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But
he
won
’
t
.
I
know
it
’
s
fruitless
.
I
give
up
and
drag
myself
back
to
my
ICU
.
I
want
to
break
the
double
doors
.
I
want
to
smash
the
nurses
’
station
.
I
want
it
all
to
go
away
.
I
want
to
go
away
.
I
don
’
t
want
to
be
here
.
I
don
’
t
want
to
be
in
this
hospital
.
I
don
’
t
want
to
be
in
this
suspended
state
where
I
can
see
what
’
s
happening
,
where
I
’
m
aware
of
what
I
’
m
feeling
without
being
able
to
actually
feel
it
.
I
cannot
scream
until
my
throat
hurts
or
break
a
window
with
my
fist
until
my
hand
bleeds
,
or
pull
my
hair
out
in
clumps
until
the
pain
in
my
scalp
overcomes
the
one
in
my
heart
.
I
’
m
staring
at
myself
,
at
the
"
live
"
Mia
now
,
lying
in
her
hospital
bed
.
I
feel
a
burst
of
fury
.
If
I
could
slap
my
own
lifeless
face
,
I
would
.
Instead
,
I
sit
down
in
the
chair
and
close
my
eyes
,
wishing
it
all
away
.
Except
I
can
’
t
.
I
can
’
t
concentrate
because
there
’
s
suddenly
so
much
noise
.
My
monitors
are
blipping
and
chirping
and
two
nurses
are
racing
toward
me
.
"
Her
BP
and
pulse
ox
are
dropping
,
"
one
yells
.
"
She
’
s
tachycardic
,
"
the
other
yells
.
"
What
happened
?
"
"
Code
blue
,
code
blue
in
Trauma
,
"
blares
the
PA
.
Soon
the
nurses
are
joined
by
a
bleary
-
eyed
doctor
,
rubbing
the
sleep
out
of
his
eyes
,
which
are
ringed
by
deep
circles
.
He
yanks
down
the
covers
and
lifts
my
hospital
gown
.
I
’
m
nak
*
d
from
the
waist
down
,
but
no
one
notices
these
things
here
.
He
puts
his
hands
on
my
belly
,
which
is
swollen
and
hard
.
His
eyes
widen
and
then
narrow
into
slits
.
"
Abdomen
’
s
rigid
,
"
he
says
angrily
.
"
We
need
to
do
an
ultrasound
.
"
Nurse
Ramirez
runs
to
a
back
room
and
then
wheels
out
what
looks
like
a
portable
laptop
with
a
long
white
attachment
.
She
squirts
some
jelly
on
my
stomach
,
and
the
doctor
runs
the
attachment
over
my
stomach
.
"
Damn
.
Full
of
fluid
,
"
he
says
.
"
Patient
had
surgery
this
afternoon
?
"
