Limitless

         For my last day in the chamber, I tried to be hyper aware of everything, tried to hold onto every sensation. It was difficult, I felt my attention slipping all over the place. 

        Sally was the only one on the floor; I could hear KC puttering around in the tiny kitchen. For the last time, Sally checked my blood pressure, which was high, and my glucose, which was low. She gave me some cranberry juice to bring it up to 130. As I sat there drinking it she said, “Okay, since this is your last day, I have to give you the spiel. But before I do, I need to show you the new sign Martin taught us.” She made a kind of shaka of her right hand and put her left hand near her elbow and wiggled her fingers.

        “Bullshit!” she cried. “And now the spiel.”

        The spiel basically consisted on telling me if I needed anything, I shouldn’t hesitate to call, and that I should definitely write them a Google review. “I’m not saying it has to be five star… but it kind of has to be five star,” she said. “I know it’s stupid, but they really read these things.”

      “What’s it worth to you?” I asked, putting out my palm. 

        “Listen buster, don’t give me any…” She made the sign for bullshit, then slipped the elastic for the grounding wire on my wrist. I pressed the silver button for the last time. For the last time, the green light flashed on. I was not going to burn to death in the chamber. 

        “We watching Limitless today?” she asked. I said sure. She had been trying to get me to watch this damn movie all month for some reason, though she kept saying it wasn’t great. 

        “Then why do you want me to watch it?” I kept asking.

        It was, indeed, not great. Bradley Cooper plays a man who gets hooked on a drug that increases your mental capacity to one hundred percent. It also made him know just what to do and say in every situation. Hijinks ensued. It was reasonably entertaining as long as you didn’t stop to think about it. 

        When the movie ended she put the patient channel on. A piano and violin braided their melodies together as waterfalls cascaded, clouds drifted, and a furry-antlered elk chewed on leaves. Then she twisted the knob and my ears started to crackle for the last time. I worked my jaw and after ten minutes she twisted another knob and the machine went silent. It was over. 

        She pulled me out and she and KC took my vitals and checked my ears. KC asked, “Has anyone ever told you you have exquisite eardrums?” She wore a Foo Fighters t-shirt instead of scrubs. I changed and when I came out of the dressing area she asked if she could give me a hug. Sally came over and said she wanted a hug too. Alan came out of the kitchen and said he didn’t need a hug but that he would miss me regrdless. 

        I wanted to say goodbye to Jenny and Gladys but they were running around somewhere. I was dazed by all the hugging and couldn’t think of anything clever or profound to say. My brain felt like oatmeal. I wished I had some but f those drugs Bradley Cooper had been on. I put the thank you cards I’d drawn for them on the counter and told them I’d see them soon –after all, I would still be coming to wound care once a week. And then I walked out, feeling an overwhelming, seemingly infinite number of things as I staggered into the blinding sunlight.