Hospital

hospitals aren't too bad -- once you get used to them. My hundredth visit? Every month since i was six? so that's 9 x 12 .. 108th visit. not a bad guess.

The worst part is the stench. You smell the sanitizer most, burning on its way up your nose, scratching at the inside of your throat. Breathing through your mouth isn't much help either --it coats your tongue until you're lapping water like a wild dog trying to get rid of the taste, trying to get rid of the rabies- incurable, for the time being.

The smell of bodies comes next. Open bodies. Rotting bodies. Live bodies. Dead bodies. Bodies, in all shapes, sizes, conditions. That smell's like a straight jacket, rubbing into your clothes, your hair. Like nail polish that wont come out. It makes my eyes water, either from the sentiment that people are dying, or maybe it's the fumes.

Walk in, say hello, change; I hate the paper gowns we're made to wear. No patient enjoys them, slit open from the back so that your behind feels the breeze. I hate when it crinkles as you sit, or how when you finally lye down on the table, wrinkles are left behind. Reminders, how your gown used to be perfect, and now it isn't. How your body used to be new, and now it isn't. wear and tear, eventually the gown tears. Eventually your body tears. It's only a matter of time.

lay back, relax, you'll wake up in a few hours and it'll be as if nothing's changed-- liar. Science v.s. Nature, nature's bound to win sometime. Why bother wasting all this money when I'm going to die anyway. Everyone dies. You can't beat death. Every day I'm cheating, living an extra day when naturally I'm supposed to be six feet under eight years ago.

They tell me it's an oxygen mask, but it's really just so i don't wake up in ravaging pain in the middle of the transfusion. You see, I hate the anesthesia-- I hate not knowing. I hate strangers prodding at my body, strangers who don't know what music I like (alternative, sometimes jazz, sometimes that mushy stuff)or if i prefer Coca Cola over Pepsi (coca-cola), maybe how many CDs I have hanging on my wall (7), or even the song I'm obsessing over right now (xtatic truth-- Crystal Fighters). I mean, someone who's about to see me half naked should atleast know my current musical selection, right?

So they tell me it's oxygen, and I always believe them because --truthfully, it's my own little fuck you! to my body for betraying me and putting me here in the first place. I'm going to make me feel fear because I'm already failing and this is my punishment to my self. Masochism? Only slightly. I'm cheating my self into a predesposed position of fear. I'm always cheating. It's only Oxygen, it'll calm your heart beat and you won't feel this helpless. I always believe them.

Another thing --I always fight right before going under, always try and beat the system. If my body can beat the system, it's bound to be strong enough to produce/save/protect it's own blood cells right? Today, my last thought is such: Am I not only cheating death, but cheating God Himself?