18
Tuesday, June 6, 2006 – 10:53 a.m.
Aspen Memorial Hospital – Room 507
Hank awoke with a start. It was black, a black like tar. A black like space without the stars. An absolute black lacking any form of light whatsoever. He blinked his eyes and then opened them again. Still an all-pervasive blackness surrounded him like a pool of black syrup.
His nose felt itchy, as if he’d breathed in a handful of dust. His nose began to itch and then a sneeze began to build. Hank could feel the growing discomfort as the itching sensation built in intensity. It was as if someone were sticking a feather up his nose and twirling it around. Scrunching up his face, Hank tried to quell the sensation. It didn’t work. Reaching up with his hand, Hank rubbed vigorously to stop the feeling. , it continued to build. Then, without warning, the sneeze let loose. When it did so, Hank’s head was thrown in the air from the force of the sneeze leaving his body. As his head shot forward, it hit something solid and came to an abrupt stop only to fall backwards to its former supine position. His head throbbing, Hank reached up and massaged the injured area. A warm, slick spot met Hank’s hand. Although he couldn’t see what it was, he knew he was sliding his fingers through a dribble of blood oozing from the wound. Then he reached up to feel what he’d hit.
Putting both hands out in front of him, Hank encountered what felt to be a solid rock ceiling. Bewildered, he reached both sides of him. These walls were also rock. In similar fashion, the ground on which he was lying was rock. Hank’s heart began to beat faster. It felt as if he were in some sort of solid rock tunnel, some tight rock enclosure. Hank’s mind began to race. He hated being closed in. Shutting his eyes again, he hoped he was only dreaming. Reopening them, Hank’s vision was met by the velvety, thick, impenetrable blackness still surrounding him. Straining with all his might, Hank hoped to detect some small glimmer of light, some tiny pinpoint of anti-darkness that would illuminate his current surroundings and tell him where he was.
He should be in a hospital bed. But for some reason he wasn’t. Now he began to wonder what was real. Was he in this tunnel and the hospital was a dream or was the hospital real and this was dream. Maybe neither was true. Maybe he was in reality somewhere else and the hospital and the tunnel were part of some larger dream. Hank was confused and shaken. Although a big man, Hank still had his weaknesses. One of them was a morbid fear of being confined in a small space without any way out. This fear pervaded Hank’s whole being not just in the possibility that he could become trapped in some small, confined space, but it also arose anytime his personal space was invaded by outsiders, say in a crowded room, on a cramped bus or on a busy subway. The closeness of the people, the lack of movement, the inability to walk freely caused his heart rate to rise and his adrenaline to increase to the point of panic. Once separated from such a situation, Hank would breathe a huge sigh of relief, accompanied by another deep breath because of his size.
Without his ability to see, Hank was forced to tap into his other senses to tell him where he was or to ascertain his predicament. Reaching up again, Hank’s hands touched the solid mass. Running his hands and fingers around it, he realized that what he was touching was indeed rock. The indentations, the tiny fissures and cracks, the sharp protrusions, all of these indicated the presence of solid rock. How he came to be here, if indeed, he really was, was as elusive to Hank as proving that there was life on Mars. Maybe he was on Mars. Hank had no idea.
Rejecting the very idea of just lying there doing nothing, Hank decided he would find a way out. Even if he were dreaming, he would at least feel that he was accomplishing something, moving himself out of the claustrophobic situation he now found himself facing. Even in sleep, one can take control of one’s dreams and turn the visions of the mind into mere wisps of fictitious gobbledygook. Turning over on his side with some effort, Hank could feel the protrusions and sharp outcroppings of rock on the tunnel of the floor as they cut and scraped his bare skin through numerous tears in his thin clothing. Turning further, he was able to lay facedown on the cold rock. Reaching forward with both hands, Hank began to pull while at the same time pushing with his feet. Warm, moist trickles of blood tickled his flesh as they dribbled off his back and ran down onto the rock below. Because of his size and the extra layers of fat that he’d accumulated over the years, Hank felt little if any discomfort as the rock floor glided underneath his stomach. However, when the same protrusions reached his legs, the formerly unnoticed outcroppings and the multiple ridges of sharp rock immediately registered in Hank’s mind and body as they slowly tore into his flesh causing excruciating pain.
Digging his fingers into the rock floor, Hank continued to crawl forward despite the pain and discomfort. He had to keep moving to keep his senses. Pushing with his toes, Hank moved, slowly, but surely. The tunnel decreased in diameter the farther forward Hank crawled. Steadily getting tighter, Hank’s claustrophobic condition increased in intensity. He could feel the rock overhead beginning to dig into his back. Because of his size, the tunnel became smaller much quicker than it would have with a person of ordinary size. Drops of sweat dripped from his forehead. His body tingled with fear and splotches of moisture stained his clothing. Areas of torn fabric and lacerated skin kissed the rock faces above, below and around Hank pressing in on him so much so that his mobility was almost at a standstill. His panic level rising, Hank was about to lose his sanity. He had to find a way out, now! He realized that if he pushed on, he could easily become lodged within the confines of this rock prison with no way out. Now, it was tight, but not immovable. Hank pushed onward, his large bulk filling the entire tunnel like cookie dough being squeezed from a tube.
