Brigits_Flame July 2011 Week 1 Entry
Any comments will be greatly appreciated.
The theme for this week is: Bad Advice
Genre: Fiction
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1101
“Her blood pressure is dropping again, doctor, and her temperature is 105.”
Pain. So much pain. I could hear their voices; could almost understand them as their words floated past me through the haze.
“What is it? What’s wrong with her? Is it some sort of virus?”
I felt as if I were trying to swim through an oil spill in the ocean after someone set it ablaze during the middle of a tempest raining down the hellfire and brimstone the deacon at my grandmother’s church was always fond of preaching about. Waves of pain crashed over me and I was powerless to do anything to stop it. The pain ebbed and flowed, taking on a life all its own as it slowly dragged me down, taking mine …
“You were told there could be complications and unfortunately, this is one of them. The tissue has become necrotic. Your daughter needs surgery right away …”
***
Another fog; another wave of pain. This one much smaller, thank God. The storm had past and left my mouth feeling like the Sahara during the summer. I smacked my lips and tried to swallow but it was no use. My mouth was simply too dry.
I needed water.
Something stabbed me in the arm as I tried to sit up and I gasped. Not this again. Please, God, not this again. I don’t know how much more I can take ...
I gulped as I looked down at my wrist to see what stabbed me and saw plastic tubing filled with a clear solution taped carefully in place. Before my birthday last year, I doubt I would have known what it was so quickly. I’d always been fairly healthy and hadn’t set foot inside a hospital much less been a patient in one. But now I knew.
It was an IV.
I frowned, trying to place exactly why it was there.
“Oh, honey! You’re awake! Here, lay back down and let me get you some water.” The cooing voice was familiar, as were the ring-laden hands that fluffed my pillow for me. It was Darla, my step-mother.
“Thank you.” I did my best to muster a smile for her as I looked up. The moment she sensed my eyes upon her, she quickly turned away to fuss with the pink plastic water pitcher on the bedside table.
“Here you go, sweetie.” She said as she thrust the small plastic cup of water in my direction.
“Thanks.” Even though she couldn’t see it, the hurt and confusion I felt clearly registered in my voice. Darla and I had been close friends ever since she married my father several years ago. We’d gone shopping together every weekend, had spa days, shared secrets … She was one of my best friends.
What happened? Why couldn’t she look me in the eyes anymore? I took a sip of water as I sighed and glanced down, racking my brain to remember what happened.
Another gasp; another wave of pain, followed quickly by frigid water as the cup slipped from my fingers and splashed over my lap. This one was far deeper and hurt far worse than the physical agony I endured.
It was an emotional torment that cut straight to the core of my womanhood and ripped at the place where my left breast was supposed to be but wasn’t.
To her credit, Darla was once again at my side in an instant. While she still had problems even looking at me, she grabbed the extra blanket that had been carefully folded over the end of the hospital bed I was in and began to use it to mop up the water. “Oh, honey! You need to be careful! Let me get you another glass of water …”
As if in a dream, I remembered the surgeries Darla convinced me to have. First it was my nose. I had broken it when I was nine. It was a little crooked but it had never bothered me much until Darla pointed it out just before my eighteenth birthday. She and my father paid for the rhinoplasty as part of my birthday present last year. Then it was my ears. They stuck out a little bit too far, according to Darla. Then my stomach, and my breasts …
Before I knew it, a million little imperfections were paraded in front of my flawed face. With each one, Darla reassured me it could be fixed with a little nip here or a tuck there. She’d tell me ‘You should get the surgery. You’re such a beautiful person inside, you deserve to be just as beautiful outside too, don’t you think?’ and I would nod and agree because Darla was so wonderful and good to me and I wanted to be just a pretty as she was.
My eyes welling with tears, I grabbed Darla’s hand, stopping her weak attempts at drying off my lap. “The implants …”
Darla took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed. She still couldn’t meet my gaze but she patted my hand. “The incision on your left breast became necrotic. The ER doctor had to remove the implant and all the dead tissue to save your life but I’ve already talked with Doctor Holliday and he assured me that he’ll be able to fix it.”
A shiver of dread ran down my spine at the mention of the plastic surgeon. God. No more doctors. No more surgeries. I couldn’t take this anymore. I stopped being able to recognize myself in the mirror long before now. Where once I had been confident and happy, I was now timid and scared, always wondering if others saw all of the scars and blemishes I now saw thanks to Darla.
Seeing my face go white, Darla gave my hand a squeeze. “Sweetie, did you hear me? I said Doctor Holliday would be able to help you look beautiful again.”
I swallowed thickly and wiped the unshed tears from my eyes. “I-I’m still beautiful.” The words sounded strange to my ears but seemed oddly fitting and right. What made me truly beautiful was my heart and soul. Why I had ever let someone as vain as Darla who had impeccable clothes and perfectly coifed hair while visiting someone in the hospital make me forget it, I’ll never know.
Once upon a time, I had thought myself pretty in spite of my crooked nose, Dumbo ears, small breasts, and a slight muffin top. If I found myself pretty then, I certainly could now. I was only missing a breast.
