Memoirs of a Hospital Bedside

1

As I sit and watch her shift uncomfortably in her bed, my eyes trace the tangled mess of transparent IV tubing, cheap telephone wire for the cheaper bedside telephone, and plugs upon plugs that seem to be powering the whole seventh floor. 2

3

She reaches out her hand toward mine. I grab it and stroke her forearm, examining the bruises formed from the dozens of needle-pricks needed for the examinations— taking her blood, teasing her nerves, and collapsing her veins. 4

5

Her perfect coffee eyes look into mine and reflect the square ceiling light above. She mouths the words “I love you” and I mouth them back to her, giving her a quick smirk. It was just as meaningful as the first time she said it to me, not long after we had started our relationship. We were both younger then— only sophomores in high school— though we always acted like we were so much older. I guess that’s the funny thing about dating your best friend, you’ve spent so much time together already that you know you are meant for each other without a second thought; you seem to surpass time and become ageless. 6

7

“Paige—” 8

9

I see her wince as I had accidentally touched the IV lodged into the back of her left hand. 10

11

“Sorry,” I say. I’m prone to accidentally hurting her. It always was like that; one time we had decided to race to the front door, armed only with our socks to glide us across the tile and hardwood floor. It ended up with us reaching the door at the same time, but she was lying on the ground with a twisted leg and a bump on her head. I always turned into her Knight in Shining Armor, though, when I picked her up and carried her to the couch and comforted her. 12

13

“Don’t worry about it,” she replies, rubbing the back of her hand and slowly pulling it away from me, as not to allow any further injury. 14

15

The TV flashes above us, onto the walls and over to the window where a beautiful view of the city is taken in. The sight is somewhat bittersweet because you have to be in this kind of a condition to be able to see such a perfect sight. 16

17

She changes the channel. It was unlike us to watch television on any normal night; we mostly watch movies. We would cuddle up on my couch, her couch, or on my bed and watch any genre of movie, mostly not paying attention. Conversation was the real point of the movies, I guess. We’d put something into the DVD player or the VCR and see what interesting topics would come up that night. 18

19

“I want to look out the window.” She gives me a pleading look. I agree and help her out of bed. As she gets to her feet, she wobbles unsteadily. Her legs, numb from nerve damage, are weak and can hardly move her across the room. 20

21

She used to be a dancer. A ballerina. She was nimble and flexible and graceful. Now she can’t even walk in a straight line anymore. 22

23

I give her my arm and help her to the window. 24

25

“This really is beautiful, Ricky.” 26

27

“So are you, babe.” 28

29

The sun is setting behind the buildings lining Grand Avenue. The sky is hibiscus orange; the street speckled with a few sporadic cars wending their way in either direction. I hold her hand and her waist. 30

31

The nurse walks in to take her blood pressure and temperature. Vitals. Paige stumbles back to the bed and lies down. The nurse stays in the room for a minute, checking her for any sign of increasing symptoms, and then walks out, presumably to bother another patient. Paige wanted to be a doctor: specifically, a paramedic. Her noble intentions were backed with years taking classes in physiology and athletic training; and a plan on going to a college with a good nursing program. Certainly her present condition didn’t change her plans, but it did hinder them temporarily. 32

33

I look at her hair, falling into her face, and brush it away. Of anyone in the world, I don’t know of anyone who can make me as caught up as she can. 34

35

“I think you should be leaving soon. You’ve got school tomorrow.” Her hand squeezes mine. 36

37

“A few minutes longer?” 38

39

“No,” she smiles at me, “you need to go.” 40

41

And with that, we exchange kisses, I love you’s, and goodbyes. 42

43

I walk out of the hospital and into the cold night air. 44