The frickin’ nurses are trying to get control over my fucking life!
I’m in the back of a bar yelling and complaining at a nurse’s aide.
“Why don’t you just go get someone to do it?”
I’ve been sick for three days now and she is trying to treat me with my own head ice and mouth ice and “self-injecting” and non-amazing mini-injections from my eyes and neck and stuff. Why is my body not just doing this? Why isn’t my body just healing itself?
So I fling myself at her feet. I tilt them, strike them, shake them, bobs them, banging them. Then I cry and want her to give me a hug and she just grunts and turns and walks away.
And there I am, in a bar with a bunch of other sick fucks, screaming in pain because she can’t fix me. And I’m a grown fucker. And yet, here she is, trying to fuck with my fucked-up brain.
I’m so fucking angry. Why does everyone let us have a shit time with each other? Are we something unique, special, a discipline? Or something she needs to be given over to and she has no choice. She has no dignity and she has no fucking privacy. I feel invaded.
And she has no time to ask how I’m doing when I’m screaming in pain.
No time for “How am I?” either.
“Better,” she says. “Feeling better.”
And that’s it. That’s all she cares about. Feeling better. And yet she has no respect for my absolute need to know how it’s going.
And there I am in the back of a bar yelling and complaining at a nurse’s aide.
And it’s not just me. I’m a sick fucker too. Many people are hurting. A million of us are hurting. And the people tasked with saving us, keeping us alive, protecting us, what are they not even trying to do?
Don’t call it “Me, me, me” anymore. Call it “Us, us, us” for fuck’s sake. Call it what it is: We. The sick.