Thursday, February 29, 2024

Going Down?

The world lit up from behind me and splashed glitter down my throat. It was hard to breathe and the death came quietly as the elevator door closed. Sparkles faded to darkness. They say I gently slid down the wall and crumpled on the floor.

There was a throbbing. And the smell of old dirty brass. Someone hit the big red emergency call button and far away through the deep ocean of darkness, an alarm sounded.

I don't remember the CPR or the defibrillator. I do remember the clean smell of the sheets on the medical raft that lifted me and floated me out to the ambulance. Then the world came back with antiseptic purity at the sharp tear of flesh when they made the hole into the vein where the IV went in. 

What magic buoyed me? Who are these dark purple people made of rough fabric and tactical textiles? She said I had a seizure and she would meet me at the hospital. 

Life ain't fair and the world is mean. But I feel grateful to have another day.