Happily Snarky

“Well hello to you, too, Mr. Thunder,” said the young male nurse. “You’ve been in…”

I interrupted, “the land of fudgies and hell, a car accident, a helicopter, in and out of consciousness, and out of my body a handful of times.”

“Your wife mentioned you’d be snarky and cantankerous if you came around,” said an older female nurse. 

She was behind my bed adjusting the flow of fluids dripping from clear vinyl bags.

My wife…right. “Remember to ask her about seeing you do your levitation act.” I thought. She’s the one owing me an explanation not the other way around.

“I’m Edna, lead nurse on this floor tonight,” the female nurse said. “This is Albert and he’ll be your on-call nurse for the remainder of this shift. What answers are you speaking of Mr. Thunder?”

I considered telling the nurses of my spirit flight and quest for answers. No, I best not complicate things by sharing self-incriminating information, things suggesting my brain noodles were overcooked. 

“Oh, it’s nothing Edna,” I replied, “Just tantrum dreams I suspect.”

Nurse Albert, seeing me out of the coma, left and returned with a small plastic jug of ice water and an adult-sized sippy cup but with a straw. My mouth felt like a dried up creek bed and I motioned for the cup of water. Albert held it so I could drink. I was a pretty weak yet.

Looking toward the window, a strip of darkness about six inches wide squeezed between mint-green drapes. City lights twinkled and hinted at my location. The thumping of blades beating against the air outside got louder as the jet-copter came in for a landing.

“I’m in Marquette,” I remarked.

“Yes sir,” said Albert, “and for a while I’d say. You’re hurt pretty bad. And by the way, we’re taking you down for a scan, brain and chest mostly. The doctor wants to know what may have caused your coma. You lost lots of blood and maybe that’s all it was. Gotta rule things out, you know, clots and bleeds. Don’t you agree, Mahg-iss…how do I pronounce that name of yours Mr. Thunder? What is that, Indian?”

“Native American,” I grumped, “and its Mih-gih-zih but call me sir and save yourself the trouble.”

Undaunted, Albert smiled and tried again. “Mih-gih-zee?”

“Close enough. Now lift the head of this bed up,” I said.

Albert ignored me as pain in my led whined like an over-tired kid and I ground my teeth.

“You mentioned my wife. Where is she?” I asked, “And how ‘bout something for this awful agony my leg is causing.”

“Mrs. Thunder was here for a while,” said Edna, unplugging some wires from the wall, “but she went to a local hotel for the night. She’ll be here in the morning I’m sure. I doubt she’d want to be called after midnight. I bet you miss the coma. No pain in that state I’m told.”

Nurse Albert left and returned with a vial. Checking his watch, he remarked that it was 3 o’clock in the morning and marked it on my chart. Drawing some pain killer from the small bottle with a syringe, he dosed me via the tube taped to the back of my left hand. I felt sweet carelessness wind itself through my veins.

For the first time in weeks, I dreamlessly slept through a full body scan. Deep within my psyche and appearing as peace, anxiety and silence, having gone AWOL, formed an alliance. I would learn of their conspiracy soon. 

Copyright © 2015 Migizi M. New Song. All Rights Reserved.