His face comes into view from over my head. I notice the weather-beaten skin around his eyes. Gardener? Sailor? Cowboy? I try to imagine the person inside the mask. Then I decide that I should practice detachment. ”Just a pinch, and then a burn” he says. ”You’ll be fine as long as you don’t try to talk”. My eyes are open, but covered. I feel pressure in my neck, wet and gristly, but no pain. Practice detachment, I remind myself. I hear voices, but they are not talking to me. ”How are you?” one asks. ”Not sure.” he says. ”My last patient lost her son when he was ten. So nothing I told her could ever be as bad as that.”
(Mindful Writing Challenge entry)
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good job!!!
Thanks, Terry. That was such an other-worldly experience for me, and I was trying to feel nothing. Then the darn doctor had to go and express human feelings.