Nrata's Journal, entry 1

From the Diary of Patient A1 (Nrata)


What you don't know, what they don't know, is that at night, once I have pulled the curtains around my bed, I burrow under the blanket, like small child hiding from imaginary monsters. There is a difference though. My monsters are real. They may not have fangs or giant claws, but instead, they come with the ability to cause real pain, the ability to render me immobile from dizziness and fiery agony. Tonight, I curl around myself, feeling my bones complain against the box screwed to them, feeling the silent tears drip down my face beneath the blanket as I wonder how I will get through the replacement of this old box with the new one.

Tomorrow, I will listen, unable to move, unable to see or speak as unseen nurses and The Doctor do their work on my own flesh and bone.

Tonight, I listen to the stark silence of the vast building that is broken only by the noise of the various monitors, screens and other devices. Machines I know that I will have attached to my own limp body soon enough.

Tomorrow, I will forgo all food voluntarily, for I know that if I don't, I will have both nausea and blinding dizziness competing for my complete attention upon waking. It is better this way- even if I could eat, past this intense fear that curls my stomach into knots.

Tomorrow, I shall face the world with a smile of plastic. I will not attend meals, but will go to class and attend during our free time. The older ones will understand the meaning of my absences, and if the younger ones ask, I will reply with a mundane response- and they will go on with their lives, not having an inkling of my abject terror for the looming evening.

                                                          ***

I found the note, labeled with my 'patient code', on the bedside table after the afternoon classes. I am to retire to bed an hour early tonight. There will be two pills that I am to take at that time unless I wish to lose the privilege of wearing shoes for a month. It is not a choice at all. The floors are cold, as I learned long ago, and hard on feet made especially sensitive by pain.

Already, my hands begin to tremble with a tremor that I cannot hide. Two hours now. Two hours before I go under the knife, as the saying goes, though under the drill and wire might be more accurate.

"Come, Nrata." Gabe is here, diligently trying to distract me from my deepest fear come to life. "Let's go met the others, and spend what time we can."

                                                              ***

I left the others, left their supportive embraces for the chilly embrace of the sedative that I know will deliver me unwillingly into the Doctor's hands. Gabe is here, as he promised that he would stay until the last moment. I made him promise that he will go, before they come- I do not want him to lose privileges on my behalf. I cannot write any longer, but try to calm my erratic heart as I feel myself slip off....

                                                               ***

                       I lay me down to sleep, alone in the home of hundreds
                               And if I should die beneath the Doctor's hands
                                        I pray the Lord, my soul to take.