Fainting on Demand Reagan Kvien

Fainting on Demand

The feeling of setting a 5 o’clock alarm on a hungry stomach. The feeling of getting up and driving to the hospital for the 6am check-in. The feeling of getting inquisitive looks from all the parents who wish they were at work. And worst of all, the feeling of not knowing what is going to happen. But at least I had the comfort of my new, hospital-issued, colorful, fuzzy, polka-dot blanket.

The sight of room number seven down the hallway. The sight of the nurses rushing to their next patient. The sight of a cold, hard hospital bed, with the monitors waiting to be hooked up. And worst of all, the sight of desperate children who just want to go home. But at least I had my colorful, new, fuzzy, polka-dot blanket.

The smell of hand sanitizer throughout the whole hospital. The smell of all the sterile, cold, metal supplies. The smell of medicine, everywhere. And worst of all, the smell of, well I'm not quite sure, but that distinct smell of a hospital. But at least I had my new, fuzzy, polka-dot blanket.

The sound of whispering coming from the nurses, like lunchroom gossip. The sound of beep beep beep from the monitor on my heart. The sound of footsteps in the hallway. And worst of all, the sound of the emptiness the unknown— just the quiet, cold walls. But at least I had my fuzzy, polka-dot blanket.

The taste of the seemingly fresh apple juice. The taste of the whole grain goldfish from the nurse. The taste of crisp cold air while I’m gliding through the hallways on my hospital bed. And worst of all, the taste of a dry, stale mouth just wanting food and water. But at least I had my polka-dot blanket.

The scars from the many, many IVs. The scars from needles drawing my blood, like a leech. The scars from dry needles wiggling around in my muscles. And worst of all, the scarred memories that haunt me every time I step into a hospital. But at least I had my blanket.

The hope of gaining insight. The hope of getting real answers after years of tests and medication. The hope of getting better and not feeling this way anymore. And worst of all, no hope of any of it coming true. But at least I had the comfort of my new, hospital-issued, colorful, fuzzy, polka-dot blanket.

Reagan Kvien, Grade 9 Roseau High School, Roseau Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali