Roselle goes in for her heart valve repair surgery.
Roselle didn't want to be here, hooked up to an IV, laying in a hospital bed and watching daytime TV until it was time. She almost wished she'd told her friends where she'd be-- but at least her parents were there, her dad holding her hand tightly ever since they put the needle in her arm. She wanted to scream, to go tearing out through the hospital, never look back-- but the problem wouldn't be solved. Her heart would get weaker, and eventually the whole thing wouldn't work. This would give her a little longer-- a little longer for what? To try and get through school for an art degree she'd probably never use? To deal with the fact that the first boy she loved didn't love her back? To live under the controlling thumb of her mother once more? She didn't have a lot to look forward to in life anymore. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to remember everything good in life. There was Luna, and her friends, and her job at Tea Thyme-- which she'd be gone from for a few weeks at the very least. She'd heal up, get to do a lot more things she'd always wanted to do.
And what if she didn't pull through? There would be so many things she'd miss. Having her first real relationship, where the boy would proudly announce she was his girlfriend, and never make her feel like she was inferior or undesirable. Having sex for the first time, finally being able to be comfortable enough in her own skin to show it to someone else without fear of rejection. Getting married, having a child or two, getting to watch them grow up-- she'd never get to make a famous painting, or go to Italy, or even to Disney World. She'd never get to sit down and have a long talk with Hamish about the bad blood that seemed to be coming from him, or tell her mother that she wanted control of her own life.
The room seemed too big, too empty, even with the three of them in it; between the reoccurring jolts of terror was that novocaine-like numbness, though this time she did taste medicine in the back of her throat due to the IV. It was supposed to keep her calm and steady, but it didn't stop fear from eating away at her. She was sure her father could tell, because every time she felt her stomach clench, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
When the nurse finally came in to tell her it was time, she felt her eyes well up with tears. She looked to her parents-- her mother had started crying again, but her father was putting on a brave face, even trying to smile for her. They wheeled her out of the room and towards the operating room, allowing her parents to walk along with her until they reached the double-doors. Her father finally let go of her hand, and in that instant, she never felt so alone, even though he was right there.
"I love you, Tinkerbell. We'll be here when you wake up, ye'h? Give 'em hell."
"I love you, dad," she murmured, before looking to her mother, who had been quiet the entire time. "I love you, mum. ...Please don't be sad, 'kay? Dad really needs you right now. You need each other."
The woman's mouth moved, but no sound came out-- for once, Roselle seemed to have stunned her into silence, something that made her give the tiniest of smiles. She was carted through the double-doors, hearing them swish shut behind her and the doctors as she was moved down the hall. The loneliness that suddenly embraced her was painful and terrifying; the doctors were there, of course, but they may as well have been a chair or a water fountain. They were just part of this nightmare.
Finally, she was in the operating room, and they were switching her out from the bed to the table, which she realized was pretty cold. "Hello, Roselle, how are we doing today?" Someone asked her-- the surgeon, she believed. They'd met before, a couple times. Nice enough guy, but she didn't want to focus on him right now. She just stared up at the ceiling, trying to keep herself from falling apart at the very last second.
"Could be better," she murmured softly, relieved when they tucked a blanket around her-- though she was sure it'd be removed after she was out.
"Understandable. Don't worry, you're in excellent care and you'll be up and at it again before you know it. We're going to put an oxygen mask on you for a little bit, and you're going to start feeling really tired and relaxed. It's completely normal." The mask was slipped on over her face, and though she tried to keep her breathing even, she couldn't help but find it hard to breathe-- like the air had gotten heavier somehow. She wanted to make mention of it-- but she was sure it was a normal reaction to whatever was being pumped into her body. She indeed felt herself getting sluggish and tired-- even though her brain wouldn't stop screaming about all the things she'd miss if she died. In that instant, she wanted everything in the world. She wanted her parents to be happy, to have Hamish be nice to her and love her without all the anger. She wanted Braden to realize he loved her all along, to come running and burst in just long enough to tell her he'd be waiting for her when she woke up. She wanted to be happy, healthy, to never have to worry again about surgery or tests or how long she had to live. She wanted to travel the world, see all the wonders it had to offer, wanted to grow up, have a family, see her children grow and become adults, themselves. She wanted it all. It only scared her more to know that most of it wouldn't happen-- and there was a chance none of it could end up happening.
