I wake up in the clinic. I feel every second time I wake up, I'm greeted by the cold, white plaster that is my room. I crack my neck, and try doing the same with my hands, but realize I've got tubes that pierce my wrist, slightly restricting my movement. That's new. In all 149 hospital visits so far- I realize that I'm only one away from the big number, causing a huge grin grin to appear on my face- they haven't used anything similar yet. What are they full of anyway? Coursing with sedatives? Possible. My thought process is interrupted upon hearing footsteps down the corridor. I pay it no heed, but after a moment passes and after I realize who it might be, I hurriedly look for a mirror. I find one right beside me, and check my looks. Short brown hair, but still thick, brown eyes, and a sharpish face. Once, long ago, I had realized my appearance seemed to change every day. It didn't, of course, but my perception sure did. I often found myself looking amazing at 11 PM after leaving the shower, but rather average during, say, school. I'm lucky: The clinics sharp lighting highlights my good feautures and masks the bad ones. I hear that the footsteps have reached the door, so I turn with a smile. Standing there is a young woman with caramell hair.
"Heya Alice", I say, still smiling, "I'm one visit away from reaching 150- soon, I've got me a date with you."
She ignores me and looks at me with a grim expression. Not even a smile? Damn. Sensing that something is amiss, I ask her
"Are you fine? You look down."
Not that I'm an empathetic person. To be honest, I can't afford to even develop feelings in the first place. My condition is, to say the least awkward. My heart is powerful. And I don't mean it metaphorically, or rhetorically, or poetically, or theoretically, or any other fancy way. (I loved Puss in Boots, but it's what got me hospital visit n.32). My heart is powerful, in the sense that in terms of pumping strengh, it exceeds the average heart more than tenfold. In other words, if I want a regular circulation, I need to keep an average of 6 bpm. My heart beats once every 10 seconds, and when it does, I jolt. For context, a regular heartbeat should rest at around 60 bpm at my age. So, at 7 bpm, I have the equivalent to what 70 bpm is. 8 is 80 ish. And so forth. So, if blood vessels, if ORGANS designed for one tenth of the pressure my heart makes my blood exude, get such high pressure, I will, best case scenario, pass out. Worst case scenario, get blown to bits. Picture the following: I follow through with my date with Alice, we have a nice day, I keep my heartbeat in check, and then it starts getting late. We go home, and eventually the mood leads us to, eg., sex. My heart beats, I'm excited, it's still accelerating, beating faster and faster, blood coursing through my veins at an abnormal rate and pressure, my individual limbs slowly swelling until - pop - I explode. So there is Alice, covered in my insides, and while I AM one with her, as sex promises, I'm also one with the bed, walls, ceiling and wardrobe. She straightens out, puts on the smile that I love so much, and says
"Nothing wrong at all, Hint."
But somethings off. Even I can tell that. But I don't question it, and instead just act like I accept it, let her do the check-ups, and talk with her. Eventually, I ask her about my parents, and suddenly her expression darkens. But only for a moment. Her smile is back on, and she assures me
"You've got to calm down, Hint. It's not like you would have to ask me in the first place to learn that something has happened to them. Besides, ", she glances sideways at me "shouldn't you be far more worried about yourself? Your heart rate was at nearly 10 bpm this time. That's 100 bpm in regular terms, which is normal, even low, for somebody who's exercising, but your body isn't built to handle the tenfold pressure of your blood at a time. Even 60 bpm is cutting the edge for you. That's the average heartbeat rate of a walkin-"
I listen attentively. I love her soothing voice, but there's only so much I have the patience to hear about my sickness, so I eventually interrupt her.
"Alice, I'm 16 and have 149 visits here - not counting the other, regular check-ups. I really don't mean to offend, nut I know. Really, I know I was cutting it close, but I'm fine. It won't happen again."
at this point I pucker my lips, and widen my eyes, and hold out my right hand, balled into a fist, with the pinky hooked,
"Pinky pwomise"
She laughs lightly, punches my arm playfully, and stands up. She turns to leave, and is right on the doorstep when she stops. She looks behind her and blows me a kiss with a smile. I giggle a bit and blow one right back. My heartrate doesn't budge. After she's left, I lie down to think. Though I don't have trust issues, I can smell a fire when there's smoke. The sudden change in subject is also suspicious. I decide to check my parents condition.
Late at night, I sneak out of my room. Security's lax in this kind of small city hospital, so I make it out rather uneventfully. I leave room n. 11, and head down the dark hallway. The floor is cold, but I'm too focused to be bothered. 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 19... I go down the hall, and when I reach room nr. 35, I stop. One more quick check to see that I'm really undisturbed, and I enter. It's dark, but I can turn the lights on. Even if my parents are here. They're in a coma, after all. Medicinically induced , the coma is, after all not the problem. The fact that their entire body is riddled with cancer is the problem. Both Mom and Dad had a pleasant surprise waiting for them when they went to the hospital for their annual appointment. The curious thing - even more curious than the cancer being spread onto almost EVERY part of the body - is that it occured, upon verifying the cancer's age, at the same time. Both Mom and Dad enjoyed sports, by the way. They didn't smoke, and ate almost fanatically healthy. The doctors were clueless as to how they got it, assuming that high amounts of radiation exposure were the cause here. However, if they couldn't - yet - work against it, they could slow it down. And so, they put my parents into a coma. The lights were on now, and I give my eyes a second to adjust to the light. I looked at the beds, and saw both of them lying peacefully. I smile, and almost hold my Mom's hand, but remember that you should not touch a comatised patient. I doubt a touch will do much, but I'm not taking the chance. I decide to look at their vitals, so I boot up the computer. It is, of course, locked, but when you spend a grand total of more or less one third of a year in the same hospital, with nothing to do but mess around with outdated software while people think you're in bed, you are bound to learn a thing or too. I bypass the security, and wait for the system to catch up. While the medicinical software is starting, I decide to do my calming exercises. I don't know what results will meet my eyes, but I want to be prepared for whatever they are. A minute passes, and though the program is long since ready, I follow through with my breathing exercises. Finally, I open my eyes. I'm ready for whatever the program has in store for me.