It was only minor surgery, after all--snip a little cartilage and
drain some fluid. An hour after it was over, hearing his name called, he
slipped in and out of awareness. His throat burned from the breathing
tube they’d removed. He longed for ice chips fed by his loving wife, the
laughter of his children, a nuzzle from the family dog. The pain
throbbed but was less than what he’d been told to expect. The bed
sheets scratched his face, and he felt heavy against the mattress. As the
hours passed, he grew gradually lighter, more aware, and finally lifted
himself from the bed. By evening, he wanted to go home.
A week later, after his funeral, he felt fully himself again, ready to
haunt those he had left behind, starting with the doctors and nurses
who had let him die.
John Sheirer lives in Northampton, Massachusetts, with his wonderful wife Betsy and happy dog Libby. He has taught writing and communications for 26 years at Asnuntuck Community College in Enfield, Connecticut, where he also serves as editor and faculty advisor for Freshwater Literary Journal (submissions welcome). He writes a monthly column on current events for his hometown newspaper, the Daily Hampshire Gazette, and his books include memoir, fiction, poetry, essays, political satire, and photography. Find him at JohnSheirer.com.