Если я останусь
12:19 P.M.
Theoperatingroomissmallandcrowded,fullofblindinglybrightlights,whichhighlighthowgrubbythisplaceis.It’snothinglikeonTV,whereoperatingroomsarelikepristinetheatersthatcouldaccommodateanoperasinger,andanaudience.Thefloor,thoughbuffedshiny,isdingywithscuffmarksandruststreaks,whichItaketobeoldbloodstains.
Blood.Itiseverywhere.Itdoesnotfazethedoctorsonebit.Theysliceandsewandsuctionthroughariverofit,liketheyarewashingdishesinsoapywater.Meanwhile,theypumpanever-replenishingstockintomyveins.
Thesurgeonwhowantedtolistentorocksweatsalot.Oneofthenurseshastoperiodicallydabhimwithgauzethatsheholdsintongs.Atonepoint,hesweatsthroughhismaskandhastoreplaceit.
Theanesthesiologisthasgentlefingers.Shesitsatmyhead,keepinganeyeonallmyvitals,adjustingtheamountsofthefluidsandgasesanddrugsthey’regivingme.ShemustbedoingagoodjobbecauseIdon’tappeartofeelanything,eventhoughtheyareyankingatmybody.It’sroughandmessywork,nothinglikethatgameOperationweusedtoplayaskidswhereyouhadtobecarefulnottouchthesidesasyouremovedabone,orthebuzzerwouldgooff.
Theanesthesiologistabsentmindedlystrokesmytemplesthroughherlatexgloves.ThisiswhatMomusedtodowhenIcamedownwiththefluorgotoneofthoseheadachesthathurtsobadIusedtoimaginecuttingopenaveininmytemplejusttorelievethepressure.
TheWagnerCDhasrepeatedtwicenow.
