Medical Trance

The feelings of not being able to do what you want. Being confined to a room with the constant whirring and buzz both in and out of your room. People barging in with only a few knocks as an indication of entrance, or maybe even a warning. Note that I say indication, not a request. They come in regardless of what you say. Even if you're in the bathroom, they'll just come back and bother you again. If it's real bad, you can't even go to the bathroom, and you can't really move all that much. Or even talk to the people around you. Some of the lucky ones get a button for when they're in pain, they press it and suddenly they're not in pain. Man, those guys are lucky. And don't get me started on the sleep. In my experience, there isn't very much of that going on. You feel jittery, you're laying in a bed that isn't your own, and sometimes the bed sounds like it's super old. If they have to, they'll even put stickers onto your body and you'll be hearing constant music for a while. It's not any good music either, it's just a bunch of beep beep beeping. Sometimes it gets faster, but then the people come in and tell you to try and calm down. Or even try give you stuff to make you calm down. I guess you can call it some sort of really crappy trance musics with only a few notes as part of the measure. I'll tell you what. It's not something anyone would dance to, or even download and listen to on their phone. Unless you're some sort of weirdo person. Another thing. The other people around you. Not necessarily the people who barge into your room, but the other people in the place. You hear their machines, the music they're hearing. You sometimes even get to see them if you're the social type and like to walk around. Even better, sometimes you get to hear them sing if they're the kind of people who like the entire world and the next universe to hear their wonderful tones of hurt and pain. And now here I am, sitting here. Listening to this crappy, lifeless music. The uninterrupted interruptions into my room. The screams of protest that the bed makes when you move it. My neighbors and they're affixes and they're lovely little ballads. Can't sleep. Can't rest. This bed sucks. Most of my neighbors are like older than me or have nothing in common with me. This place sucks. Man, I hate being in the hospital... And I've been in the hospital dozens of times.