Jason Street (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
itwontstopme) wrote2009-01-30 04:36 pm
itwontstopme) wrote2009-01-30 04:36 pm
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just_1_word | 17.10. Bed
17.10. Bed
[Past scene, set when Jason's in hospital after the accident]
Jason remembered a string of random thoughts that washed through his mind in the days following his accident and surgery on his broken neck. A lot of stupid little things that had a tendency to enter his mind when no one was around to try and distract him from the pain or depressing solitude.
Wow, traction really is as uncomfortable as it looks.
Fuck, what if I get an itchy back?
I can’t believe there is a tube up my dick and I can’t feel it.
Wonder if I could get a part in a horror movie.
Are they still my feet if I can’t see or feel them?
Do I even have feet?
Hospital green really isn’t my colour.
I’m kinda stuffed if I sneeze and can’t reach for a Kleenex.
I really feel like a Taco.
I’m never painting a wall beige in my life.
I hate bed pans.
Am I having a bad hair day?
He couldn’t even remember how many days he was stuck in bed, first in traction and then transitioned to the next brace, but still flat on his back. Nurses came and went, bathing him, changing his catheter, telling him – not asking him – that he needed a bedpan. That was one of the most appalling things Jason had to try and get used to. An urge to use the bathroom is something people take for granted every single minute of the day, but suddenly it was gone. There was no urge. He had to train his body to use the bathroom at the same time every day because he couldn’t control it from urge alone. Talk about mortification. As if the catheter wasn’t enough to deal with and having it burst when Lyla was sitting on the side of the bed. It felt like it was one thing after another and that he was going to waste out the rest of his days a vegetable and reliant on everyone. Seventeen years old and wearing a fucking adult diaper.
It was the first time he was sat up in a wheelchair that was one of the worst. They warned him he might feel sick or dizzy, perhaps even as severe to vomit or pass out. He didn’t really understand why and didn’t think it was going to affect him. He just wanted out of that bed. He felt fine. Why was something like sitting up going to make him feel crap? He was a Quarterback for god’s sake. He wished he listened to the medical advice because as soon as they had him somewhat vertical again, he puked like he had never puked in his life. Everywhere. All over himself, the nurses, the floor, the bed. Something about the nerves in the spinal column and being mobile after not being so for so long. It was almost enough to put him off movement ever again. He felt so sick, but they insisted on keeping with getting him up or he would never get used to it. He had to get up and go to rehab or he really would be a vegetable for the rest of his life. He was cleaned up and the process started all over again.
That’s all his life was going to be from then on in… a process of actions. And all Jason wanted to do was just give up. He dropped the ball and lost the fight. What was the point in even trying if he was never going to walk again?
Word Count | 584
[Past scene, set when Jason's in hospital after the accident]
Jason remembered a string of random thoughts that washed through his mind in the days following his accident and surgery on his broken neck. A lot of stupid little things that had a tendency to enter his mind when no one was around to try and distract him from the pain or depressing solitude.
Wow, traction really is as uncomfortable as it looks.
Fuck, what if I get an itchy back?
I can’t believe there is a tube up my dick and I can’t feel it.
Wonder if I could get a part in a horror movie.
Are they still my feet if I can’t see or feel them?
Do I even have feet?
Hospital green really isn’t my colour.
I’m kinda stuffed if I sneeze and can’t reach for a Kleenex.
I really feel like a Taco.
I’m never painting a wall beige in my life.
I hate bed pans.
Am I having a bad hair day?
He couldn’t even remember how many days he was stuck in bed, first in traction and then transitioned to the next brace, but still flat on his back. Nurses came and went, bathing him, changing his catheter, telling him – not asking him – that he needed a bedpan. That was one of the most appalling things Jason had to try and get used to. An urge to use the bathroom is something people take for granted every single minute of the day, but suddenly it was gone. There was no urge. He had to train his body to use the bathroom at the same time every day because he couldn’t control it from urge alone. Talk about mortification. As if the catheter wasn’t enough to deal with and having it burst when Lyla was sitting on the side of the bed. It felt like it was one thing after another and that he was going to waste out the rest of his days a vegetable and reliant on everyone. Seventeen years old and wearing a fucking adult diaper.
It was the first time he was sat up in a wheelchair that was one of the worst. They warned him he might feel sick or dizzy, perhaps even as severe to vomit or pass out. He didn’t really understand why and didn’t think it was going to affect him. He just wanted out of that bed. He felt fine. Why was something like sitting up going to make him feel crap? He was a Quarterback for god’s sake. He wished he listened to the medical advice because as soon as they had him somewhat vertical again, he puked like he had never puked in his life. Everywhere. All over himself, the nurses, the floor, the bed. Something about the nerves in the spinal column and being mobile after not being so for so long. It was almost enough to put him off movement ever again. He felt so sick, but they insisted on keeping with getting him up or he would never get used to it. He had to get up and go to rehab or he really would be a vegetable for the rest of his life. He was cleaned up and the process started all over again.
That’s all his life was going to be from then on in… a process of actions. And all Jason wanted to do was just give up. He dropped the ball and lost the fight. What was the point in even trying if he was never going to walk again?
Word Count | 584