"You're going to feel a small stinging in your arm, Roselle-- are you feeling okay right now?"
"Ye'h," she muttered, just as the sting indeed filled her arm, traveled up it and into her shoulder.
"You're going to feel like it's getting harder to talk, it's just all the medicine settling in. What are you going to school for?"
"Art," she responded quickly, though she couldn't ignore the feeling of the medicine filling her veins. It seemed to disappear in her arm, but her body felt tingly all over. "I want to do paintings," she managed to get out, though just as he said, it was getting harder to move her mouth. She tasted the medicine in the back of her throat, filling up the sides of her mouth, clamping her jaw shut. Panic filled her, and she wanted to stay awake, to forget all of this and go back to her normal life until her heart gave out on its own. The surgeon was saying something, but it was lost on her; the sound similar to cotton rubbing against itself started in her ears, but grew louder, until it changed to the roar of an ocean-- her head felt so much lighter, everything in sharp clarity for one, brief second, as if it was a snapshot of reality-- and then the world tilted sideways, and she was gone.
There was only darkness. No dreams, no hallucinations. Just pitch black. Her brain couldn't even form thought to acknowledge the darkness that had overtaken her. It was nirvana in the truest sense-- no feeling at all, no thought, nothing. She was just floating through the darkness, a singular being in the entirety of all of time and space, and she wasn't even cognitive enough to realize it--
"--vital signs are unstable--"
"--Bleeding out, start a transfusion--"
The darkness was breaking up, and a little bit of thought was coming back to her. Her eyes opened-- but she wasn't in the operating room. It was an entirely different room-- no, a hallway. A hallway completely in white, sterile like the hospital. She thought at first it had to be a dream-- but dreams usually came with that hazy undertone, the vignette outline that made someone realize they were only in a dream. This was real, she was sure of it. She didn't want to stand around forever, not knowing where she was, and so she started walking. She realized that the hall wasn't very long, but it had a lot of doors to it. She tried the first door-- locked. She frowned to herself, and tried the door next to it-- also locked. She decided to try her luck on the other side of the hall-- but those doors too were locked. All along the hall, each door refused to budge for her, until she reached the last door, at the very end of the hall. She went to put her hand on the door, noticed a light glowing from the crack between the door and the floor. She realized quickly this light was the only thing illuminating the entire hall she was in-- and she pulled her hand away from the door quickly. A light that bright didn't seem like a good idea. There was no telling what was on the other side. She briefly wanted to peek through the crack, to see what was on the other side-- but she felt like if she did, it would be the same as opening the door. So instead, she turned and slumped to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees and bowing her head. Someone would come and find her, eventually. She was just lost.
It felt like forever, waiting for someone to come and find her. She wanted her mum, her dad, her brothers-- someone to realize she was missing, and come get her. But there was nothing. No sound, no movement. Something told her she was supposed to go through that door-- but she didn't want to. She wasn't...
That was when she felt fear creep into her bones, as she looked down to the light that washed over her. She was dead. Oh god, she'd died on the table and-- no, she didn't want to be dead. She felt tears well up in her eyes, and she moved away from the door, leaping to her feet and backing away.
"No," she stated firmly. "No, I'm not ready-- there's so much I wanted to do! So much I wanted to be! It's not fair!"
The door opened, and she stepped back further, for fear of being pulled in; she immediately covered her eyes, shaking her head and falling to her knees. "I don't want to!"
