19

I was in bed for two weeks. Eating, pissing, shitting, bathing in front of, and with the help of three or four nurses at a time. I remember very little. I remember collapsing, and I remember seeing myself naked in front of a mirror, and I remember the morning I woke up and couldn't move a muscle in my body. I thought I was dead that morning, until I felt a warm wetness between my legs. I swore I was bleeding. I don't know why, but I did. I figured if I wasn't dead, the end was coming near. I was a bit disappointed when I later discovered I had just wet myself. For those first few days, when I moved I did so with great difficulty and I didn't do anything without help. Never once did I leave my bed. I had tubes in my arms, and the nurses came in with pitchers of water to pour down my throat every hour or so. And then they'd hold a funny looking container between my legs to let it all out again. I thought it was kind of stupid, to make me drink when I did nothing but lie in bed all day and all night, unable to move or eat or think. Isaac visited once. I remember that too. He was the first. He came early on and I was only vaguely aware of his presence as they poured water down my throat and made me piss into the container.

"How are you?" He said, but he was crying, and I couldn't answer him. My throat was dry and I wanted more water.

After a while, they started spoon feeding me small portions of mushy food. I threw it back up the first few times, but finally I got the hang of it. After that, the nurses asked me every day if I had to do number two. The answer was always no. I didn't want to know what number two entailed if number one was so awkward. At night they carried me to the bath and they forced me to use my muscles, moving my arms for me if I wouldn't do it myself. It was painful and exhausting, I cried every time.

She came in pregnant at about the time when I was able to feed myself the mush that they made me eat seven or eight times a day. I couldn't see it at first. She and Isaac had come in, clutching each other's hands. They sat down beside my bed and Isaac told me about the family, and the music, and everything else that Isaac talks about. It was nice to hear from someone I loved, as it was the only thing that made me feel alive in the hole I hadn't left for days. Every day the hole puzzled me more and more. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out where I was. Every day I was spoken to by several different doctors who seemed not at all concerned with my physical state. I had tried to retrace the sequence of events in my mind repeatedly, but I drew up nothing. It was the most terrifying thing, not having a damn clue where you were, but unable to find a word or vibration to express any concern.

"Taylor..." She piped up, nervously. "I have something to tell you. And I know I should've told you months ago. This is probably the worst time. Oh God... Isaac I can't do this."

"Tay, we talked to your doctor and he said it would be okay to tell you now, but I don't want to upset you even more. You need to know."

I was listening. I wanted to know. I tried in my mind to make connections with Alexis, Isaac, and something I should be told, but nothing came up. I reached toward her to soothe her crying.

"Taylor, I'm pregnant. It's Zac's."

What happened after that I can't explain. Suddenly my mind shot through a thousand scenes and everything turned from hospital white to black. And then I'm walking. Shuffling my feet along in these stupid looking slippers. Someone's arms are around my shoulders and my waist. My knees give way, and I am caught. Then carried.

"It's okay, Taylor. You did well today. Tomorrow we'll walk the whole corridor."

Who are you? I wonder.

That night, a nurse sat down beside me and read me a bedtime story. It was the most ludicrous thing that had ever happened to me up until that point, but nonetheless I appreciated the gesture. I smiled at her until I cried.

I woke up in the morning and I touched my hair for the first time I could remember in weeks. Handfuls came out.

Then I touched my chest, and my stomach. I touched my lips, my nose, my cheeks. My hips, the tops of my thighs, my ass. My junk. Everywhere I could reach without straining. I got as far as my knees and I had to lay back down. I didn't know what to think of myself. In the morning, when they came in to help me shave, I cut my hair too.

I walk three times a day. Then five.

My parents came to visit. Then later, my little siblings. Alexis let me touch her round tummy.

They say I'm moving soon. To another place. They describe it to me gently. It's so you'll get better. We'll visit, I promise.

I touched my feet the other day.

I have a roommate, Mom says. When I move. His name is Mike. He's anorexic. I want to say, Oh yeah?

I can go in a week if I continue to progress as I have been. That's what they tell me. I think about it for several hours. Where is it? I wonder. Do I get to keep my own things? Would they let me have a vase to put flowers in? Would they let me smoke? I saw Isaac's smokes the other day, and ever since I have been dying for a cigarette.

I'm gaining weight, but I can still feel my ribs.

The doctor wants to know what happened, but it seems he knows better than I.

God, I want a smoke. This sucks. All I can do all day is stare at the cracks in the ceiling. Lines with my eyes lines with my eyes. There are totally no cracks in this ceiling. I just make them. Because there's nothing fucking else to do. The nurse takes me to the bathroom and orders me to get ready for my bath. Alone this time. They stand and watch me as I watch them. The water is fucking freezing and shallow. I can't bathe. Much less drown myself.

I lied.

I was in bed for six weeks.

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