Waking Up In A Strange Place

The first thing I knew was pain. Extreme pain. Pain so great that all I wanted to do was close my eyes and escape from it.

So, I did.

The next thing I remember was feeling hot and heavy. My limbs seemed to sink into the soft mattress under me, much too heavy for me to even try to lift.

So, I didn't.

My chest was heavy, each breath a struggle for survival. I thought I could hear the low sound of crying this time, but it soon faded into the darkness around me. I needed to breathe; I wanted to live.

So, I did.

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Trying to wake up was like trying to walk through sludge, my eyelids so heavy it really wasn't worth the energy to open them.

That was fine. If I couldn't see, I could figure things out a different way.

I took in a deep breath through my nose, trying to smell what was going on around me.

Wherever I was, I was surrounded by flowers. Roses, lilies, and lilacs. I took in another sniff and could smell the harsh, antiseptic smell of a hospital. Most people hated that smell, but truthfully, I loved it. As a doctor, I spent more time in a hospital than most, and that smell was home to me.

So, I was in a hospital with flowers around me.

What could I hear?

I could hear the beeping of the patient monitor just behind my head and to the right. It sounded like the heart rate was steady, so whoever the patient was, they were doing fine based on the sound. It would be much easier if I could just open my eyes to see what the numbers were on the screen, but that was too much effort.

There was no other sound inside the room, so clearly, I was by myself. That made me the patient.

All of a sudden, I could hear the beeping increase as my heart started to pound over the fact that I was the patient in the bed.

I gripped the thin, scratchy sheets in my hands, trying to calm myself back down before the monitor alerted the nurse on duty that I was awake. Taking in a few breaths, I continued to try and figure out my situation with my eyes still closed. It would make me feel more in control and less likely to lose my shit.

What else could I feel? I could feel the scratchy sheets that were definitely not thick enough to protect me from the coldness of the room. A breeze from some type of vent overhead caused my skin to pebble as I shivered slightly. Nothing sucked more than being in bed with thin blankets.

There was a slight creek as the door opened, letting in even more cold air. There was only one thing I hated more than thin blankets, and that was being cold. The door quickly closed again and I took in a small breath, trying to scent who was in the room with me.

Look, I know it is a weird habit, but it was something that I had done since I was a kid. My sense of smell was more developed for some reason than any other one, and without being able to see, I would have to go with that.

Whoever just entered didn't work for the hospital, that was for sure. She, and I am assuming that it is a she based on her scent, was wearing perfume or maybe a lotion that smelled like roses and ivy. Not young, they tend to wear stuff that smells like food, but not a grandma either; they went with a stronger, more potpourri scent.

Middle-aged then.

I heard her shuffle and sit down in a chair, the seat cushion rustling as it took her weight.

Once again, the door opened, and I could hear the footsteps of someone else approaching the bed. Male. Smelled like… cedar and blood? That wasn't a good combination.

I wrinkled my nose, trying to get the scent out of it.

"She moved!" gasped the woman sitting in the chair, and I heard her get up and approach me, her smell getting closer and closer with every step she took.

"That she did," came a masculine voice beside my head. He sounded older, with a bit of a rasp to his voice. "Let's get her checked out."

I felt his hands reach down and press on the pulse at my wrist. Why would he do that? He could tell by the monitor that kept beeping what my heart rate was.

I rolled my eyes, even though no one could see it. Taking the pulse from the wrist, while a great source, was still a bit redundant, seeing as he was now listening to my heart. The cold pressure from a stethoscope brushed against my bare chest, and it was all I could do to hold back the fist that wanted to take a swing at him.

I always made sure to breathe on the metal first before placing it on a patient's skin. They were already in enough pain from whatever brought them in here, and the cold air practically guaranteed that they were cold. Adding to that was nothing but a bitch move.

"Heartbeat is good," muttered the male, who I understood to be the doctor. A completely unprofessional doctor, but a doctor, nonetheless.

The woman let out a sigh as if she couldn't have figured it out from the monitor.

The thin patient gown that I was in shifted, completely exposing my side to the cold air. Once again, the fucking cold stethoscope was placed on my bare skin, causing more goosebumps to appear on my skin.

Seriously, where the fuck did this doctor get his license from? The back of a cereal box?

He roughly pulled the blankets up when he was done, not even bothering to smooth them out. I would definitely have something to say to his director once I could open my eyes. His bedside manner was just ridiculous!

"I can't hear anything wrong with her lungs, but we might need more tests done. The bruising on her ribs seems to be healing properly so we can be assured that the internal damage has healed on its own," rumbled the doctor, cutting through my thoughts. Bruised ribs? What the hell? I don't remember hurting my ribs. What is he talking about?