Thanks xxDaisyloverxx for the cover!

Waking up at a hospital is no fun.

You hurt and you ache and the lights feel too bright.

It smells funny and you’re hooked up to machines.

I felt hazy. It was probably because of the drugs they were pumping into my system. I knew I should be in some intense pain, but I wasn’t.

Then I opened my eyes. I sure didn’t look like any hospital I’d ever seen. It wasn’t blindingly white.

The walls were a warm brown. The bed actually felt comfortable.

I was alone. This had to be a private room. The kind reserved for those who were patrons of the hospital.

I sighed. Someone messed up and put me in the wrong room.

I pressed the button on the side of the bed. It would signal a nurse to come in here. I’d been shot before while on duty, so I kind of knew the routine.

“Wow, aren’t you looking good today.” Her smile was sickly sweet. “I was wondering if you were going to wake up today.” Her voice was too loud. “I’ll take that tube out of your throat so you can talk.”

She tied her hair back into a pony tail then put some gloves on. She undid the ties and ripped off the tape. “Sorry.” She said when I winced. “It’s just like a band aid.”

Band-Aid my ass. They weren’t as thick as that tape she just pulled off my face.

“I need you to cough a few times.” She put a small pink bucket on my lap. “You might feel like you have to upchuck, so aim for this bin please.”

Maybe I’d throw up on her so she wouldn’t be so cheery, I thought bitterly. No one should be this happy while working in a hospital.

She was right, I did want to puke, but I managed not to.

“When do I get to leave?” My voice was raspy. It felt like I had a sore throat that wouldn’t let up.

She pursed her lips, “It’s going to be a while I’m afraid. We’re waiting for some results to come back.”

“What results?” I groaned as I sat myself up.

“We had to send a few of your lab results back; they were coming back with the numbers way off. Then the doctor needs to check on your leg.”

I looked down. It ached, but it didn’t really hurt. It was bandaged up a lot. It made my leg look almost double the size.

“Did I have surgery?”

She nodded, “You were very torn up when they brought you in. The doctor did a very good job saving your leg. There should be only minimal loss of function.”

My eyes quickly met hers. “What do you mean loss of function?”

She sighed, “When patients who have lost as much muscle as you, usually the affected limb is amputated. Luckily your doctor was able to repair your arteries and resume blood flow to the rest of your leg.”

I looked down at my bandaged leg. I could feel my career disappearing. I couldn’t go back to what I was doing if I was going to have minimal loss of function. “Has anyone come by?”

“Not yet. But we restrict visitors to this section of the hospital.”

“And what section of the hospital am I in?”

She smiled at me like I was a child. I wanted to smack her right in her face. I know you’re not supposed to ‘kill the messenger’, but it felt like the best idea right now.

“This section of the hospital is for hospital donators and their family.”

I just nodded. I didn’t really care anymore. There was only one thing that consumed my mind.

No one had come to visit me. I had friends in the department, why hadn’t they come visit me? It made me feel hopelessly alone.

As I stared at my leg, I zoned out. I couldn’t hear what the nurse said anymore. When I stopped responding to her, she left.

When I knew she was gone for a while, I looked around the room. The food tray they brought in had a knife.

I leaned over and took the knife off the tray.

The nurse wouldn't check on me a lot. I wasn't suicidal and I wasn't in need of critical care. So I had time. I needed to see my leg. I carefully cut through the gauze.

It wasn't very hard to do.

Once I got through the multiple layers of gauze, I was at the sutures from the surgery. The blood collected on the surgical tape told me that it had been maybe two days since the surgery. I couldn't have been out that long.

I glanced at the door to make sure the nurse wasn't coming back just yet.

I carefully pulled off the tape, which hurt quite a bit. Surgical tape isn't like scotch tape, or even duct tape. Surgical tape fuses itself to your skin so you can pick it off post op.

It felt like I was picking off my skin.

