of Francesco Scipione
sleep I was leaving, I took hand in hand consciousness, the world reappeared. But it was not complete, there was the usual use or gnawing on awakening, it was as if everything is mixed, something was wrong. I knew what it was, I knew that pain memory. The opposite was increasingly dense pulsating and began to take hold of me. The leg pain, nausea, lightheadedness. Still, once again, I thought, I turned to look at Sandra, who was sleeping quietly, at peace with itself, with me, with the world. I tried to get up and go out on the couch watching television, hoping to Pallos to find something so I can sleep again. An hour passed, but the situation showed no signs of improvement, indeed. I tried to take a shower, hot for a while 'I gave relief for only a little', not enough. Six in the morning, had six in the morning and I wanted to disappear with my pain, look for a dark ravine to scream and cry no more in silence. The head began to spin for the pain. I was at the point of no return. Sandra awoke with a kiss and I saw immediately understand the situation. He jumped up and got dressed to run, but these gestures seem to me to put on glasses as a priest. I went down the stairs slowly with the side that throbbed more and more violent, with no respect, as if to prove who was the strongest.
The machine was of course as far as possible, where fate had given the gift of a car all the time at which they fall. Walking became painful to breathe, think. Can not wait to hear the Toradol come in and sweep away all my veins. A few hundred meters and I would have taken revenge. I tried to smoke half a cigarette for distraction, but the nausea made me turn off almost immediately. Sandra was driving and turned occasionally to look at me without speaking with deep respect reached out to touch the leg. He knows when I'm bad I do not want to be touched, but still wanted me to know it was there. But I knew it, and still suffer from more.
arrived at the triage booth almost bent in a low voice. And I saw her, round face, hair, tail, arms crossed over his chest as he spoke with fellow nurses. Angela smiled at me and recognized me, between the beautiful and fun. Immediately pressed the button to access all'astanteria. The automatic doors opened with a breath and the smell of disinfectant greeted me in that group of pain varied and dramatically real, where everyone is serious, where everyone is wrong about yourself and where you're hurt more than others.
Angela took me to a stretcher, made me lie down and disappeared shortly after giving me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He went back to my personal watch, after about an hour, but they were only a few minutes. In a small plastic tray shaped bean was everything you need to win my battle bibitone a half liter of saline labeled "Toradol, Antra, Rilaten, a cannula, a venous catheter, two blood collection tubes, two patches and a tourniquet. I prepared my right arm for the win. The needle went in with indescribable grace, as though asking permission, as if trying not to bother with more pain. And so sweet as a kiss between two lovers at the first meeting. Angela smiled made me sit in the hallway outside the visiting rooms, and passing, threw a blind eye to bibitone waiting for it to end, waiting for my face pulled by yet pain go away. Three quarters of the drip, the pain eased, I began to think, to be hungry, to feel alive. Sandra figured in the waiting room reading a newspaper or watch television with the volume too low to be heard and too high to remain silent in the early morning of early summer. The sun filtering through the windows automatic torn from some patients disappointed. Drunks and tramps began to pack up and leave their beds at night. Angela was to close off the drip and the needle cannula, while the doctor on duty drew up another piece of my collection of reports. Battle won, at least for now, until next Angela chaste kiss to my veins.
Disclaimer: This story is the intellectual property of the author. Although not covered by copyright, is the fruit of his genius.
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