I am awake, but I don’t feel anything, was all I could think at the time. My lips wouldn’t move no matter how much I wanted them to; my mouth made no sound whatsoever. The only thing I could hear was my panicking heartbeat and the rapid inhales and exhales from my nose. I rolled my eyes down as far as I could to see what was happening.
There was a flashing light beaming in my eyes, slowly traveling down until it faded out. Behind it was a silver surgical tool—a scalpel.
I couldn’t move.
But the surgeon could.
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Time was passing slowly, this lingering sense of dread stuck within my body much longer than I wanted. There was a matching silence from the yellow painted hospital hallways, the only sounds being the heels of late night doctors and nurses passing through—none of them were the one I was waiting for.
I kept looking down at the tiling on the floor. Part of me wanted to look at the doors to the operating theatre, but I didn’t want risk seeing a surgeon walking out covered in blood. I wouldn’t take it.
“C’mon, lad, you need to pull through.”
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