valetudinarian
[val-i-tood-n-air-ee-uh n, -tyood-]
1. an invalid.
2. a person who is excessively concerned about his or her poor health or ailments.
3. in poor health; sickly; invalid.
4. excessively concerned about one's poor health or ailments.
5. of, relating to, or characterized by invalidism.
*******************************
The glass hit the floor and shattered, spilling the contents
all over the floor. The man gasped,
fighting for air. His bony arm shook
from the effort it had taken just to move enough to attempt to pick up the
glass. He tried to clench his fist, but
given how weak he was, it didn’t have anywhere near the impact the gesture
normally had.
He
looked at the puddle of water and broken glass.
He couldn’t take it anymore. He
had been in that bed for too long. He
forced his pained, weak body to move and slid out of the bed. He hit the floor hard. Water chilled him and glass bit him, but he
didn’t care. He just needed to get out
of the bed. He tried to force himself to stand up, but his arms and legs
refused to do anything more than they already had.
The
door burst open and someone ran into the room.
The man didn’t need to see the person to know who it was. The woman rushed to his side and lifted him
back up onto the bed. She then ran to
get towels and linen bandages, rushing to dry him off and bind the shallow
wounds made by the glass. She scolded
him the entire time. Told him not to
move around and aggravate the illnesses that plagued him. He tuned her words out. He had heard them too many times already.
He summoned
up the strength needed to finally look at her.
He immediately turned away. It
was her eyes. They were filled with
pity. Pity for the poor, sick invalid
that was under her care. he hated those
eyes. He wished she would look at him
differently. Sadness, indifference, even
annoyance or anger would have been fine.
Anything other than pity. He
couldn’t stand pity.
He
scowled, let out his best attempt at a growl, and pushed her away with as much
of his arm and shoulder as he could muster.
She moved back, more because she chose to than because of his efforts,
and looked at him with those pitying eyes. He barked at her to leave him alone. She didn’t move. He tried again and immediately froze.
One of
his more severe illnesses was starting.
His heart beat faster and his lungs started to stiffen, making every
breath a battle. He gasped and clutched his
thin chest and his eyes bulged with panic.
The woman ran to the bedside and ruffled through the myriad of bottles
on his night table until she found the one containing the medicine to quiet his
heart and soften his lungs. Without even
bothering with water, she shoved the large red pills down his throat. She then forced him down and began pressing
and releasing his chest to keep his lungs working as much as she could until
the pills started working several minutes later.
Both of
them breathed heavily once they calmed his symptoms enough. He did so to fill his body with air, and she
out of relief that he was still alive.
She looked at him with eyes of happiness instead of pity. He could live with that.
******************************
Man, getting sick with one illness sucks enough as it is. I can't imagine what it would be like to have several at once.
No comments:
Post a Comment