"Diagnosis" (Part 2)

I’m not scared. And that fact really surprises me. Normally, I hate this place. I hate the needles. I hate the antiseptic smell. But my whole body feels like it’s shutting down. Like it can’t do its job of keeping me alive any longer. My head feels fuzzy and heavy, my nose keeps dripping, and my throat feels clogged with something thick. My arms arch from lying in the same position for many hours. I don’t want to move-I’m too tired. And the IV sticking into my arm keeps me from rolling over. I stare at the white ceiling, a dim light coming through the blinds on the window. It’s early afternoon, but I haven’t eaten since last night. The applesauce and toast are long gone. And I haven’t drank hardly anything today. Hence the IV. 

But I’m not hungry and I’m afraid to drink. Every time I do, I taste the mucus in my throat and it’s all I can do to keep the liquid down. The apple juice they gave me earlier tasted marvelous…sweet and refreshing. But I hate to keep asking for more. Mom is called out into the hall by the nurse. Then I hear voices. I know they think I can’t hear, but I can. They’re talking about me. I catch strands of conversation. Then the doctor comes in. He leans down and asks me how I’m doing. I wonder if he expects me to lie and say I’m fine, because it’s obvious I’m not. Then he says it. If I had known this moment would come, I would have imagined that I would be blown away. Shocked. And scared. But I’m not. I don’t feel anything at all. It was like I knew it was coming. I’m numb.