narrator
08-18-2002, 04:00 AM
The Treatment
“Do you want a glass of water?” A voice said.
He opened his eyes. His head felt congested. It felt like something was pushing into his head.
“Sir, are you okay?”
The voice became a face. He became aware of the blue eyes looking at him not with love or interest, but rather a strange disconnection. There seemed to be no emotion in them.
“What? I—I,” He stopped.
The eyes moved back and turned behind him to a cabinet. He looked at what the void of the face had brought. Small green wall tiles hung suspended in front of his eyes.
Then his eyes filled with a white cup. “Here sir, drink it.”
He didn’t want it. He didn’t care. He closed his eyes.
“I’ll leave, it here on the table. If you’re thirsty it’s right here.”
He pulled his arms close to himself and faded to black.
He opened his eyes. He heard people talking close by.
“How long has he been asleep?” The voice was feminine
“Just three hours. He is still disoriented so when he wakes up, he most likely won’t know you, you’d do best to just wait.”
“Okay.” There was a pause, and rustle of clothing. “When do you think his memory will be back?”
“Usually the case is only a few days but it varies.”
“So it could be longer?”
“Yes, there is a chance. The only thing we can really do is wait and see.”
He felt a slight unease creep over him. The conversation went longer but he fell asleep before he heard the rest.
He opened his eyes. He sat up and looked around propped up on his elbows. The room was empty. It was a hospital room.
“Hello,” he said. The sound bounced off the green-tiled walls.
There was a stirring outside the room. He felt an urge to go back to sleep—to be away from here.
A woman and a man walked into the room. The woman wore a green blouse and blue jeans. Her hair was a dark brown and her eyes were green. The man was wearing a white doctors coat. His hair was black and hung on his head, lifeless and stiff. He had eyes that might have been hazel of just black, he couldn’t tell. They looked at him expecting something.
“Hello,” he said feeling like his head was congested with air.
“Honey, are you okay?” The woman asked.
He sat up on the bed and turned his eyes from the man, who had a clipboard out and was scribbling something down on it, to the woman who was staring at him with an intensity projecting from her being. It took him a moment of silence to realize that the woman had directed her question toward him.
“What? What are you talking about?”
She stared at him her eyes falling when he said that. The man who was a doctor set his clipboard down on a counter top behind him. “Could you tell me your name please?”
“I don’t know.” He said this with a hand on his head, trying to push a feeling out of it or a feeling in.
“Richard,” the doctor said, “This is just a temporary side effect of the treatment. You should start to remember things in a few days.”
“What?” He said under his breath. Richard, was that his name? It felt a little outside of his head. He tried to think. He tried to remember.
“This is just the first side effect. Tomorrow we have to prepare you for the shakes.” The doctor picked up his clipboard from on the countertop. “You my not remember everything now but just give it time.”
The doctor left the room, leaving the woman alone with him looking at him with watery eyes.
He looked at her wearily hoping that she’d leave. She did and he was left alone with his dreams.
“The straps have got to be fastened tight, Richard.” The doctor demonstrated pulling two restraints tight around his arms. Now for the next two weeks you will be given a regular dose of muscle relaxers that will aid with the shakes but we can’t risk giving you too much. So these may be needed, but hopefully not.”
He looked at the doctor listening but not taking it in.
“The shakes are actually small seizures, Richard. So just hold tight.” The doctor was talking fast. It annoyed him that the doctor kept on calling him Richard. He couldn’t remember the doctor’s name but he was sure that it was given some time or another.”
The doctor’s mouth was moving like a firecracker, burning. He stared and tried to pick out random words. Bodily rejection. Random hallucinations. And dispersed regularly enough was the knowledge that Richard was his name. It still didn’t feel right.
The shakes hit some time in the next ten hours. He wasn’t sure if it was day or night but still kept time close at hand even though there were no clocks in the room.
