I always hated hospitals.
Ever since I was young, I hated those dredfrul things we call hospitals. I don't exacly know why. Maybe the smell, the scent of death slowly lingering ever so gently in the air, the occasion toddler crying or the beeping machines, or maybe it was because whenever I was in a hospital something bad always happened.
The first time I had visited a hospital I was 3 years old. Short, curly auburn hair in pigtails bouncing, and big, innocent, grey eyes shining as I walked in with my mother. My father had been in a car crash and didn't have very long to live.
"Stay Strong Gabe." He told me "And always remember that I love you. I'm sorry I won't be there for your first kiss, I won't be able to walk you down the aisle and give you away at your wedding, I won't be able to kiss you goodnight or read you stories before bed, I'm sorry I won't be able to fight away all the mean monsters that try to hurt you, I'm sorry I won't be able to guide you into adulthood, I won't be able to tell all the boys to stay away from my beautiful baby girl, I won't get to hurt those same boys who hurt you, but I'm mostly sorry that I didn't get to stay very long with you. I love you sweetheart." And with that he kissed me on the cheek. It didn't take long for him and my mom to say goodbye because they didn't talk, just had some sort of unspoken conversation between them. They knew what each other's looks meant. They loved each other unconditionally and it was quite easy to see. The way they smiled at each other, then their happy expressions changed to a more melancholy smile. Tears began to well up in both of their eyes as they kissed goodbye for the last time. Not soon after his machine was flatlining and about 6 nurses all rushed in, pulling out the defibulator and zapping his chest a few times, then putting the breathing mask up to his face and pumping it the same amount of times; but no matter how many times they did it, it was never enough. My mother and I both exchanged looks of shock, fear, anger, denial, and sadness. Shock of what had just happened. Fear of what was going to happen. Anger of why it had happened. Denial that it actually did happen. And sadness because we realized it happened. Then it all set in. The nurses put the blanket over his face, blue eyes and black hair that I had grown so accustomed to seeing every morning to every night, slowly faded from view. His lifeless hand falling from the side of the bed. It was literally my first instinct to grab at it. Trying to savor the last moments I will ever get to hold my fathers hand like we did when we went grocery shopping or to the park. The nurses thought it was cute. They thought it was fucking cute to see me grab my dead fathers hand in an attempt to wake him up. My mother burst out in tears and so did I. She grabbed my free hand and tried to lead me out of the room, but I was intent on staying with my dad. I was really young, but I still understood a 'goodbye' when I saw one.
Then another visit when I was 5. We were just going to get me checked out, because I had fallen off of a swing at school. Turns out I had shattered two ribs, broken my right arm, and fractured my left ankle. Then the social worker came in and asked me questions about my mom.
"Does mommy drink?" Yes. "What does mommy drink?" Soda. "Ok, does mommy hit you when you do something bad?" No I just get timeouts or a sticker off of my 'good girl' poster. "Does mommy blame you for things you didn't do?" No. Well there was that one time I didn't eat all of my food, and the dog ate the rest of my food, and mommy thought I did so she gave me desert, but I didn't get in trouble though. I just got talked to about how feeding things to the puppy will her sick and mommy will have to take her to ger her tummy pumped, but it'll hurt the puppy. "Mmhmm. I see. Now did mommy tell you to say no to these questions?" No I haven't talked to mommy since you took me away. "Does mommy take care of you when your sick?" Yes, I never ever get sick though, but when I do mommy makes me chicken noodle soup and we sit and watch scooby doo and batman and spiderman movies all day until I get better.
Another visit when I was 12. I was getting my well-baby check up with a doctor I have known litterally since I was born. Not kidding, she was there for my birth. She was a sweet doctor, a little loopy, but in a good way. She was all there, but just the way she acted, she was so silly, and I think that's what made her a big hit with the little kids. My mom was talking to her, and down the hall I could clearly hear a baby screaming their head off, because they were getting a shot. They continued talking and smiling, until the subject of my dad came up. My mom's face turned white, like whiter than usual. She tried to keep up the conversation as best as she could, but eventually broke down crying. While crying she didn't realize that everyone had started to stare at her. She went to sit down, but missed and hit her head really hard on the counter, causing her to passout for about two days.
