The clock shows 3:18. It hasn't read anything different all week. It's a tacky black and white clock, like you find in a dollar store, complete with dead batteries. Where is the nurse? I think it is my fifth night here, or is it my sixth? It doesn't really matter. I haven't left my room since I was admitted. I've barely even left my bed. Finally, the door swings open and the much-too-bright hospital light rushes in. Footsteps are accompanied by the rattle of my pain pills. The wound on my stomach throbs. I resist the urge to open my eyes. Every time I look at my stomach, I feel like I'm going to puke. If I keep them closed long enough, maybe I'll wake up at home.
Jack Kerr BSc
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Faculty of Medicine, Memorial University, St. John's, Nfld.
NSTL
