Consciousness slowly seeps into my dream-muddled mind. There is a sound. Alarm clock? Negative. It is strangely monotone, repetitive. I finally identify it as skype'e default ringing, chiming its little melody on my laptop in the other room. It is getting light outside so I presume it is morning, but since my alarm hasn't gone off I bury back into my pillows. When my alarm goes off I don't know how much time has passed or even if I fell back asleep, but the alarm wakes me up properly. Time to get up!
Shower. Then getting dressed. What to wear? Something comfy, something that won't try to escape, like so many of my clothes seem to do these days.
Breakfast, reading, idling the time away. Plenty of time, but suddenly the plenty has passed me by and I should have started getting ready to go ten minutes ago. Quickly repacking my bag, grabbing one of the two last Fenix-bottles in the fridge. Running off. Still miss the train, but it's ok, another will come and hopefully I will be there on time anyway.
40 minutes later I arrive at the right place at the hospital, out of breath and five minutes late. They don't mind though, I don't think they even noticed. They tell me to sit down and wait, and I pounce on my bag, intending to swallow a pill, but no time, I barely get my medicine bag out of the purse before I am asked to come.
Not much talking, at least not to me. Talking over my head. Another strip of gauze soaked in evil-looking blue stuff is produced; now I am wise and know what it is and what they intend to do with it. I manage not to fight them, but I am waving my arms, kicking the air, making sounds of protest. It hurts, the liquid burning in my sinus, then seeping down my throat and into my mouth. Tastes horrible, like detergent. They realise it is hurting and state that it shouldn't. The nurse cuts off the strip of gauze prematurely and I am told to go sit and wait for it to work.
I swallow not one, but two of my Atarax, then lean back to wait for the blue anaestethic in my sinus and the pills to work. The doctor and the nurses go back and forth. After around 10-12 minutes the doctor stops and ask if ten minutes has passed yet. No, I tell him. Not quite. He leaves again. Another ten minutes pass before he remembers me. Good. The atarax is dulling my reactions, distancing me from my body and from my emotions, and the blue stuff has started really working, my front teeth are tingling even.
Back into the chair. My feet are twitching, kicking the air slightly, like I was sitting at a bar dangling my feet. But that is all. I allow them to remove the strip and replace it with a much longer one, doing no more than making a sound of protest when my sinus is full and the pressure of getting gauze stuffed in there starts feeling uncomfortable. I get to go back to wait.
Another twenty minutes, now all my upper teeth are numb. Time to start looking.
My suspicion forces itself through the cotton wool of the 50mg Atarax, and I notice my eyes narrowing with suspicion and dislike when the doctor puts me back in the chair and removes the second strip. Luckily I get to sit in a chair, not go to some surgery room, that is something. Safer. Less "hospital".
I concentrate on not killing anyone, on not twitching, as they start poking around again. I can feel what they do through the anaestethic, but every nudge doesn't hurt like last time. Then the ripping, tearing sound when he gets a grip on the thing and pulls it out. It was mostly embedded in tissue. Rrrrrrip! I feel like puking. Sounds like that shouldn't be inside my head.
He says it is bleeding surprisingly little, and stuffs a wad of cotton up my left nostril. I am asked to please not leave, so they can check that I am ok after a while. I start reading, The Waste Lands (from the Dark Tower series) pulls me in and time passes. Suddenly my nose drips. Red. I ask one of the nurses for some paper and she provides. A bit later the doctor calls me in again, removes the first wad of cotton, sucks out some blood and goo and adds some more anaestethic, before setting in a new cotton wad and saying I can go home if I want, it is almost not bleeding at all.
I get out of the hospital and 50 meters down the street before blood starts dripping into my hair. Gah. I find some paper, sit down on a bench outside of a church. Considers going back but figures that since they said I was bleeding uncommonly little, this is probably normal. It stops dripping again, and I go. I don't get far before it drips again. Seems that my movement makes it bleed more. Ah well.
Six hours later, my nose is still dripping blood, but by the time I go to bed, the amounts of blood are minute. The afternoon has mostly been spent with a paper hankie in front of my nose, not getting much done at all. Sleepy from the atarax, but I resist and continue reading instead. By the time I should go to bed, I start waking up again, so I wind up staying up late, but when I finally do go to bed I fall asleep easily and sleep deeply, dreaming vividly.