Portal
Ein Traum, was sonst?
I fell asleep in Portland. “You’re still so young” was the last thing I’d been told on that worst night. Rain in the drainpipes
woke in a bright place. Sounds of machines scrubbing the air. A constraint about the head, my mind shied from it, it might be pain. In motion, a companion under each arm holding me upright. Clean bright floor. Moving
a place of passage. Dimness. No windows no weather. Sound of a running fountain on loop. Beatrice helped me fall upward into the raised bed. How’s your pain? They wanted a number. Patches were stuck to me. Have a sip of water. My hands were enormous, too big to move the cup around my face. A splint on my nose, bumped it, no feeling in the lower lip. It will be like that for a couple months. How’s your pain? Pain was the constraint about my head, I knew it. Do you want to try a pill
ingenious, the rigid ring that held the plastic bag open while I vomited, water ran over my chin, I couldn’t feel it. Virgil was holding me upright. I don’t think that Tramadol was your friend. We’re going to put you on a drip. Here’s your phone if you want it
phone face down, the world was there and I couldn’t look into it. The false fountain ran along my hearing. Beatrice sat at the foot of the bed, Virgil stood at my elbow and fed the IV. This is for pain. This is an antibiotic. This is for nausea. We’re going to keep you on the drip for now, since you had emesis. I was propped against a headrest pillowed with ice packs. It’s like trying to fall asleep on an airplane. They didn’t understand me. I reached for the water cup, sipped, rain soaked the dead planet of my mouth. But I had to keep my mouth open to breathe. I shut my eyes and woke dry. The stitches inside your mouth will dissolve in a few weeks
three things before you’re discharged, you have to walk, you have to urinate, you have to drink water. Can we go for a walk? Long corridor, quiet, Virgil gone and a new Beatrice at my elbow. What time is it? No windows no weather. My gown was coming loose in back, she refastened it for me. Do you want to try using the bathroom? I was left alone with a catchment dish in the toilet bowl. A burn where the catheter had been. I stood and went to the sink, bent my nearsighted gaze to the mirror and saw the splint and plaster cast, tape holding it in place and around it no, wrong
a phrase from Faulkner, a balloon face slick and distended
not human. But if human then a woman. But not human, not here. Don’t look. This is the wrong place to look. Walk and urinate and drink water. I washed my hands with soap, dried them on a paper towel and dropped the towel in the wastebasket, surprised that I could still do these things
back along the corridor. How’s your pain now? The medicines were keeping the door locked against pain, forcing it to wait outside. Virgil was back with more. This is an antibiotic. This is for nausea. Fall upward into bed, headrest and ice packs, rain in the mouth. I shut my eyes and woke dry. Beatrice and Virgil were discussing the nurses’ strikes in low voices, I wanted to say something in solidarity
phone face down with the world inside it, not yet, the running fountain
a balloon face slick and distended
place of passage. I had fallen asleep in Portland