Reaching an area some 50 feet from his starting point, Hank felt the ground ahead of him start to descend. Unsure of where it went or how far, Hank scooted forward more slowly. Reaching out ahead of himself, Hank could feel that the tunnel made a slight incline downward. Anticipating an easier crawl, Hank’s heart kicked up a notch. With gravity working in his favor, Hank would be able to make more time and perhaps get out of here quicker. Squeezing his body into the ever decreasing tunnel and inching forward a little more, Hank was able to put his entire head over the slight crest of the tunnel floor. At once, Hank’s eyes were assaulted by a bright shining light 30 feet ahead of him. It beckoned him, called to him, enticed him to move forward. Excited and with renewed vigor, Hank began to scoot forward until his body began to descend the slight incline. He filled the tunnel to capacity, his bulk leaving no room for anything, no matter how small, to get by him. To an onlooker, it might appear that Hank was the toy snake stuffed in a can that once opened would pop out scaring to death the little kid holding the can. The walls were getting tighter against his body, as if getting tighter were even possible. Judging from the light ahead, Hank calculated that by the time he reached it, his body would be at the point where movement would be almost impossible. Continuing to crawl, Hank inched forward. The walls, floor and ceiling pressed in on him more and more. Stretching his fingers to get a grip on the surface of the floor and moving forward, Hank found his hands coming to rest in a slimy residue smeared across the surface of the floor. Immediately retracting them, he stopped, frozen in place. He was unsure of what he’d touched. After a few minutes of meditation, Hank carefully reached out again gently touching whatever it was that lay directly in front of him. After pondering its’ consistency and reassuring himself that it wasn’t anything alive that would attack him in his helpless situation, Hank decided that it was time to get moving again. A little slime never hurt anyone. A small trickle currently ran over the area ahead of Hank, but at times, it was probable that a larger amount flowed this way. Probably a spring or something, Hank thought. Pushing once again with his toes, Hank was able to scoot forward a little farther. The slimy surface continued for another two or three feet. Hank pulled himself carefully and slowly over the top of the slimy substance. His chest rested in the slime by the time his hands touched dry rock again. Although a small trickle ran down the side of the tunnel, the entire floor was no longer wet. Hank pushed forward. He was only some 15 feet from the light source.
A cold, wet feeling began to seep into Hank’s shirt. As he began to cross the slimy area, the ooze and wetness wicked up into his clothing. Attempting to move quicker and get out of the slime, Hank gave two or three quick pushes with his toes. When he did so, he started himself on a downward slide through the muck. Because of the slippery consistency of the slime, it acted as a lubricant and Hank’s heavy body began to slide downward. Gravity pulling on one side and the slime providing the push on the other, Hank’s body slid forward into the ever-narrowing tunnel despite how tight he already was. Trying to stop himself, Hank put his hands down on the ground, palms first. The rough surface cut into them leaving lacerations and tearing away skin. Continuing to slip forward, his arms, back and legs shredding as they squeezed past the numerous ridges and irregular surfaces of the rock around him, Hank’s body suddenly came to an abrupt stop as it wedged itself in the narrowest part of the tunnel. Hank’s arms were splayed out in front of him as if he’d tripped and landed face-first on the pavement. His legs and feet were sponging up the slime and water while his chest and shoulders were jammed into the tight tunnel that imprisoned him.
Hank’s panic kicked into high gear. Attempting to squirm and loosen his body, he only managed to work it into the confined space even more. His heart beating, Hank’s panic level went beyond high. The cold sweat that already was saturating his body increased. His chest hurt from the constriction of the rock around him and he found it hard to breathe. Trying to get enough oxygen to stay alive, Hank attempted to breathe in. Because the enclosure around him was so tight, all he could get was a half breathe before his chest was expanded to its maximum extent, being hindered by the rock tomb in which he was encased. Letting out the scant oxygen that he’d been able to obtain, Hank again tried to take a breath of fresh air. Again he could only get a half breath, not near enough to keep his large body alive. Because of his inability to take in more air, he began to hyperventilate. Kicking wildly, Hank only managed to increase his tight situation more. Now he couldn’t even take half breaths. His eyes bulged from their sockets as he realized his destiny. He felt as if he were entombed in a huge vise, constricting him to death.
