Short Short Story for February 22nd Class by Nikki Wehner

I'm not feeling up to class again which is ironic because this is my favorite class this semester. Anyway, here is my short short story for today since I can't be there during the in-class discussions.

Nikki Wehner

Short – Short Story

The room smells of antiseptic and it makes me want to scream.

            I am so very tired of this smell. My nostrils become drenched with it at least a couple times a month now. They’re trying to figure out what’s wrong with me – and that means being poked and prodded and questioned countless times.

            The rooms merge together. The fake smile has a permanent residency. You’re too polite not to keep faking it. Although every time you still ask yourself how you’re going to manage that fake-ass smile for even another second… but you do.

Every. Single. Time.

            Life is changing around me. This is an incorrect statement. I’m simply opening up to all the bullshit that was masked by my innocence. All of that is now gone in my world. I’m an adult. I’m dying. I’m weak. Yet – strong and focused better than ever. Why? I know what really matters around me because my life timer was brought better to my attention. Life’s really too short for bullshit and aging really puts that into perspective as an adult.

There’s no denying mortality anymore. I am reminded every single time I smell that awful antiseptic that is my hospital room again. My fake smile is up again. My fiancé there with me being more supportive that I could have ever hoped for. I would be bored to death already. I am more bored than ever. I’m so tired of being here being poked and prodded and questioned again.

But here I am doing it again.

            There’s of course the exciting side to it. I love and fully appreciate science. I will, of course, continue to go through the visits to the hospital and those gross antiseptic-smelling rooms because I believe in the science coming through or improving with time.

But I’m not going to lie and say it’s not fucking awful because it really is exhausting. I’m dying. Dying is exhausting.

            Chronic pain is the worst. You’re alive but it hurts to even breathe deeply some days. No one believes there’s something wrong because it’s not always visible. The doubt is the most annoying. The pain is gnawing, throbbing, stabbing, and stinging… sometimes a mix.

            It’s amazing how the human body works at all considering how many complicated parts go into the body functioning but here we are. Walking, incredible, humans.  Here, the scientists are trying to play magician trying to scientifically find a starting point to comprehending the processes when they malfunction is magnificent. That’s why I don’t blame science for not knowing the cure to what I have yet. As much as I was going to the hospital, you’d assume that I would be getting some form of a treatment – wrong. The professionals don’t even know what’s wrong with me. That’s right – they don’t even have part A down to begin trying to treat me.

            So here I walk down the hall, smelling that antiseptic again, with what hope I have left.