REBIRTH
My mind tried to go to a different place. A place that was far from the cold hospital room on 71st street. My mother sat on one side of the gurney. My father stood holding my hand on the other. The three of us sat looking at one another as the nurse left the room. She had told a joke and we were still trying to politely laugh. We were saying goodbye.
The operating room felt like a meat locker. Nurses smiled as they lifted their masks to greet me. The hum of the machines silently interrupted the mumbling voices. Warm blankets were wrapped around my naked body. My right arm stuck out while the anesthesiologist tapped on the inside of my elbow with his fingertips. I had goose bumps. My mind tried to calm my eyes. But they saw. Metal. Clamps. Drills. The nurses lifted me by the bed sheets, cradling me in the hammock of white, to the operating table. My head was secured to the table by two Velcro straps. I was asked to test the brace. It was tight enough. My breath echoed in the air as I counted to four and repeated, a trick my mom had shared with me countless times before when I was nervous. A needle was gently forced into my vein once. Again and again. Three times a charm. My veins small and stubborn left the crook of my elbow permanently bruised for the past two years. The anesthesiologist apologized. I sleepily smiled, trying to hold the tears captive from escaping down my cheek. A white cloudy substance was shown to me in a syringe. I nodded and closed my eyes. I took four breaths in and repeated four breathes out. I searched for the familiar scene: a place that was only for my eyes, a place that I escaped to the past two years. Only today, my mind wandered back to my parents. Back to my father’s glossy eyes, remembering his face as he leaned down to kiss my forehead. How we held hands as we journeyed down the long corridor. I remembered reaching the double swinging doors that had STERILE AREA in crimson writing across them. With one last squeeze of my hand, I had to let go. They held each other as I was wheeled away. I kept my hand in the air all the way until we reached the next corner. The next time they saw me, I was sleeping soundly in a coma.