The theme for this week is: Bad Advice
Genre: Fiction
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1101
“Her blood pressure is dropping again, doctor, and her temperature is 105.”
Pain. So much pain. I could hear their voices; could almost understand them as their words floated past me through the haze.
“What is it? What’s wrong with her? Is it some sort of virus?”
I felt as if I were trying to swim through an oil spill in the ocean after someone set it ablaze during the middle of a tempest raining down the hellfire and brimstone the deacon at my grandmother’s church was always fond of preaching about. Waves of pain crashed over me and I was powerless to do anything to stop it. The pain ebbed and flowed, taking on a life all its own as it slowly dragged me down, taking mine …
“You were told there could be complications and unfortunately, this is one of them. The tissue has become necrotic. Your daughter needs surgery right away …”
***
Another fog; another wave of pain. This one much smaller, thank God. The storm had past and left my mouth feeling like the Sahara during the summer. I smacked my lips and tried to swallow but it was no use. My mouth was simply too dry.
I needed water.
Something stabbed me in the arm as I tried to sit up and I gasped. Not this again. Please, God, not this again. I don’t know how much more I can take ...
I gulped as I looked down at my wrist to see what stabbed me and saw plastic tubing filled with a clear solution taped carefully in place. Before my birthday last year, I doubt I would have known what it was so quickly. I’d always been fairly healthy and hadn’t set foot inside a hospital much less been a patient in one. But now I knew.
It was an IV.
I frowned, trying to place exactly why it was there.
“Oh, honey! You’re awake! Here, lay back down and let me get you some water.” The cooing voice was familiar, as were the ring-laden hands that fluffed my pillow for me. It was Darla, my step-mother.
“Thank you.” I did my best to muster a smile for her as I looked up. The moment she sensed my eyes upon her, she quickly turned away to fuss with the pink plastic water pitcher on the bedside table.
“Here you go, sweetie.” She said as she thrust the small plastic cup of water in my direction.
“Thanks.” Even though she couldn’t see it, the hurt and confusion I felt clearly registered in my voice. Darla and I had been close friends ever since she married my father several years ago. We’d gone shopping together every weekend, had spa days, shared secrets … She was one of my best friends.
What happened? Why couldn’t she look me in the eyes anymore? I took a sip of water as I sighed and glanced down, racking my brain to remember what happened.
Another gasp; another wave of pain, followed quickly by frigid water as the cup slipped from my fingers and splashed over my lap. This one was far deeper and hurt far worse than the physical agony I endured.
It was an emotional torment that cut straight to the core of my womanhood and ripped at the place where my left breast was supposed to be but wasn’t.
To her credit, Darla was once again at my side in an instant. While she still had problems even looking at me, she grabbed the extra blanket that had been carefully folded over the end of the hospital bed I was in and began to use it to mop up the water. “Oh, honey! You need to be careful! Let me get you another glass of water …”
As if in a dream, I remembered the surgeries Darla convinced me to have. First it was my nose. I had broken it when I was nine. It was a little crooked but it had never bothered me much until Darla pointed it out just before my eighteenth birthday. She and my father paid for the rhinoplasty as part of my birthday present last year. Then it was my ears. They stuck out a little bit too far, according to Darla. Then my stomach, and my breasts …
Before I knew it, a million little imperfections were paraded in front of my flawed face. With each one, Darla reassured me it could be fixed with a little nip here or a tuck there. She’d tell me ‘You should get the surgery. You’re such a beautiful person inside, you deserve to be just as beautiful outside too, don’t you think?’ and I would nod and agree because Darla was so wonderful and good to me and I wanted to be just a pretty as she was.
My eyes welling with tears, I grabbed Darla’s hand, stopping her weak attempts at drying off my lap. “The implants …”
Darla took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed. She still couldn’t meet my gaze but she patted my hand. “The incision on your left breast became necrotic. The ER doctor had to remove the implant and all the dead tissue to save your life but I’ve already talked with Doctor Holliday and he assured me that he’ll be able to fix it.”
A shiver of dread ran down my spine at the mention of the plastic surgeon. God. No more doctors. No more surgeries. I couldn’t take this anymore. I stopped being able to recognize myself in the mirror long before now. Where once I had been confident and happy, I was now timid and scared, always wondering if others saw all of the scars and blemishes I now saw thanks to Darla.
Seeing my face go white, Darla gave my hand a squeeze. “Sweetie, did you hear me? I said Doctor Holliday would be able to help you look beautiful again.”
I swallowed thickly and wiped the unshed tears from my eyes. “I-I’m still beautiful.” The words sounded strange to my ears but seemed oddly fitting and right. What made me truly beautiful was my heart and soul. Why I had ever let someone as vain as Darla who had impeccable clothes and perfectly coifed hair while visiting someone in the hospital make me forget it, I’ll never know.
Once upon a time, I had thought myself pretty in spite of my crooked nose, Dumbo ears, small breasts, and a slight muffin top. If I found myself pretty then, I certainly could now. I was only missing a breast.