Things were going good for me, until I turned about 15 years old. I had just had sex for the first time about a week ago, I know I was young, but I went to a party and got drugged. I was 'late' and worried. I didn't trust home pregnancy tests so I told my mom what happened. She got mad at first, then calmed down when I started crying.
"It's not your fault." She kept saying over and over while rubbing my back, but I knew it was. If I would've never went to that stupid party I would never have to go throught this. We were sitting in the clinic. I was tapping my fingers on the side of my phone waiting from the text message from my boyfriend, Ryan. He texted back about how he was almost there, but somehow Brendon, Jon, and Spencer talked him into letting them come. It wasn't like I cared anyway, the more support the merrier. Right? I saw his car pull into the lot and I smiled when I saw him walking. When he walked into the room he was like that breath of frest air I so deperately needed. Well, any air would do just fine right now because it felt like I was choking. I had to remind Brendon that we were in a hospital, not a playground, and that the fish didn't want to play out of their tank. It was actually cute to see his confused face when I told him that. He said he was 15 and he understood this. But I reminded him of his ADHD and all he did was smile and look at the ground. I got called back, but only one person was aloud to come back with me. My mom said Ryan could go if he wanted and he practically jumped at that offer and thanked my mom. When I got back there I got undressed and re-dressed into one of those horrible night gown things and then explained my situtaion to the doctor. She took a few tests and we waited anxiously. They wouldn't let me or Ryan leave the room, and no one could come into the room, so we sat in silence, him hugging me close and whispering 'it'll be ok' and 'no matter what happens I'll always be by your side.' and the occasional 'I love you.' After about an hour or so the doctor came back with the results. They were positive. I practically broke down in Ryan's arms. I could see he was trying so hard to be strong, but a few rebellious tears threatened to break out of the cage that was his beautiful honey colored eyes. 'It's ok to cry baby.' I told him. He just smiled, but it wasn't a full smile, more of a broken one. After we got home I told my mom that Ryan and I decided to move out and get an apartment so we could take care of the baby. She gave me $3,000 and told me she loved me and she wished us the best of luck. We stayed at my house until we could find an apratment for sale. It wasn't until I was about 6 months pregnant when we finally found one. It was more of a loft, 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a livingroom, kitchen, and a little storage room. It was about $150 a month, which we thought was fair because this place was just absolutely beautiful.
Then I visited it again when I was 17. I had been suffering from depression since I had lost my daughter due to an infection after only a month after she was born. I was there because the doctors thought that I might have that same infection. Ryan was always there. He still stayed by me even after I told him I hated him and never wanted to see him again, even after all the times I'd pushed him away just to have him pull me right back into a hug that made my heart melt, even after I had thrown all his things out of the apartment and told him to get out; he still stayed by me, but he couldn't have known what was going on in my head. I was sitting on the hospital bed, dangling my bare feet staring at the painting at the wall. Underneath the painting there was a plaque that read 'if you look hard enough you will see what lies underneath.' I looked up at the painting again, staring deeply at it, squinting my eyes. All I saw was brush strokes and splatters. Maybe I couldn't see it because everything seemed to be slowly fading away from me at the moment. I looked around the room, spotting a bottle of an unamed drug. I walked over to it, opening it up and smiling. 13 red and white pills plopped out of the bottle and into my hand. I could feel them start to melt in my hand so I quickly grabbed a styrofoam cup from the top cupboard and walked over to the sink. I slipped the 13 pills into my mouth and drank all the water. I would make sure this would be my last visit to the hospital. I laid back down on the bed, crossing my ankles, putting my hands over my stomach, staring at the ceiling, and silently singing(really whispering) 'Mama' by My Chemical Romance to myself.
And now, as I'm slowly slipping into an unconcious state of mind the last thing I can think is I fucking hate hospitals.
A/N: Ok so this will probably ruin the entire story, but I'm on my phone right now in the hospital and I had this idea. I promise I'll try to update Family! At The Disco tonight. Anyways R&R I guess? Love y'all!