I peeled back the bandage to reveal the wound.

There wasn't much wrong.

Except for an indented patch on the middle of my thigh, nothing was wrong. It wasn’t even red from healing

It didn't seem right. It would've taken months to heal this much. I wouldn't have had any dried blood on the tape unless they hadn't changed the bandages since I've been here.

So I buzzed the nurse back into the room. Had I been in a coma for months? What had happened while I was out?

I covered my legs with the blanket. I'd test her first. Maybe they didn't think I could handle the fact that I had been out for so long.

She came into the room with that big annoying smile.

"What can I do for you?"

"I just had a couple questions."

She nodded with a smile. "I'll do the best I can." She glanced over at the machine that was taking care of my meds. "Are you in any pain?"

I shook my head, "Nope."

She nodded and pressed a few buttons. "Your fentanyl pump seems to not be working." I shrugged. "That's your pain medication." She pursed her lips. "You've been out of surgery for two days; you should still be feeling pain, or at least some discomfort."

"So I had surgery two days ago." I led. I wanted to give her a chance to not lie to me.

She nodded with a smile, "I've been your nurse the whole time."

"Are you absolutely positive?"

She nodded "100%"

"Was my leg wound really bad?"

She nodded, "When I inspected he surgical with yesterday, everything was normal."

"So I was still healing?"

Her brows furrowed at the odd question, "Yes. You should be healed completely in a couple months or so, then you can start physical therapy."

I sighed. She seemed to be telling the truth. But she couldn't be. No one heals this quickly.

"Would you like to see the surgical site?" She asked cautiously, "Normally we wouldn't let patients see it yet because he wound is still healing and draining, but I think you'd be able to handle it."

I sighed and looked down. "There’s a problem with your story." I lifted the light blanket off my leg.

She gasped when she saw the shreds of gauze, "Your risk of infection goes up tremendously if the wound is not properly covered." She chastised, then she got a good look at it. "It has healed." she said in awe. "That's not possible."

I nodded, "So what's the real story? Have I been in a coma? Did something go wrong during the surgery?"

She shook her head and lifted the charts, double checking every note. When she couldn't find anything wrong, she took my wrist and looked at my id band. She shook her head, "This can't be right."

I shrugged, "If I'm fine, then I'd like to go home."

She nodded with her eyes glued to my chart. "I'll get the doctor to come take a look at your leg."
I nodded and sat up on the side of the bed.

"Please stay seated while I'm gone. Your legs may be a bit weak since they haven't been used in a while."

I complied with her request...until she walked out of the room with her eyes still glued to the chart, looking for anything that she might have over looked.

Once the coast was clear, I slowly stood up. Nothing seemed wrong, my bad leg ached a little when I took a step, but it just felt like I had worked out hard yesterday, I knew this ache was temporary, so I didn't worry about it.

I found my clothes in a plastic bag labeled "patient’s belongings" in the small closet. It was my uniform I had worn the night of the attack.

There was nothing that I could wear, so in sat back down on the bed and waited for the doctor to come.

It took forever, well an hour, but it felt like it took forever. I was definitely more impatient. It was probably just my distaste for hospitals showing through. I really hated them. It just reminded me of basically living at the hospital when my parents were dying. We all knew their time was up. They were old and now content to die, though my mother liked to shove he idea that she wished she could've seen her first grandchild before she died, but having me so late in life, she knew she ran the risk of never seeing her first grandchild.

She the doctor finally came; he was even more amazed at the rapid healing that had taken place on my let. He also checked any other lacerations noted in my chart and found that they too were gone. It was some kind of miracle. He wanted to draw blood and see what was different in my blood work. I agreed to that on the condition that I could be released.

They wanted to keep me for 24 hours for observation, but I was itching to get out of this place. So I checked myself out as soon as they were done taking blood.

I caught a cab home.

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It was kind of boring this round, the next one will be more entertaining. Look for it on Friday!