“Just breathe through your nose, patient 412” he said as his face slowly blurs until all the remains is a blob of white. Then everything goes dark, a dark I can feel as all I see is nothing. My mind goes somewhere else so it’s not disturbed by the torture my body feels.

I am patient 412. Having brown hair and blue eyes, by being short or tall, or by being black or white, identifies most people. I am identifies by the blood in my veins, the bands identify me on my wrist, and the holes in my heart. Everyone has a name, mine is patient 412.

Hours pass as quick as minutes until you finally come back into a painful reality. The pain gets worse with every breath. The nurse comes in to ask me how I feel; I feel undead. I look at my chest, six stitches. Great another scar. Three days pass, I get released from the hospital to go back to our apartment in Jackson, Mississippi. Something doesn’t feel right, I don’t feel right, but the doctor says I’m fine so I ignore the feelings.

September 30th, 10:30pm. The feelings resurface, stronger than before. My left arm goes numb, my heart beats like a hammer, my chest is the nail, and my eyes roll back into my head. There’s light, but I can’t see. There’s air, but I can breathe. I don’t know what’s going on. “Check her vitals.” I come in and out of consciousness. “412, you’re going to be okay.” I wake up in the hospital September 31st, 8:22pm. The doctor and my nurse come into my room. They tell me that I’ve been admitted into this hospital and that I’ll be here for a while. I ask them what happened. “We made a mistake. During surgery we blocked two of your main arteries. You had a heart attack as a result.” “Then go in and fix it” I respond. “Right now you wouldn’t survive the surgery, we have to strategically plan it out, so you have to stay where we can monitor you.” I was speechless, stunned, and crushed.

Days go by before I see the doctors again. They hook me up to a machine and put me in front of a treadmill. I ran for about 5 minutes before passing out, falling off, and fracturing three ribs. The doctors are disappointed as their favorite toy breaks. I wake up back in my room. Beep, beep, beep, beep. Great, now there’s a cardiac monitor in here. I notice a new yellow, rubber hospital band on my wrist. There is some words on them, “Fall Risk.” Perfect, it goes with my red “drug allergy wristband.

A couple days later they put me back on the treadmill. This time it was different; I ran the full ten minutes. I got off smiling. I go to the intern holding a cup of water and take a sip. “How do you feel?” “I feel…” I can’t speak. I start screaming, but my lips don’t move. I collapse, unable to control my body my legs start to violently kick, and my arms start to twitch. I can still see everything, but I have no control. I have never experienced this before; it wasn’t like the heart attack. What is this? “Hold her down gently, she’s seizing, she could hurt herself.”

October 17th, 9:05am. I woke up, it was a day like every other. I had breakfast, watched TV, and had lunch. In late afternoon I started to get those terrible feelings again, but worse. I pressed my emergency button, but it already started. My left arm went dead, my heart pounded hard in my chest. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. My head was in agonizing pain; I couldn’t breathe as if I was drowning in air. Beep… Beep… Beep… Everything went blurry, until nothing. I couldn’t feel the stabbing pressure or violent shocks on my chest. I couldn’t feel the pain.

What is death? Is it a sad tragedy? Is it a cruel joke played by fate? Or is it a peaceful getaway from a painful home. If you’re in constant pain and suffering is it a bad thing? Should you be cried over or should they be relieved that you’re away from it all? No one can answer these questions with certainty because we all have a different identity.

I woke up only to find out they are going to be put back to sleep for emergency surgery. Before I go under I look at something new on my wrist. It’s a purple wristband; on it says “DNR”, for Do Not Resuscitate. I stare at the doctor in shock. His eyes never meet mine as he tells me to relax. I feel like I was hit by a train. He tells me to relax when he looks more nervous than I do. Almost like he knows I am not suppose to make it off the operating table. I started to tear up, but if this is the end than I am ready.

When all my memories involve hospital bed, gross food, blood, and annoying cardiac monitor beeps, what can I do? I can’t fix my heart, and I can’t take away the pain. These bracelets are here permanently. I have no control over it, it is unfixable. It will kill me; these surgeries just slow it down. I can only hope it is a peaceful getaway, a sweet escape, or a beautiful paradise.
“Is she stable?”
“She isn’t breathing on her own and her blood pressure is dropping.”
“Don’t let her die.”
Sometimes we wonder why good or bad things happen to certain people. Why we have to go through things that other people don’t. Why someone has to live and someone has to die.
“We’re losing her.”
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
If I wake up I am going to look at this differently. This isn’t my identity. I won’t let it be.
Beep.. Beep.. Beep..