Do Not Resuscitate. Charley Brindley

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      I brushed my hand down my face, trying to wipe away the fog that shrouded my mind. As I did, my fingers caught on something stuck in my nose.

      What the hell? Where am I?

      The tube felt like it was halfway down my throat. I tried to pull it out, but it was taped to my face. My brain was stiff, drifting away. I tried to concentrate.

      Still nothing but muddled images. Not a thing I can lock onto. Eyes open, but hazy view of…what? Inside of a cloud. Lots of white stuff and shiny metal. Tubes. Beeping noise.

      Hospital. Oh, yeah. That doctor who looked like she was about twelve years old. Way too grim for a kid.

      I felt as if I’d been crushed and reconstituted into a piece of crap. Not much pain; just a mind full of wet cement.

      They’ve got me doped up on painkillers.

      Just as well.

      Hope they remember, ‘Do Not Resuscitate.’ I don’t want to hang onto a life of tubes, respirators, and beeping monitors.

      A soft, rustling sound.

      Man in blue, pretty powder blue. Another doctor? Good, not a teenager. Please don’t give me any bullshit about a few more years of so-called life. I’m almost eighty. A few more years of misery and hardships for Caitlion isn’t what I want. Just snip these tubes and let me go.

      The man in blue pulled a chair to the side of my bed, sat, and smiled.

      Not taking vitals, not looking sternly at monitors, no stethoscope draped around his neck, not shoving needles into me; just smiling. Big guy, maybe 6-3, lean, light beard, brown hair, blue eyes, dark blue, like that first shade of night.

      “What are you so…” Ugh, dry throat. I swallowed. “Chipper about?”

      “It’s almost time.”

      His voice was smooth, not as masculine as I expected. It was more like Mom’s voice, from when I was a kid. Soft, pleasant, making me feel like everything would be all right.

      Another sound. The door swishing open. I turned my head on the pillow to see the nurse.

      She checked the monitors. I wondered why the doctor had no interest in the readings.

      She tapped a red fingernail on a digital display, then smiled at me, ignoring the doctor.

      I tried to return her pleasantness. She was pretty and young, twenty-something. Her complexion was like the soft brown of summer wheat.

      “You doing okay, Mr. Brindley?”

      I nodded.

      “They’re going to bring you some nice mush and prune juice. Then the doctor will be in to talk to you.”

      When I tried to raise my right hand to point to the doctor sitting beside me, it was weighted down by a tube and two needles inserted into the back of my hand.

      She was gone before I could say anything.

      “You should probably ask to see your family,” the doctor said.

      “That bad, huh?”

      He nodded. “We have to get started.”

      “If I know my great-granddaughter, she’s around here somewhere.”

      “Sleeping in a chair, out in the waiting room.”

      “Can you get СКАЧАТЬ