#Short Short Story #Operation #Child

I could hear the humming of people’s voice outside the room, buzzing in my head.

The doctor behind the desk in front of me, bold and bony, scrutinized me with his deep-set eyes, “Huh, well, we have bad news.”

Me, only eleven, wriggled slightly on the stool, hands folded in on my lap, an ominous feeling rising from my stomach. I peeked sideways and found my dad clutching his hat in his hands, rubbing it, and my mom shifting her weight.

The doctor looked down at me, blinking rapidly to signal my parents.

“It’s fine, she can hear.” Dad patted my shoulder, “She’s old enough.”

“Okay, then. I’m afraid she needs to go through an operation. She has a crack on her spine, and we’d need to take that piece of bone out. She had it since birth naturally, so we can’t fix it any other way.”

“How long?” Dad’s voice sounded a bit hoarse.

“If you mean the operation, 3 hours. If hospitalization? Well, we have to see, but at least two months.”

I clenched at the stool, nails scratching at the edge, though gladly it was too noisy for them to hear it. I heard a sudden inhale of air and saw a drop of tear sliding across my mum’s cheek. I blinked, dazed.

It was later that my parents explained what an operation exactly meant, but I was still too young to be afraid of it, or you could say I was just too trusting.

A week later, I was stripped naked, given a thin layer of blue cloth and was told to wear it. I did as bid, and then laid face down on a bed with wheels and wheeled me into a huge room.

I strained my neck up and saw the heavy two-layer door closing behind me with my parents tipping their toes to wave goodbye. I gave them a reassuring smile and I think my mom cried again.

I was calm though, as a young nurse murmured to me, “Don’t be afraid, we’ll be fast. Here’s a needle to put you to sleep, and after you wake up, your parents will be with you again.”

“Okay,” I mumbled with my dry throat, seeing the tip of the needle penetrating my skin and the nurse’s hand slowing pushing its end. The gooey liquid emptied.

After that, the nurse left me in the centre of the room and sat beside me, “Do you need to talk?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You are so brave. If you don’t want to talk, then let’s be silent if you want.”

“Sure,” I turned my head sideways to observe medical staff striding and marching themselves here and there, speaking terminologies so fast and complicate that it was as if I’m listening to a foreign language.

I knew whatever liquid injected into me, it was supposed to make me all dizzy and sleepy. I relaxed my body as much as possible, striving to search out a hint of sleepiness in me.

When finally, I found it, I told the nurse, “I’m going to sleep.” And closed my eyes.

‘Relax, relax, relax, I have to sleep’ I repeated to myself again and again. My breathing slowed, but for some reason, my mind was still clear.

As I started to worry if the effect of the liquid will ever kick in, I head the nurse saying, “Did I inject too much? It’s still early.”

I grinned internally.

I kept becoming closer to sleep when I felt a thin, icy cold line was drawn on my back. Is it really pen drawing or is it actually a blade cutting me open? I was in a state where I could allow myself to sink into unconsciousness or choose to come back to my senses. Should I try? It might be fun! They’ll surely panic. But what if I’m already bloodily open? Nah, don’t wanna risk it.

So, I sank, sank, and sank into the darkness.