juice and cookies

a smallest thing,
amongst many
other very very
small things
that were probably
known to the
universe,
but unknown 
to me,
becomes
more known. 
a low beeping
tone follows me,
notifications sound
like medical equipment.
as prep day 
arrives,
emotions and 
medications mix. 
a schedule made
means another
schedule will
be broke. 
yes to this
means no to that. 
no to this
however
is not 
an option. 
review rules. 
food stops,
dairy stops,
vitamins stop,
stress begins. 
toilet visits 
increase. 
so-
please don’t
forget-
leave the downstairs 
bathroom for me. 
then 
sleep decreases. 
rhythms go
off beat,
syncopated,
double time.
spouse becomes
emergency contact
and must
‘stand by’,
while I am
made to sleep. 
a chorus of 
metronomic
beeps leads
me under. 
there,
then gone. 
one hour 
later 
I splash awake
to the surprise 
of Fred. 
Hey! I say.
Too loud, 
too direct.
Our sudden
eye contact
causes him to
startle.
Gone, 
then suddenly
here.
He drops the
paper he 
was carrying.
I ask-
What's the 
strangest thing
that's happened
when a patient
wakes up?
I have been 
accused of
robbing their
house. He says.
I nod, I think I nod.
Do you want a 
cookie and some 
juice.
I nod and in my
head I ask- What 
type of juice?
I ask again,
but only crackle
out 'What ..?'
Dry throat,
words failed me
for a second.
Not everything
has returned
from this trip.
Lost baggage.
Apple juice and
a package of 
cookies appears
on my side table.
Fred was here.
Where did I go?
As I push myself
up, an echo
of Fred-
You can leave
whenever
you are ready.
We have called
your ride.