As if that wasn’t enough, Hank suddenly realized that his initial estimate for reaching the source of light was wrong. He was still 10 feet away. Oozing panic from every pore, Hank began to wiggle and twist with all his might. Reaching back as far as possible with his right arm, Hank wedged it against the side of the tunnel where a small protrusion of rock stuck out. Pushing with all his strength, he attempted to move himself backward. A slight jerk indicated that his body moved. His chest felt less constricted and he was able to take a little bigger breath than moments ago. Reinvigorated with hope, Hank shoved on the floor with his left hand. Although useless, he also tried to pull with his toes. Hank’s body moved about an inch. A bolt of hope surged through him again. He pushed some more. This time his body slipped, lost the progress backward it had made and he slid forward to a point an inch beyond where he was previously. In the process, his right hand became wedged in place, the wrist twisted backward at an ugly angle and completely jammed between the rock and Hank’s body. Hank screamed in agony as he attempted to push himself back enough to move his twisted arm and wrist. Kicking violently, Hank found that his body would not cooperate. It stayed firmly lodged in place, his wrist twisted, bolts of pain searing his arm and shooting through his body.
Hank’s panic level blew like a safety valve on a hot water tank. He began to scream hysterically, kicking his feet, moving his body from side to side as much as possible, digging at the rock with his left hand, banging his head against the walls of the tunnel, gasping for breath that his body couldn’t get. Although the air around him was plentiful, it taunted him as it drifted past him teasing him to take it in. He couldn’t. His lungs couldn’t expand enough to get the required amount to stay alive. The more he squirmed and thrashed, the tighter his prison became and the less he could breathe. The light ahead called to him, beckoned him to come out and play. Pushing with all his might, Hank’s body slipped, but instead of moving backward it popped forward another two inches. The wrist of his right hand snapped, bones piercing the back side of his wrist and plunging into the back of his hand. Blood ran from the wounds as nerve endings, tendons and bone rubbed against each other increasing the excruciating pain that Hank was already enduring. His screams echoed throughout the tunnel over and over again gradually fading into the distance. Rivulets of sweat and blood glistened in the incoming light as they trickled down the surface of the rock in front of Hank. Tears of pain and defeat welled up in his eyes and splashed on the rock surface below. Exhausted, in pain, bleeding, broken and mentally defeated, Hank dropped his head on the floor of the tunnel. Whimpering and reaching out to shake hands with Insanity and his close friend Death, Hank gave up.
***
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A loud beeping filled the air around Dan as he sat at the computer in the nurses’ station on the fifth floor of the hospital. Immediately recognizing that to be the sound of trouble in one of the rooms, Dan turned to look at the indicator panel to see whose room it was coming from. To his shock, it was coming from Hank’s room. Immediately paging Dr. Slaterbaugh, Dan jumped out of his chair and ran for room 507. He’d been in here not more than 15 minutes ago at which time everything was fine. Now something was terribly wrong.
Entering the room, Dan noticed Hank’s heart rate. It was way above normal and his pulse was racing faster than Dan had ever seen someone’s pulse race before. Hank was lying on his back, obviously uncomfortable. As Dan observed him, checking his IV and examining the readouts on the monitors, Hank began to stir. Then, he turned on his side and finally completely over onto his stomach. Dan could see that Hank was unconscious, unaware of his actions. The EEG was registering extremely high delta waves, higher than normal even in a state of REM sleep. Dan watched as the monitor registered waves of 100+ every minute. The electrical output of the brain was eight to tens times higher than when a person is normally awake. Dan was very perplexed. Hank was beginning to move. Pushing with his feet and stretching his hands out in front of him, it appeared that he was trying to crawl or swim. Since he was lying in bed, he was only able to move a few inches before his head hit the wall. His continual movements gave him the appearance of a wind-up toy sitting against the wall, its internal workings still trying to propel it forward, yet going nowhere.
Bursting through the door, Ken careened into the room.
“What’s going on?” he asked between breaths, having just rushed up from the ER.
“I don’t know,” Dan said. “The monitor at my station went off and I came directly in here after paging you. You can see what’s happening. Hank’s acting very strange. I don’t know what to do.”
Ken glanced at Hank to make sure he was in no immediate danger. Then he began to study the monitors and readouts. He was shocked to see the high delta wave readings, the increased heart rate and the labored breathing.
“This is just like Benita,” Ken said without looking up. “High delta waves, fast heart rate and pulse, labored breathing, acting out some mental dream or nightmare, it’s all the same. How long ago did this start?”
“Maybe two minutes. I paged you as soon as I heard the monitors go off.”
“Any changes from the time you came in until I got here?”
“Only that he rolled onto his stomach while I was standing here. I was concerned about his twisted IV line underneath him, but I can’t do anything about it since I can’t move him to get to it,” Dan said, an obvious look of concern and fear on his face.
