Blue scrubs and the beeping of a heart monitor. In the distance, rolling wheels and frantic voices. The pump of the Purell dispenser. Keyboards clacking. Footsteps. Murmurs. Lights loudly click on. Hearing fading. Vision blurring into two dark tunnels with no traffic. Until they are black marbles in the dark. Incisions are made, but not before intravenous anesthesia, which has now taken full effect. IVs full of hydration and drugs – liquid and necessary. Taking out a heart and replacing it with one other than your own. What does it mean, when your own heart has failed you? You should die on default? Yes, medical science is truly a marvel and why not save a life when you can. But when your own body says “no” to you? Maybe it’s for a reason? Don’t save my life! I deserve to die! Leave me hear on this table as I float about the room in circles and haunt this surgery bay forever! Doctors work in silence, occasionally calling out for different scalpels and equipment. It’s just the breathing machine and the breathing of the doctors, nurses, and medical staff. Wife anxiously waits in the waiting room. Hands closed in prayer when her nails so deep in her skin give birth to a little blood. Startled she lets go, but wrings them. Wondering if she really should attempt to read a magazine to distract herself. “30 Ways To Get Fit + Recipes!” Feeling as she did she could vow never to eat again and mean it. The room, pale yellow with antiquated green pleather furniture. She’s the only one. It’s late. The windows are pitch black. If she cups her hands against the window to look out, she sees a few lampposts. Can make out trees and bushes if she really tries. But from where she’s sitting, it’s just the black. Moving in and getting darker and deeper with each passing planetary spin and rotation. The florescent lights are too bright. She wishes there was a dimmer switch. Numb mind. Tired and fatigued.

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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