67 Days

I didn’t notice when I started to have feeling again, I still can’t remember what happened in the moment I was revived, but what I do remember is the moment just before I opened my eyes. I was laying down, somehow I could tell I had been laying for a long time, though it didn’t seem strange at the time, but suddenly I realised I was uncomfortable… restless. Slowly, as I realised I could no longer lay there, I opened my eyes, quickly closing them again as the lights around me were painful bright. I heard cheering, so sharp and loud it made me flinch. Breathing felt unfamiliar and each breath I took shot sharp, agonising, pain through my chest. I was confused and frightened. Where was I? What was happening? How did I get here? I asked myself but for the life of me I had no answers.

I was weak, but I could remember being strong. My eyes eventually adjusted to the light and I opened them, around me were blurry green figures. Doctors I assumed from the shape. I tried to sit up, but my muscles could not support my weight and instead I simply rocked feebly in place. One of the doctors came and held me down in place, her strength compared to mine was insurmountable and so I relented to being restrained as my eyes eventually came back into focus. Finally I could see, I fixed the female doctor in a confused gaze. Another doctor, a man, stepped forwards on my other side so I shifted to look at him as hi spoke,

“Welcome back, Mr. Harrier. No doubt you’re quite disoriented, please try to relax, I’m about to give you a sedative to help you sleep, everything will be explained when you wake”

I blinked, my jaw lolling uselessly lacking any coordination as I tried to speak. I watched helplessly as my medication was adjusted and everything faded away all at once as I closed my eyes.

***

I opened my eyes, expecting to see the doctors and brightly lit room I had just closed them in, but instead I was alone in a dimly lit hospital room. My head felt heavy, like someone had placed a cinder-block where my brain should have been. I still felt that complete debilitating sense of weakness in my muscles, and my mind was cloudy and slow, but unlike before I felt far more together. I struggled to sit up but was frustrated to learn even that remained beyond my abilities. I did however realise I was holding something in my hand as I struggled, a remote which seemed to operate my bed. With some experimenting I managed to adjust my bed so I was laying in a seated position. The simple act of pressing the button had drawn a weary sweat to my brow, but satisfaction at achieving something as well.

I looked around me, observing my room. To my right stood an IV drip which was hooked into my arm, across the room ahead of me was a television silently showing some daytime nonsense and to my left I could see a button to call for a nurse. While hardly a foot away, it may as well have been atop Everest for how far it felt. I was crying in weariness and frustration when I finally manage to press it.

Just as I had caught my breath the door to my room opens. A crowd of doctors, nurses and official looking people in suits pile into the room. I recognise the man and woman doctors from before, but none of the others have I seen before. I watch them silently as they enter and one of the suited men steps forward from the group.

“It is good to see you awake and alert Mr Harrier, I’m sure you have a great deal of questions, as do we. Why don’t you tell us how you’re feeling, and we can go from there”

I open my mouth to speak, the act feels sloppy and unpractised but I manage to for the words, “Where am I?”

“You are in El Camino hospital, California.”

“Why am I here?”

“I see, what is the last thing you remember Mr. Harrier?”

The groggy haze encompassing everything was oppressive, I could hardly focus despite directing my entire focus towards remembering. The now familiar sense of fatigue begins to return and I feel grey and empty, but a memory does return to me.

“I remember a gunshot…”

“That’s right Mr. Harrier, you were shot. Doing your duty to your country, You are a hero, Mr. Harrier. One bullet severed your Femeral Artery, two more left more superficial wounds in your chest. By all current definitions you were killed.”

I simply stared at the suited man, uncertain exactly how to react. The was all far too serious to be a joke, but too impossible to be serious. I was beginning to feel faint again, fatigue clawing up through my bones, so instead of decided I just stared at him.

“I understand that this must be overwhelming for you Mr. Harrier. You were volunteered by your family to undergo an experimental proceedure, the odds of success were very low, but the fact we are having this conversation is testament to its success. It has been sixty-seven days since you died, Mr. Harrier. ”

“But now you alive again.”

Author: Zairron

I'm writing to build a habit, practice, and be creative.

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