from the archives: a night in pediatrics

the needle is the size of my favorite stuffed rabbit and runs through a length of clear plastic tube into a retractable syringe. a loosened roll of sterile gauze curls delicately against the metal surgical tray, bottles of iodine uncapped and ready. i watch my doctor choose a swatch of gauze as he fixed me with a stare that could cut diamonds. 

“what’re you always looking back here for? i'm gonna stick this in the wrong lung if you don’t sit still.”

i shrug. 

"i dunno. just nervous, i guess. you said it was gonna hurt.”

he nods, motioning me into place. 

"i did say that, didn’t i?”

“yeah.”

“honesty is important to me. i’m not going to lie to you just because you’re a kid.”

the pressure in my chest pushes the words to the back of my throat.

“but last week you told me that the nurses stay up late eating ice cream and they put us to bed early because they don’t want to share,” i remind him, gripping the table in splayed palms.

dr. colucci rubs circles on my lower back with cold antiseptic, sterile mask barely neutralizing his mirth.

“what makes you think that’s a lie?”

the iodine tightens my skin before i can answer. it feels icy and dangerous, and my reply is lost in the gasp forcing its way up my throat. the pain explodes behind my eyelids like nuclear dust and dead stars, so i lean into the searing pressure of their collapse.

focus. find a word. my breathing against the needle sliding into soft, pink flesh.

the word ‘watermelon’ hits my ears like exploding neon, fading the corners of my vision to a dull, crinkly black. the needle landed softly against the bottom of my left lung, guided by a steady hand and fading, pulsating voice. 

a nurse is saying something about practical jokes and storytellers, her voice distorted by the thoughts running through my head as the words burst open in the folds of my brain. the needle is taking its first deep breath, so i lend it my oxygen with a practiced exhale. i can feel the liquid in my chest swirling, tube sucking greedily at the fluid bubbling in my lungs. i squeeze my eyes shut and watched the word ‘laughter’ dance across the ceiling like broken ticker tape. the urge to cough comes in a sunburst of words like 'coconut milk' and 'magic marker', none of which are the right ones to hold on to.

my lungs clench in protest as panic washes over me in a cold sweat.

don't cough don’t cough don’t --

my chest expands briefly, and my vision fades as i bite down firmly on the scream rising in the back of my throat. the doctor offers his syringe another pull at the inside of my lungs, needle tasting the tender flesh on all sides. my chest heaves before i can force it down, and i can hear the nurse somewhere nearby calling "over" on the drain.

dr. colucci’s hands were steady on my back as he slid the needle out of it’s hollow cavity, the relief instant and palpable. somewhere behind me is the sound of a syringe being capped and stored, as the icy sting of antiseptic soaked the hole in my back. 

trembling, slowly, i peel the strands of hair off my sweat-soaked face and try to push myself out of bed. 

i make it no more than three feet before my lungs twisted suddenly, spraying blood-tinged mucus and tears all over the front of my hospital gown. the room spun as the taste of bile rose in my throat, and there are hands stripping me of the gown. whispered platitudes don't make the copper bile come up any easier, but i let the nurse wash me in both comfort and sterile solution.

“i.. wish i didn't have to. please don't make me do it again.."

the nurse smells like flowers and has purple highlights in her hair. the wall in my room is a mural of wildly colored sea animals, and the lights my mother hung offer a blue tint glow. any little girl would be amazed. circumstances aside, i know i am. the moon hangs lazily in the corner of the ceiling, and the moonlight makes nausea glow in the pit of my stomach. i don’t remember my nurse's name, but i also don’t remember a time before the feeling of drowning. and i can’t seem to keep myself above the waves.