He reached out and put his hand around the white plastic cup that was always by his table, full of water. His arm twitched a little. Then it started to move more, beating rapidly like his heart. He let the cup go and fall to the ground. The muscle relaxer he had taken two hours ago worked a bit but seemed to fail in the subduing of his limbs. He felt his arms move within what the restraints permitted him. He bit down on the small plastic coverings over his teeth.
“What’s your name?” The woman asked sitting on a chair next to the bed. She was wearing a green blouse and blue jeans.
“I don’t know.” He said.
“Any clues?”
“The doctor keeps calling me Richard.” He said.
She ran a hand through her hair.
“How old are you?” She asked.
“I’m,” he stopped. “Thirty-four.”
She smiled. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Wake up.”
He sat up. The restraints were gone. His head felt clear now. It felt open.
He looked around and saw the woman from before, her clothes were different she was wearing a black pantsuit. “What’s happening to me?” He asked.
She took a step forward. “Just don’t go back. Stay with me.” Her eyes let tears fall that obscured her makeup.
“What?” He said looking at the woman strangely. “Who’re you.”
She continued to cry. “You don’t know?” She left the room quickly. He sat there looking at the tiles for some time.
He opened his eyes. His body felt like rubber. Each muscle felt like it had been used as if it had been torn out beat and then placed back again. He leaned forward to attempt to sit up but felt his stomach as he did so and rejected the thought.
He waited staring, again at the tile. A light stream of cool air fell down on him from above and he cherished it.
“Stay with me.” A voice said, female. He didn’t move to it, didn’t want to test himself.
“Come on Richey, just be okay.”
He felt a strange sensation crawl over his brain. He tried to remember. He thought back and it all just stopped with here. He pressed his head, thinking but it didn’t work. It was like trying to dig through cement with a shovel.
“I love you. Yes I do.”
He didn’t want any of this. He just wanted to be left alone.
She sighed and began to hum with a hollow tone.
He woke up. His body’s ache was lessened. He moved and thought he could deal with it. He sat up. The doctor was sitting next to his bed with a clipboard on his lap and a cup of coffee on the floor next to him. He looked up at him. The doctor put the clipboard on the ground and stood up.
“Richard, we’re past the shakes.” The doctor looked at him with an expression of outward joy that he didn’t quite buy into. “Well, all that’s left is a psych evaluation and if you pass you’re free to go.”
He looked at the doctor. The doctor returned his gaze. “And what happens if I don’t pass?”
“Don’t worry you will,” the doctor said and picked up his clipboard and coffee and left
He got out of the bed. His legs felt weak but he leaned one arm onto the wall. The tiles were cold. He pushed himself along the wall toward the small door. He felt his body dragging along. He looked down. A tube was sticking in his arm. He pulled it out and it felt like pulling a part of his arm out. He kept walking until he got to the door. He set his hand on the doorframe.
The lights were much brighter outside the room. A long hall that white tile on the wall stretched out on either side of the door. People were moving around the hall busily. He looked across the hall and settled on a woman who was walking toward him
She had blonde hair and muddy brown eyes. She was small and wore a black pantsuit.
“Richard?” Her face was almost bursting with joy.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly.
Her face ticked at that but slid easily back into her joyous expression. “Do you remember anything?”
He looked at her. She was looking at him waiting for an answer. “No.”
She wiped at her eyes. “That’s okay we can live with it.”
He felt his mind waver and almost lost his grip on the doorframe. “We?”
“I don’t if I’m allowed to tell you this but we’re married.”
His mind swam. “What about the brown haired woman?”
“Who?”
She watched as the lowered him into the long cylindrical capsule.
“What was that doctor?”
“He seemed to be having some pretty strong hallucinations.” He repeated. “It’s better this way. The results do tend to vary with each treatment but they do have a thirty percent success rate.” His voice was fading from her head. She looked at the tall gaunt man that had once been her husband. Richey, just come back okay, this time. She put her hand to the cold emotionless glass.
“How are you feeling sir,” a voice said.
He opened his eyes slowly and caught sight of green tile.
