Light

Tonsillectomy

The operating table felt nothing like a table. I was surprised by the soft cushion underneath me as I lay down in my thin gown. The doctor spoke to my parents about the brevity and ease of the surgery. “It’s as common as they come” he said almost cheerfully. My father looked stern, as he always did, but my mother appeared apprehensive under the faint fluorescent bulbs. I was too frightened to truly understand what was being said about me. I wasn’t concerned about a slip of the scalpel or any accident; it was seeing my parents look scared that took away any bravery I might have had otherwise. Two nurses walked over to my bed and the doctor ceased speaking. The first nurse began prepping machinery while the other lead my parents away, leaving me on my own. She completed the division by drawing a pale pink curtain around the bed. Just before he disappeared behind the sterile wall, my father lifted his arm slightly, as if reaching out to me. A mask was placed over my nose and mouth and the fluorescent lights began to flicker and fade into darkness.

Balloons

We waited for more than an hour before a spritely nurse lead me to a small white room. I asked if my brother could be with me while it was happening. She nodded and he was soon by my side, nervous himself but steadying my hand none the less. A different, more somber nurse came into the room and administered a burning shot to my left hand. The fire quickly cooled into a dull numbness that climbed knuckle by knuckle to my fingers. A rather portly doctor then appeared and told my brother he would have to move to the corner and be silent for the entirety of the procedure. My brother did as he was told and the doctor turned to me saying “One or two stitches is nothing. We’ll be done before you know it”. He began the procedure and I felt metal pierce my tired index finger. The silence of the empty chair beside me served as a constant reminder of the distance between my brother and me. To pass the eternity of anxiety, I studied the diamond pattern on the light fixture on the ceiling. The mix of tilted squares looked like little hot air balloons and by the tying of the fifth and final stitch, that was all I could see when I looked above me.

The First Night

A slightly southern voice woke me. “I’m sorry Hun, but you’ve got to get up” she said, lightly grasping my shoulder. I took a slow, deep breath and sat up. My first instinct was to look at the clock. It stared back in glowing red numbers, reading 3:12AM. The colon between the three and one constantly blinked at me as if it were in shock. I shared its disbelief. The nurse took my blood glucose level. A blue-grey screen lit up with the number 288 displayed prominently in the center. As the pain in my finger subsided, I looked to my mother, curled up in an armchair next to my large mechanized bed. I longed for more comforting, despite trying to convince myself otherwise. But she was lost in a sleep as restless as my own. The nurse opened the door a crack, sending a slice of blinding brightness into the room. She told me she would be back in another two hours before shutting the door again, sending me into the familiar darkness.