Three Minutes of My Life

Three Minutes of my Life

“It’s time to move you,” said the nurse.
“No, not yet!” I wailed
I was at the big, terrifying, hospital waiting for my eye surgery. An inch long stick poked me in the eye, and made itself very comfortable in there for about a week! I needed surgery. When they said it was time to move me, my heart froze, and then skipped a beat. I knew it was time for my surgery.
When they rolled me into the hallway, people were staring at me as if it were my last day to live. This did not make me feel any better; it made me feel as though something terribly wrong was going to occur.
“Take a left turn here,” the nurse told my mom. I had wanted her to come with me, and have her be there when they put me to sleep with a gas. Mommy had to wear a white suit and blue hair net from the hospital because the room they were taking me to for surgery was sterile.
We took a left and entered a long hallway with hospital beds lined up against the walls like the one I was lying in.
I was being as strong as I could but the anxiety was even stronger and was controlling my whole body. I felt like I was going to explode! If I did not scream, my head felt like it was going to pop off, but I calmed myself down and thought, “I am not going to feel a thing, all I am going to do is breathe in, then fall asleep. Trained professionals are doing this, nothing bad will happen.”
But, as they wheeled me into a horrifying, ugly white room with blue equipment on a white table, my heart pounded and I got a lump in my throat. Doctors were making me feel worse, they were staring at me like hungry cannibals (or at least it felt like that from nervousness. It was eating me alive!)
The last thing I remember is them putting a mask on my face and saying, “Breathe.” I looked up at Mom and she said, “It’s okay!”
Then I drifted into a forced sleep.

By Meghan Cook
11-06-08