Waking

Waking

The light flickers over closed eyes

let in by the mini-blinds rising slowly

on a white room with a sweaty smell.

Pain crackles through her head

but the warmth of the sun seeps in

and life slips in through a sunbeam.

Worried eyes brighten as she looks up,

grasps the hand in hers,

and fights to smile through lessening pain.

Her breath whispers naturally in her lungs,

blood throbbing in her head,

the battle for oxygen now ended.

Slowly the tide of agony is receding

taking with it fear and anguish

and the clawing certainty of death.

The oxygen to her brain is a rush,

a crazy high that she now floats on,

reveling in the ability to think.

“It’ll be better today” his gentle voice tells her,

“The swelling went down and everything is fine.

Are you hungry?”

The sweet idea of a first meal

tempts her with the promise that was lacking

at what she thought would be her last.

“Donuts”, she whispers. “I want donuts.”

She thinks only of frosting and cold Izzys

sending sugar into her veins.

When the doctor goes, the nurse remains.

She looks over at her patient, tired eyes

from a night of careful watching and prayers.

The girl knows she stayed long past her shift end

unwilling to pass off her unstable patient

to anyone who wouldn't pray.

She is upset that the girl is alone,

but the relief on her face says she can go now

and return again later to be sure.

“Thank You.” She tries to speak louder,

her dry throat and pounding head

pushing her voice away from her.

A cool cloth wipes her face for the hundredth time

but the smile is genuine now,

as she brushes the girl’s hair back from her neck.

When she goes the girl is sad

but brightens as the day shift breezes cheerily

into a no longer somber room.

The sugar smell of the donut

and the aroma of orange juice comes with her

washing over the girl in lovely waves.

“No carbonation today I’m afraid,

but Izzys tomorrow. I promise,

even if I have to sneak it in.”

The nurses laugh is like church bells ringing

and the gratitude for this small offer

touches her deep down.

The confection is amazing even in tiny bits,

the juice sweet and cold,

and the world awash with possibility.

“No more morphine if we can help it.

Motrin today.” Her voice holds authority

but reassurance as well.

The girl trusts her already and nods.

“Take my IV out?” she pleads.

The nurse considers.

“Drink a pitcher of water before dinner

and i’ll take it out before I go. Deal?”

“Deal” she readily agrees.

The door seals shut when she goes

protecting her from everything it can

that could ruin this very first new day.

Her eyes search through the window,

then sink shut in a healing sleep

all decisions waiting for another day.