“Thank you, Miss Evans,” the nurse said, pulling a clipboard from the end of my bed, “Do you have any more medical history?”
“Why?” I groaned, throwing my hand over my forehead.
I had been awake for about four hours and I had already seen two police officers, a lawyer, two doctors, three family members and now this one – all just within this tiny one-bed hospital room.
“Can’t you just get that information off my GP or something?” my head was spinning. Somewhere within me, a stranger’s blood was pumping through my veins. Six stitches stretched along my back and even more medical gear had been stapled within my flesh. I was sure the doctor’s watch was also sitting in there, ticking away patiently. They had me rolled onto my side and I desperately wanted to roll on to my other side; my right arm was falling asleep. I was too weak, though. Not long ago, I had been stabbed, and I just wanted to sleep.
“We need to know everything we can,” she rolled her eyes. She was a great, old beast of a thing. Her eyes were too close together and her big, pouty lips wrinkled and pursed as she looked down at me. I sighed.
“Well, I’m pretty much a genetic goldmine; no history of diabetes, my teeth have always been this straight, my metabolism would… certainly make you envious,” I sneered, “I have no history of lactose intolerance, and cancer usually affects my family members at late ages. I don’t drink or smoke and I have no allergies.”
“Is that all?” the nurse harrumphed.
“I have sleep paralysis,” I finished.
“Well, no-one’s perfect,” the nurse rolled her eyes, scribbling something on the board, “You know the drill. Press the button if you need anything, try not to move too much and have a good night’s rest.”
The nurse turned and trotted through the door. She flicked the light switch and left me alone in the darkness. I took a deep breath and with my last ounce of energy, I rolled onto my back. The fluorescent light above me hummed gently as the power within it faded.
(more to come...)