Read Online The Hunger by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch
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lay curled in the middle of her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, her long skinny arms wrapped around them. She felt orphaned and alone.
She had not bothered to turn on the lights when it began to get dark. It was the wee hours before dawn, and yet she still lay, curled into almost nothing, in the dark. Headlights from an occasional car would momentarily illuminate the room, and when this happened, Paula would stare at the drip dripping of the IV. She felt so powerless, so out of control. It was humiliating to have others determine what shape her body would take. As the drips of clear fluid coursed down the tubing and into her veins, Paula began to form a mental picture of the effects it would have on her body. She imagined her rear end growing to the size of Nurse Bowley’s and shuddered. It would be better to die than to live looking like that.
She ran her index finger along the bump in her forearm where the dreaded nourishment was entering. “I should just pull this out,” she whispered to herself, tugging gently at the adhesive tape holding the tubing in place. She felt the length of the tubing until her fingers lighted upon a plastic contraption half way up. She held it up to her eyes and waited for a car to pass so she could see what it was. “A clamp!” She turned the clamp shut tight and then noticed with satisfaction that the fluid was no longer finding its way into her veins.
Then she lay down on her pillow and fell asleep.
She was startled awake a few moments later by a knock on her door. The night nurse burst through and turned on the light. Paula rubbed her eyes in the glare of brightness. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Something’s happened to your IV,” the nurse said, striding over to the bedside and held up the tubing attached to Paula’s arm, examining it carefully. Close to where it entered Paula’s arm was a faint stain of blood. She traced it from that point to the clamp that had been shut off. She flicked it back on, then rested her eyes on Paula. “This isn’t a good way to start out, Paula.”
Paula’s face flushed with embarrassment.
“Your IV is monitored at the nurses’ station. Please don’t try to trick us again.” With that, the nurse was gone.
Paula lay back down on her bed and tried to fall asleep, but the feeling of powerlessness made her want to scream. She sat back up and drew out her brother’s game unit from under her pillow. Sorting through the coloured balls and arranging them in a pattern as they floated down the video screen gave her comfort. Soon she felt settled enough to fall asleep.
She dreamed she was an orphan, marching in the desert. Her feet were covered with rags, and her shirt and pants were tattered and dirty. She looked up and saw hundreds … no … thousands … of people in the same circumstances. Old people left on the side of the road to die; soldiers with bayonets riding horses and terrorizing the column of deportees. She looked into the face of one of the soldiers. There was hatred in his eyes.
Early the next morning, she was startled awake by a knock on her door. “Time to get up!” trilled an unfamiliar voice. “I’ll be back to weigh you in five minutes.”
Paula sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. A slim twenty-something woman whose blonde hair was swept up into a French twist walked into the room. “Hi Paula,” she said. And without further words, she led Paula to the end of the hallway, her IV drip still attached, to weigh her. She wrote down without comment the fact that the patient had gained no weight during her first night in hospital.
Paula walked back into her room, pushing the IV holder before her. When she opened her door, she was surprised to see Gramma Pauline perched on the end of her bed, wearing a volunteer smock. Beside her sat a tray of food.
“What are you doing here, Gramma?” asked Paula, filled with confusion and delight. “I thought visitors weren’t allowed.”
“Do I look like a
She had not bothered to turn on the lights when it began to get dark. It was the wee hours before dawn, and yet she still lay, curled into almost nothing, in the dark. Headlights from an occasional car would momentarily illuminate the room, and when this happened, Paula would stare at the drip dripping of the IV. She felt so powerless, so out of control. It was humiliating to have others determine what shape her body would take. As the drips of clear fluid coursed down the tubing and into her veins, Paula began to form a mental picture of the effects it would have on her body. She imagined her rear end growing to the size of Nurse Bowley’s and shuddered. It would be better to die than to live looking like that.
She ran her index finger along the bump in her forearm where the dreaded nourishment was entering. “I should just pull this out,” she whispered to herself, tugging gently at the adhesive tape holding the tubing in place. She felt the length of the tubing until her fingers lighted upon a plastic contraption half way up. She held it up to her eyes and waited for a car to pass so she could see what it was. “A clamp!” She turned the clamp shut tight and then noticed with satisfaction that the fluid was no longer finding its way into her veins.
Then she lay down on her pillow and fell asleep.
She was startled awake a few moments later by a knock on her door. The night nurse burst through and turned on the light. Paula rubbed her eyes in the glare of brightness. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Something’s happened to your IV,” the nurse said, striding over to the bedside and held up the tubing attached to Paula’s arm, examining it carefully. Close to where it entered Paula’s arm was a faint stain of blood. She traced it from that point to the clamp that had been shut off. She flicked it back on, then rested her eyes on Paula. “This isn’t a good way to start out, Paula.”
Paula’s face flushed with embarrassment.
“Your IV is monitored at the nurses’ station. Please don’t try to trick us again.” With that, the nurse was gone.
Paula lay back down on her bed and tried to fall asleep, but the feeling of powerlessness made her want to scream. She sat back up and drew out her brother’s game unit from under her pillow. Sorting through the coloured balls and arranging them in a pattern as they floated down the video screen gave her comfort. Soon she felt settled enough to fall asleep.
She dreamed she was an orphan, marching in the desert. Her feet were covered with rags, and her shirt and pants were tattered and dirty. She looked up and saw hundreds … no … thousands … of people in the same circumstances. Old people left on the side of the road to die; soldiers with bayonets riding horses and terrorizing the column of deportees. She looked into the face of one of the soldiers. There was hatred in his eyes.
Early the next morning, she was startled awake by a knock on her door. “Time to get up!” trilled an unfamiliar voice. “I’ll be back to weigh you in five minutes.”
Paula sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. A slim twenty-something woman whose blonde hair was swept up into a French twist walked into the room. “Hi Paula,” she said. And without further words, she led Paula to the end of the hallway, her IV drip still attached, to weigh her. She wrote down without comment the fact that the patient had gained no weight during her first night in hospital.
Paula walked back into her room, pushing the IV holder before her. When she opened her door, she was surprised to see Gramma Pauline perched on the end of her bed, wearing a volunteer smock. Beside her sat a tray of food.
“What are you doing here, Gramma?” asked Paula, filled with confusion and delight. “I thought visitors weren’t allowed.”
“Do I look like a
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