“If things go the way they did with Benita, he should come out of this in a minute or two. It’s as if he’s in some nightmare, some mental anguish and he’s acting it out in his subconscious. I can’t figure out what’s causing it though.”
“Has anything changed with regard to his IV, food, care, anything?”
“Nothing. I started an IV as you ordered, he had breakfast this morning, nothing different than many other patients in the hospital and he’s been signed up for a CAT scan since you ordered it this morning. Other than that, he’s just been watching TV all morning.”
The comment about TV made Ken aware that the TV was still on behind him, the drone of motorcycles and the sounds of a frenzied crowd cheering them on. Hank continued to move forward without going anywhere as his head kept bumping the wall while he acted out the subconscious visions of his mind. Ken stood staring at Hank and just couldn’t believe he was just having a dream. The high delta waves on the EEG monitor were indicative of something way beyond normal dreaming. In fact, the kind of readings Ken was seeing only came from an agitated and terrified imagination. As Ken and Dan stood there pondering Hank’s predicament, Hank’s right arm suddenly shot forward and slammed into the edge of the bed frame. His hand bent backward at a grotesque angle but instead of pulling it back, Hank continued to push against the frame with all his might. Ken and Dan stood horrified and before they could grab his arm or reposition him, an audible snap and crunch emanated from Hank’s wrist. His hand went limp and Hank screamed in sheer agony, sweat running profusely from his face and body. Moaning mixed with painful howls and outbursts of profanities poured forth from Hank’s mouth. Hank and Dan both cringed when they heard Hank’s wrist snap. The sound was so unnatural and painfully real, it caught both Ken and Dan off guard as indicated by their reactions to the sound. Reaching over, Ken gently lifted Hank’s arm onto the bed. His body jerked and he automatically pulled it against his body like some wounded animal hiding a broken limb.
While Ken and Dan stood there, motorcycles roaring from the TV speaker, Hank suddenly quit moving and just collapsed in a flaccid state. Perspiration ran down his face and a dark sweaty stain continued to spread beneath his head on the pillow. Hank’s fingers were red from clawing at the bed coverings and his feet stuck out from under the sheets, his toes dug into the mattress. His right wrist was beginning to swell and a dark bluish-purple discoloration began to spread across his hand, arm and wrist. The EEG and EKG both dropped and within just a few seconds, everything went back to normal. Ken Slaterbaugh stood stroking his mustache trying to figure out what was going on. This was the second patient today to have gone through some horrific nightmare so real that acting it out wasn’t enough to quell the disturbing images crawling through his mind. There must be some connection, but Ken was lost as to what it might be. The only positive event of the day was Maisie. Although she wasn’t well, at least she wasn’t experiencing horrifying and potentially death-dealing nightmares. Besides, Ken liked the idea that she thought of him as Papa. That resurrected a small smile on Ken’s face as he pondered his current dilemma.
Dan’s voice broke the silence. “Should we try to turn him back over?”
“It’s probably a good idea. I don’t want to take a chance of pinching off the IV lines or having them ripped out of his arm. Maybe if we push on him, he’ll move on his own.”
Dan and Ken went around to the other side of the bed and gently pushed on Hank after carefully immobilizing his hand and wrist. His body rolled partway and then came back as if it were a barrel filled with water.
“Again,” Ken said.
They tried again. Hank mumbled something and half-turned in his unconscious state. Keeping the momentum going, they continued to push him. He turned a little more until finally he rolled completely over on his back again. Hank whimpered in pain and continued to clutch his arm to himself.
Ken walked back around the bed to check on Hank’s vitals. Dan watched. After a minute or so, Ken was satisfied that everything was okay other than his broken wrist. The roar of the crowd on the TV arrested Dan’s attention as a motorcycle jumped over a hill and crashed on the other side throwing the rider into the dirt wall.
“Keep a close eye on him,” Ken said to Dan.
“I will,” Dan said, his attention refocusing on Ken. Dan walked around the end of the bed and under the TV hanging overhead. “If there are any changes, I’ll let you know right away.”
“Thanks Dan. I’ll be in my office for a while if you need something. Also, see if you can get someone from Orthopedics up here to do what they can with his wrist until it can be properly set.”
“Okay.”
Ken turned and walked out the door still musing over Hank’s situation. Dan made one more check of Hank’s IV line and the monitor connections. I’ll have to change the IV bag in a while again, he thought to himself. Satisfied that everything else was fine, he walked out the door.
The drone of hundreds of mechanical bees poured forth from the TV mounted on the wall of Hank’s room. Motorcycle after motorcycle raced by the cinematographer filming the action. The din faded as the door shut behind Dan. He glanced down at his watch. The LCD readout said 11:10 a.m. Dan’s stomach told him it was getting close to lunch.
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