It seems I have left every hanging for a couple of weeks and have the next two continuations here.
And as always I will post the links in chronological order if you wanted to catch up.
Links in order:
“Mr. Clark, I hope you’re enjoying the view?” She came in delighted and upbeat. She rotated his bed to face the television that she had left on. She pushed various meds through his intravenous line and started his food bag. He rotated his eyes to try to get any chance of a view on her. She looked perplexed as she wrote in his chart. She looked up and smiled a brilliant, white smile. “Hey, you know what. Let’s devise a way of communication. “She said chirpily.
Okay, Shelly. You’re cute and all but seriously? What the fuck am I going to do, wave my eyeballs? If I could scoff I would be scoffing right now.
“Okay, since all that seems to move is your eyes, I’ll ask basic questions and you can move them left to right once for yes’ and twice for no’s. It’s not much of a system but it might make you a little more comfortable. “She thought this was very clever and since she has picked up from others conversation and comments no one has acknowledged this man in years. They were afraid of him and perturbed by him.
Fine, but I want you to scratch every inch of me. I’m itchy. I’ve been itchy for nine years. Scratch me, damn it! Shower time does not cut it. Also, put on ID Discovery Channel. I want to watch that. You put this foofy crap on. Adam Sandler is not funny. How is golf and hockey alike? It’s not. Something about Shelly made him want to air all his complaints. He saw her as a way to meet death in peace. She flipped through his chart again and was concentrating.
“Hmm, so let’s see. Are you in a lot of pain?” Shelly asked with grave concern.
Shelly, ask me if I’m itchy. Please. He moved his eyes back and forth twice.
She let out a sigh of relief. “Good. The meds are helping you then.” As she was thinking of her next question she scratched her hand. She was scratching and scratching. Then she stopped and looked at David with a coy smile. “Mr. Clark, are you itchy?” If his eyeballs could have exploded with excitement, they would have when he heard her question. He tried to contain his eyeballs and focused very hard on moving them once. She smiled. “Okay, now to find out where. Nose?” He moved his eyes once. She leaned over and scratched his nose and he relished in every moment of it. She stopped and then stood up. She took a stethoscope and blood pressure band and began check his blood pressure. She jotted in his chart again. “You’re being set for your quarterly MRI of your spine in a couple of hours. The doctor doesn’t think they’ll be much difference but you never can tell how someone’s body will heal. In this field, you quickly learn it’s not the same, healing wise, for everyone.” She sounded optimistic for him. He could tell she hoped for some improvement, even if it was just so he can move his neck and maybe talk.Scratch me again, please. His mind pleaded. He wanted to sing, he wanted to laugh. He was in a tomb of fixed silence. His enemies had provided the most precise shot that landed him in this now useless casing of a body. And all he wanted in this very moment was to be scratched. Hell, he wanted to feel a human touch.