Thursday, April 26, 2012

17- Unsympathetic Wellspring

Day something or other in ICU and my appetite for this food is dwindling.  However, I've developed a seriously constant craving for peaches, pineapple, and chocolate milk.  No matter how much I beg for water, the staff still won't give in.  I know I have a saline drip, but I yearn for an icy cold plunge of water to comfort my esophagus and stomach. 

These tiny little bottles of H2O are nothing, if not cruel and unusual punishment.  I'm starting to get the feeling that there is a miscommunication here. 
Recently,  I asked a nurse, "Please, can I have something to drink?"
She looks over her shoulder and scoffs at me, "No."
I don't get it.  "Please, I am thirsty, I need a drink!"
"You don't drink anymore.  You can't."
Crap.  "No, no, no, no.  I mean, water.  I don't want booze.  Please!"
I still can't have water, either.  All of the water that I'm consuming is just going straight back to my abdomen.  There could be another tap coming soon.  
Awesome.  Can't wait. 

The nurse is heading out for awhile, again.  Now, is my chance.  There are a couple of swallows of  water and saliva. The remnants of the nearest bottle on the bedside table.  With the power of thirst, I am able to reach it.
Situated on the far end of the table, is another morsel of water.  The prize is dripping with condensation, as I lick my chapped lips.  Unfortunately, there are quite a few obstacles to manage, but I'm going for it.
 All I have to do is, is weave through all of the wires hooked to my chest, stomach, and head.  I have a new wire connected to the top of my ear, as well.  I don't know what its for, I just know I'm not supposed to pull on it.  A device the size of an old Sony Walkman cassette player connects all of the wire. 

I need to shift and twist under my forty pounds of blankets, and reach over the bed rail.  I'm stretching with painful effort when my elbow slips off of the table.  I swing and miss while trying to right myself with my other hand.  Instead, I snap onto my plate of uneaten dinner.  Two hour old food flies into the air like I just pulled the rip cord on a parachute.  

I'm hanging over the edge now.  My hands are pointing toward the floor while I look outward to see my unattainable Styrofoam cup leaking on the floor.  In utter disappointment and out of breath, I slunk back onto my bed.  
And,what do you know?  I just shat myself, again.  Here, come the orderlies with their never ceasing smiles.  
"How you doin', Mr. Donnie?"

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