Permanent Lines

The position was not a comfortable one, and while Madison didn't fully understand all that was going on, she understood it's necessity. The room was sterile, white and chilly as she lay on her stomach, supported by a chair that was highly reminiscent of one she might find at the local dentist's, though modified to support her entire body more securely.  

Any discomfort from the padded chair remained background noise as Madison tried not to focus on the scratching sensation from her back. The light chatter that the physcian beside her maintained was not enough, that was certain as she braced herself agains the sharp strokes, trying to prevent herself from shivering in pain. From what she could see from the corner of her eyes, Madison connected the sharp scratching that reached across her shoulders, along the top of her shoulder blades and now down her neck with the array of colored, unnaturelly stiff and sharp-ponted permanent makers that rested in a tray lined with sterile packaging beside the physician's stool.

As if just noticing her uncontrollable shudder, the man in the white coat hesitated in his work, and enquired if the pain was too much for her to bear. At her tremulous response, he picked up a different marker and continued in the same work, this time taking care to trace the edge of her spine before repeating on the other side of her back. All the while, he maintained his too-care-free attempt at dialogue, to which Madison stopped responding to altogether after fully recognizing that she was being prepared for what appeared to be a fairly extensive surgery.

Finally, the physician finished his task and declared Madison to be his most cooperative patient as he cleared his supplies away. An orderly entered  a few moments later to ease Madison into a wheelchair, since it was clear that she wouldn't be able to stand, let alone walk on her own due to the pervading weakness that had been a part of her life for the past several weeks. As there was still time before she would need report back for the final surgery prep stages, the orderly wheeled Madison out to the front yard of the facility where he then helped her onto a the curb to watch the traffic go by as several other patients were already doing.

The usual sympathetic glances were exchanged before someone close to her age dared to venture the question, looking for a taste of real conversation. "Have you been home yet?" he asked, not needing to ask what she was at the facility for as the brightly colored lines peeping out from her hospital gown spoke volumes.

Madison was slow to respond, her memories of the weeks before waking the previous day hazy and unclear. "I don't think so," she said finally, not finding enough energy or courage to ask if it was possible that she'd get to see her parents before undergoing the upcoming surgery, if that was why she had been left outside to watch so many others get picked up or dropped off.

"Oh," the young man replied, a silent apology written across his face, from which Madison understood that she would not be returning home for a very long time yet. He said nothing more on the topic, and so the two continued to stare off into the distance, lost in their own thoughts until an orderly came for Madison with an empty wheelchair.

The young man shook himself from his thoughts as Madison was lifted into the chair, and although he said nothing, she caught the unspoken message from his eyes. I'm sorry. Good luck.

Those were the puzzling words that she clung to as she was tranported to a barren cot in an equally barren room in the back of the facility.

Once certain that the restraints keeping her from rolling off the bed were secure, the orderly left and was replaced by an equally business-like nurse. She gave Madison a false smile, stating "This will hurt a little, but let yourself relax and it won't be so bad," before she slipped a cold needle into the flesh at the back of Madison's already hyper sensative neck. Madison knew nothing more than half-remembered periods of conciousness until many hours later.