn't matter if you are half dead.  But I got special treatment; they washed me in bed, very unceremoniously, I might add.

My parents, friends, and other members of the family came to visit the same day after the operation.  Although in great pain I was sociable.  I was brought bananas, apples and chocolates even though I wasn't allowed to eat.  It would have been difficult even if I could as I had tubes down my nose and mouth which I found very irritating and depressing.  I know I looked an absolute fright, and worse yet, I felt revolted within myself.

"Have you had a Near Death Experience?"  Now is this a time to ask?  Well, looking half dead and just having come from under the knife, probably was appropriate.  No I didn't, or at least I don't remember.  The doctor earlier had told me that I had briefly slipped away.  He further told me had I arrived a few minutes later in emergency, more than likely I would not have survived.  But then I did have a NDE: wasn't I hovering above the ambulance, admiring the night scenery?  But I forgot to tell them that.  Better than nothing.  I'll reach the Pearly Gates another day.