She didn't move her hands away from her eyes until she heard the door click shut. Someone was standing in the hall-- a man, looked to be about her age. He said nothing, simply approaching her, kneeling down and wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. He didn't try to force her to move, make her stand-- all he did was embrace her. Slowly, she returned the hug, and she felt the dam break. She cried, probably more than she ever had in her life, surfacing the deepest of pain and resentment in her over everything, every little thing that had gone wrong in her life, every disappointment, every bitter feeling, every moment she felt alone, or sad, or scared, or angry. It all came at once to a head, poured out like poison from a wound, and she couldn't do anything about it except cry, scream, and sob.
"It's not fair! None of it's fair! What did I do to deserve all of this?! Why did life have to be so hard?!"
The boy didn't answer, keeping his arms wrapped around her tightly, letting her cry and scream into his shoulder. It felt like forever, but finally, the pain subsided, leaving her feeling... Better, somehow. Like something had been resolved-- or at least let go of.
"It's meant to be hard," the boy finally whispered, pulling away from her long enough to look her in the eyes-- he had very pretty eyes, a golden color she didn't even know existed in the spectrum.
"I just wanted to be happy," Roselle whispered. "I thought that's what life was supposed to be about. Being happy."
"You have to let go of the pain to be happy, Roselle," the boy responded. "No one is truly happy until they can break free of what holds them down. Being nice to others, being kind and considerate... They're all great deeds, and the path to happiness. But being unloving to yourself is still an infliction of pain and wrath onto a living being. You matter, just like everyone else."
"Is that the meaning of life? I mean, now that I'm...You know. Do I get to know?"
"That's the thing about humans. They always think they have the answers." The boy chuckled, giving her one last hug. "Just live, that's all you need to do. I don't want to see you back here until you're ready."
Roselle frowned, only more confused. Who was this boy, and what did he mean, when she was ready? Being dead didn't make you much readier... She peered up at him, blinking curiously. "...Are you God?"
The boy's lips moved, but no sound came out. She leaned in to try and hear, but she suddenly felt herself being ripped away, back into the emptiness of that black space, with no feeling, no thought, and no sound.
The voice was faint and far away; she didn't recognize it. All she realized was that she felt sick. Like she could throw up at any second. She tried to speak, but nothing came out-- because something was in her throat. She realized her eyes were closed, and she worked furiously to open them, though her body simply didn't want to allow it.
"Roselle, wake up, honey."
Honey? Who was calling her honey? It wasn't her mother, this voice was different. She grumbled, and finally managed to pry her eyes open, a blurry room greeting her. Someone was leaning over her-- her nurse, she realized slowly. The woman smiled when she opened her eyes, almost looking relieved, Roselle just barely managed to notice.
"Hey, surgery's all done. You're doing just fine now," the woman stated soothingly. "We're going to move you to the ICU now, okay? Your parents can come and visit once we've got everything set up, but you just sleep for now, okay?"
She knew the woman had probably woken her up just to make sure she could still wake up, but she was annoyed nonetheless. All she wanted to do was sleep. She was tired, achy-- and still reeling a bit from what she'd just experienced. She felt herself being moved, but didn't care, her eyes slipping closed again so she could fall back into her slumber.
She awoke again in a different room, her eyes opening faster this time-- there were people busying themselves around her-- her surgeon talking to someone, nurses setting up IVs-- she noticed one was a bag of blood. She took comfort in knowing none of them looked grim, however. It was enough to comfort her, and again lull her back into sleep.
The third time she woke up, she felt someone squeezing her hand. She wanted to turn her head, but the tube in her throat simply wouldn't allow her to bend her head, nor would the mask give her any room. She grunted, squeezing the hand in return, and suddenly her dad was leaning over her. She noticed immediately that he'd been crying, but he wore a big smile, looking relieved to see her awake.
"Hey, Tinkerbell," he stated softly. A nurse came into view as well, though she simply stood by, seemingly not wanting to disrupt the moment. "You're doing really good, you just rest up, ye'h?"
She'd never been more happy to see her dad. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, how glad she was to be there, to be part of this world, even if things weren't always good in it. She'd have to wait, though, until she was a little stronger. A little better.
She could do this, she realized before her eyes slipped closed again, to drift back to sleep. She just had to take it a day at a time, get a little stronger. She'd make it.
