Jackknife Around My Neck

All of a sudden, there was a lot of noise in the alley between our hospital stalls.

The steady stream of new vendors into our marketplace of injury and disease, punctuated by the recitative, the call and response of nurses and orderlies, doctors and residents meant the bars must be closed.

Lots of pain and suffering, perfect cover. Time to move.

I swung my feet over the edge of the gurney and got my hands underneath me for leverage.

I sounded like one of those street performers that make balloon animals as I pushed myself off the plastic-wrapped mattress.

Looking down at my feet, the floor seemed a long way away.

I could feel something like maple syrup cascade down the inside of my skull. It was thick and slow-moving and, whatever it was, it was responsible for my balance and it was taking its own sweet time finding its way back to wherever it came from.

I turned to look toward the curtain, just to make sure that I wasn't going to be interrupted, and that was a mistake. Like a tractor-trailer rig trying to make a sharp turn, I could feel the fifty feet of trailer jack-knife around my neck and, in an instant, I was face-down across the wrong dimension of the mattress.

That was new.

More balloon animal noises as I pushed off and tried to stand.

It was like the first time I managed to climb on to the roof of our house. It wasn't a big deal, but coming down was terrifying. I had to get on my belly and slide backwards off the edge of the roof while feeling around for the top of a window frame with my foot.

It made the perfect stepping stone on the way up, but never seemed to be where you remembered it being on the way down.

Friction against the asphalt shingles would pull up my shirt and the grit of the shingles would scratch my stomach adding a fine layer of pain to the fear of falling that grew with each flail of my foot in search of that toe-hold.

Sliding backward off that bed in that moment felt just like that.

I squirmed my way backwards, while my foot went on recon for a toehold on the floor. And all the time, with every movement, the squeaking and creaking of the mattress seemed to get louder.

Splashdown!

First one foot and then the other connected with the floor.

I locked my knees and pushed off.

And then, I was standing up.

It didn't last long, but I was standing up.

As my orientation changed from the horizontal to the vertical, the thick maple syrup of balance shifted with it. And, as it left my head, what remained transformed from the bowling ball I carry above my collar to one of those papier-mache-covered balloons that we made in elementary school after the balloon got popped: an empty space covered by a paper-thin layer.

I thought I had locked my knees..., but I hadn't.

The syrup seemed to gain weight as it settled and, when it passed through my knees, heading south, so did I.

My chin hit one of the gurney rails and the back of my head hit something else and that was it.

It didn't feel like an intermission, or a commercial break, it was more like we changed from continuous action to a series of impressions: a kind of a slide show.

I remember how cold the floor felt.

I remember seeing the very practical shoes of the people working in the next stall.

I remember waking up in what must have been the Radiology department. Unlike the harsh, remorseless glare of the Emergency Department, Radiology was lit more like an expensive club or restaurant.

The technician was asking me something, but I don't think I understood because he came over and helped me turn onto my side.

I remember as he rolled me toward him I threw up whatever was left in my stomach.

I remember apologizing.

I don't remember his response.

I remember waking up in a hospital room.

My head hurt. My jaw hurt.

I was next to the window because I could feel the daylight on my face.

I tried opening my eyes.

Big mistake.

It was as though the world in front of my eyes was a giant billboard that was being installed just as I was trying to take it in. The image was sliced into narrow strips from top to bottom and each piece was slid into view from an alternate direction: one strip slid down from the top and the next up from the bottom.

Only the strips didn't stop moving when they lined up, they kept going.

It was too early to be looking at things.

I closed my eyes and tried to force myself to go to sleep.

There was too much light in the room.

I grabbed the flimsy hospital blanket with my left arm and pulled it over my head. It helped a little, but pretty soon, I couldn't breathe.

Maybe if I turned away from the window, it would be dim enough that I could sleep.

I tried to turn onto my left side. I remember the squeaking balloon animal noises.

But I couldn't.

I opened my eyes again to confirm what I already knew.

It took a moment, but the clear image of a pair of handcuffs came sliding into view.

I had to get out of this bed.