That was loosely based on electro convulsive therapy. Questions? Comments?
“Do you want a glass of water?” A voice said.
He opened his eyes. His head felt congested. It felt like something was pushing into his head.
“Sir, are you okay?”
The voice became a face. He became aware of the blue eyes looking at him not with love or interest, but rather a strange disconnection. There seemed to be no emotion in them.
“What? I—I,” He stopped.
The eyes moved back and turned behind him to a cabinet. He looked at what the void of the face had brought. Small green wall tiles hung suspended in front of his eyes.
Then his eyes filled with a white cup. “Here sir, drink it.”
He didn’t want it. He didn’t care. He closed his eyes.
“I’ll leave, it here on the table. If you’re thirsty it’s right here.”
He pulled his arms close to himself and faded to black.
He opened his eyes. He heard people talking close by.
“How long has he been asleep?” The voice was feminine
“Just three hours. He is still disoriented so when he wakes up, he most likely won’t know you, you’d do best to just wait.”
“Okay.” There was a pause, and rustle of clothing. “When do you think his memory will be back?”
“Usually the case is only a few days but it varies.”
“So it could be longer?”
“Yes, there is a chance. The only thing we can really do is wait and see.”
He felt a slight unease creep over him. The conversation went longer but he fell asleep before he heard the rest.
He opened his eyes. He sat up and looked around propped up on his elbows. The room was empty. It was a hospital room.
“Hello,” he said. The sound bounced off the green-tiled walls.
There was a stirring outside the room. He felt an urge to go back to sleep—to be away from here.
A woman and a man walked into the room. The woman wore a green blouse and blue jeans. Her hair was a dark brown and her eyes were green. The man was wearing a white doctors coat. His hair was black and hung on his head, lifeless and stiff. He had eyes that might have been hazel of just black, he couldn’t tell. They looked at him expecting something.
“Hello,” he said feeling like his head was congested with air.
“Honey, are you okay?” The woman asked.
He sat up on the bed and turned his eyes from the man, who had a clipboard out and was scribbling something down on it, to the woman who was staring at him with an intensity projecting from her being. It took him a moment of silence to realize that the woman had directed her question toward him.
“What? What are you talking about?”
She stared at him her eyes falling when he said that. The man who was a doctor set his clipboard down on a counter top behind him. “Could you tell me your name please?”
“I don’t know.” He said this with a hand on his head, trying to push a feeling out of it or a feeling in.
“Richard,” the doctor said, “This is just a temporary side effect of the treatment. You should start to remember things in a few days.”
“What?” He said under his breath. Richard, was that his name? It felt a little outside of his head. He tried to think. He tried to remember.
“This is just the first side effect. Tomorrow we have to prepare you for the shakes.” The doctor picked up his clipboard from on the countertop. “You my not remember everything now but just give it time.”
The doctor left the room, leaving the woman alone with him looking at him with watery eyes.
He looked at her wearily hoping that she’d leave. She did and he was left alone with his dreams.
“The straps have got to be fastened tight, Richard.” The doctor demonstrated pulling two restraints tight around his arms. Now for the next two weeks you will be given a regular dose of muscle relaxers that will aid with the shakes but we can’t risk giving you too much. So these may be needed, but hopefully not.”
He looked at the doctor listening but not taking it in.
“The shakes are actually small seizures, Richard. So just hold tight.” The doctor was talking fast. It annoyed him that the doctor kept on calling him Richard. He couldn’t remember the doctor’s name but he was sure that it was given some time or another.”
The doctor’s mouth was moving like a firecracker, burning. He stared and tried to pick out random words. Bodily rejection. Random hallucinations. And dispersed regularly enough was the knowledge that Richard was his name. It still didn’t feel right.
The shakes hit some time in the next ten hours. He wasn’t sure if it was day or night but still kept time close at hand even though there were no clocks in the room.
