Bed Bugs. That was my concern as I left my apartment as work had bed bugs. Maybe that’s why I ignored the ever increasing pain in my gut; ignored it until the sweat dripping in my eyes made it as hard to see as the fact that my classroom was spinning.
I knew I was going to pass out. I knew I wouldn’t make it to the emergency room. I knew if I called for an ambulance they would come to me and take me quickly and carefully to the hospital. The ambulance went to the wrong address and refused to be dissuaded of this. Eventually they came and took me away. I think they purposely hit ever pothole.
Ulcer. Internal bleeding, Hole in stomach. Acid burning from the inside out. I tell them I have my own doctors, I tell them I want to get a second opinion from them. They tell me: If you leave here you will die. I don’t know their Dr. T; I don’t know how good he is. They roll their eyes, grind their teeth, flush red with rage. They tell me: You will die. I try to placate them, to calm them down, to try to explain my point of view, but it’s hard to think over the howling (the howling is coming from me). They tell me: Die. Ok, I say, take me to Dr. T.
I’m awake, but I can’t really see. Everything is a shade of brown, my vision’s range is only a few feet. I watch my fists slam against the bed’s guard rails; my feet lash out at nothing. Please, I say, Please, knowing what the answer is before they tell me that they can’t give me anything more for the pain. If they do my blood-pressure will fall and I will never wake. Ok, I say, Ok, do it. The anesthetist walks by; he tells the nurse to increase the medicine. Before I pass out a hand takes mine. I cannot see the person but a recognize the ring, the hand, and the touch. My parents have been in the room, forced to listen to their son beg strangers to kill him.