Wednesday, December 1, 2010

My Story Chapter Seven Part 3

          In my next memory, I found myself in a private room flanked by glass windows with a glass door that opened right in front of the nurses’ stations. My trusted friend and attendant Janice and my one and only Eric were visiting me. Janice, smiling like the Cheshire Cat, was holding my hand and stroking my arm like the concerned, supportive, and good friend. But something about her demeanor just wasn’t right. Eric was chatting away and every time he turned away to talk to one of the nurses Janice would look me square in the eye, smile still plastered on her on Barbie doll face, and mouth words like “you’re going to die, Lori.” And “I can’t wait ‘til I no longer have to hear you whine all day.” I couldn’t believe it. I kept trying to get Eric’s attention but I was still mute due to the ventilator in my lungs. Each time he came back in my room I reached for him with the useless hand not trapped by who I thought was my best friend now in league with the witches of Presbyterian Hospital. He would squeeze my free hand smile down upon me and say, “Everything is alright little honey.” He motioned toward Janice. “See, Janice is here, too.” He bent down and kissed me gently on the forehead. I tried with all my might to wretch my hand away from the back stabbing Janice but I was too weak. Too weak to keep my tentative hold on Eric as he strolled back out to nurses’ station to discuss my case. I slowly turned my head to look at my ex-best friend/attendant. She gazed deeply into my frightened eyes and blew me a kiss…then smiled wide, wider and so wide I only saw teeth. Then I was sucked back down into the black hole of super unconsciousness.  
          Somehow I found myself back on the same ward I started out on. Tonight was the big night. The night the nurse witches were going to sacrifice me to Satan by burning the flesh from my bones with acid. They had chosen their head witch to give the special honor to. It was Vicky, a small woman with long light brown hair and an attractive face and I could hear them giving her pep talk in the nurses’ station. Two other familiar nurses transferred me from my bed to a gurney and back to the same break room area as before. There were more people back there this time including doctors I’d seen, a respiratory therapist, and several others that worked at various positions in the hospital. I had seen them all at one time or another. The doctors saw me first, taking my vitals, listening to my heart, lungs and stomach and asking me about my pain and anxiety levels. They wrote their notes made absolutely sure the records reflected proper procedure and left the respiratory therapist take over. I knew her straight away. She was a large woman who wore too much makeup, too much jewelry, and had long sharp fingernails. She had forced me to take treatments I specifically refused and told me now she was going to remove my ventilator. I definitely wasn’t ready for what was about to happen but she ripped the apparatus out of throat so quickly and violently she took a few teeth with it. One of the witch nurses gave me some medication for pain and anxiety and everyone was careful to record everything as if it were an ordinary evening shift. Then I was stripped, given a thorough sponge bath, and dressed loosely in a hospital gown. I was laid on a hard wooden table without blanket or pillow. I was shivering with cold and fear. All I could do now was wait and pray. I could hear them talking on the other side of the lockers. Apparently, Vicky was having second thoughts about taking a life and the others were giving her all the reasons why she should. That girl is pain in the ass, she’s useless anyway being a quadriplegic, look at the hell she’s put us through already, can’t do anything for herself, calls us every half hour, better off dead anyway, an anchor around her caregivers neck, dead weight, ect. ect. ect. But they must have her talked into it because at the stroke of midnight she went into the nurses’ dressing room and donned the hazard suit picked up the designated amount of solution and began walking towards me. I was still shivering and started talking to her. I asked her if she really wanted to kill me and how would she feel if she did? She walked slowly and steadily the entire way up to the stage. But…she stopped and very slowly and extremely carefully set the container holding the vile liquid on the floor in front of the staging area, removed her head gear, kissed my shoulder, and said,“ You have my seal.” She walked away. ( to be continued)    

Here is me and Janice. She worked for me for more than a year. But I ended up getting into a fight with her shortly after coming home from the hospital and ultimately let her go. Unfortunately, it wasn't soon enough because I found out much later that she gave Eric head in very next room from where I was working on my computer. What whores they both are ...   

1 comment:

  1. Wow! I've heard many references to the whole ICU psychosis experience over the years, and there were even a couple of lines about this in Christopher Reeve's book, but this is the first time I've read a vivid and lengthy account on what it's actually like. Very gripping. It must have been terrifying.


please feel free to be as open, honest, blunt, and real as think you need to when leaving your comment. any of you who can relate to any one of my issues or takes offense to something I've written I'd especially like to hear from. I'm sorry to say that any comments left anonymously will not be published whether positive or negative. however, i still appreciate the insight and value the opinion. Thanks, L.A.M.B.