He reached out and put his hand around the white plastic cup that was always by his table, full of water. His arm twitched a little. Then it started to move more, beating rapidly like his heart. He let the cup go and fall to the ground. The muscle relaxer he had taken two hours ago worked a bit but seemed to fail in the subduing of his limbs. He felt his arms move within what the restraints permitted him. He bit down on the small plastic coverings over his teeth.
“What’s your name?” The woman asked sitting on a chair next to the bed. She was wearing a green blouse and blue jeans.
“I don’t know.” He said.
“Any clues?”
“The doctor keeps calling me Richard.” He said.
She ran a hand through her hair.
“How old are you?” She asked.
“I’m,” he stopped. “Thirty-four.”
She smiled. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Wake up.”
He sat up. The restraints were gone. His head felt clear now. It felt open.
He looked around and saw the woman from before, her clothes were different she was wearing a black pantsuit. “What’s happening to me?” He asked.
She took a step forward. “Just don’t go back. Stay with me.” Her eyes let tears fall that obscured her makeup.
“What?” He said looking at the woman strangely. “Who’re you.”
She continued to cry. “You don’t know?” She left the room quickly. He sat there looking at the tiles for some time.
He opened his eyes. His body felt like rubber. Each muscle felt like it had been used as if it had been torn out beat and then placed back again. He leaned forward to attempt to sit up but felt his stomach as he did so and rejected the thought.
He waited staring, again at the tile. A light stream of cool air fell down on him from above and he cherished it.
“Stay with me.” A voice said, female. He didn’t move to it, didn’t want to test himself.
“Come on Richey, just be okay.”
He felt a strange sensation crawl over his brain. He tried to remember. He thought back and it all just stopped with here. He pressed his head, thinking but it didn’t work. It was like trying to dig through cement with a shovel.
“I love you. Yes I do.”
He didn’t want any of this. He just wanted to be left alone.
She sighed and began to hum with a hollow tone.
He woke up. His body’s ache was lessened. He moved and thought he could deal with it. He sat up. The doctor was sitting next to his bed with a clipboard on his lap and a cup of coffee on the floor next to him. He looked up at him. The doctor put the clipboard on the ground and stood up.
“Richard, we’re past the shakes.” The doctor looked at him with an expression of outward joy that he didn’t quite buy into. “Well, all that’s left is a psych evaluation and if you pass you’re free to go.”
He looked at the doctor. The doctor returned his gaze. “And what happens if I don’t pass?”
“Don’t worry you will,” the doctor said and picked up his clipboard and coffee and left
He got out of the bed. His legs felt weak but he leaned one arm onto the wall. The tiles were cold. He pushed himself along the wall toward the small door. He felt his body dragging along. He looked down. A tube was sticking in his arm. He pulled it out and it felt like pulling a part of his arm out. He kept walking until he got to the door. He set his hand on the doorframe.
The lights were much brighter outside the room. A long hall that white tile on the wall stretched out on either side of the door. People were moving around the hall busily. He looked across the hall and settled on a woman who was walking toward him
She had blonde hair and muddy brown eyes. She was small and wore a black pantsuit.
“Richard?” Her face was almost bursting with joy.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly.
Her face ticked at that but slid easily back into her joyous expression. “Do you remember anything?”
He looked at her. She was looking at him waiting for an answer. “No.”
She wiped at her eyes. “That’s okay we can live with it.”
He felt his mind waver and almost lost his grip on the doorframe. “We?”
“I don’t if I’m allowed to tell you this but we’re married.”
His mind swam. “What about the brown haired woman?”
“Who?”
She watched as the lowered him into the long cylindrical capsule.
“What was that doctor?”
“He seemed to be having some pretty strong hallucinations.” He repeated. “It’s better this way. The results do tend to vary with each treatment but they do have a thirty percent success rate.” His voice was fading from her head. She looked at the tall gaunt man that had once been her husband. Richey, just come back okay, this time. She put her hand to the cold emotionless glass.
“How are you feeling sir,” a voice said.
He opened his eyes slowly and caught sight of green tile.
That was loosely based on electro convulsive therapy. Questions? Comments?