NDE

Write a story about someone facing death for the first time in their lives.

 I put on my black, leather jacket that keeps me warm on the road. I put on my black gloves and put my black helmet and black scarf on. I'm sober and the only one in my cycle family who is. When I told my doctor I was getting me cycle, he told me I might as well buy a gun and put a hole in my head since it'd be less painful. But, I didn't listen and got my cycle. Her name is Sue after my girlfriend. So, I get on Sue, turn the ignition and she makes her beautiful roar. I shift into reverse and back her up. I meet the other gang members at our local BP Station. Everyone gets there are we follow the leader, which changes each week. We like hanging out at bars at nights; biker bars where we can be ourselves and the women know what kind of man to expect at these bars. But, we're driving along two of us in juxtaposition to each other in each lane and there are twenty five of us The odd ball is the leader. So, I got my juxta next to me and we hear a vroom that's louder than ours and there's a red car behind us, on us, and away from us and I feel myself topple over and roll over the guard rail like an electric slinky. Then, the cycle stops and I feel my eyes close, but I can see somehow.

 There's a beautiful, bright light and the only way to decribe it is white and it feels like love I get from my fellow bikers, but more. Like better. And I feel myself floating to this light and it's unbelievable. Then, I see my mom who passed away when I was seven and she's reaching out to hug me and my big belly. But, then I heard counting. Loud counting. 1, 2, 3, 4, etc. up to thrity and then I hear now two breaths and I drift away from Mom and the beatiful light. I also feel divine energy and love in this light which is fucking weird, since I don't believe in God. Think about it, man. Babies with cancer, me losing my mom at age eight, my dad being a drunk. Why would a loving, forgiving God make that for me. Why? 

*

 I wake up in a white room, but the white here is different than the white I saw after flipping. I hear a noise. Blub-bub and I look and see a weird thing attached to my arm which has four lines attached to it. Four. Why four? I imagine asking my mom but don't hear any answers. Then, I see a woman in white scrubs come in and say, “Hello, Mr. Jones. How are you feeling?” How do I know this woman?  

 “I feel a bit disoriented. Where am I?”

 She tells me I'm at a rainbow hospital in Cleveland, Ohio. I had a traumatic brain injury and spinal injury but might make a full recovery with physical and occupational therapy. I ask what kind of brain injury and she tells me I have an epidural hematoma. I ain't never heard of that before. Hematoma's a blood clot. I remember that from playing football in college. But, what the hell is epidural? I ask and she does her best to explain it to me, but it's still confusing. 

 But, I realize something. Like an epipheny. I'm not invincible the way I thought I was for all these years. 

 After a few hours, the nurses say they'll be serving meals to us and ask what I'd like for lunch. They place a menu in front of me which looks blurry, but I saw I'll have a cheeseburger, fries, and a cola. After fifteen minutes, they bring up the meal and it's good. Most hospital food sucks, but this is good. Then, though, after fifteen minutes of resting, I have to go. So, I try to put my feet on the floor, but they won't move. I yell for the nurse to come back and after a few minutes she does. She put on her fake smile and asks me what the matter is. I tell her I can't get out of the bed to take a leak. She smiles again and says she'll be right back. She returns with a curved plastic container. She says to go in this container and put it on the side of the bed. A nurse will take care of it later. So, I grab this plastic piece of shit, but my hands don't have the specificity they have before. Like, I can grasp the urinal right. But I do my best to get it in the right position and urinate. It doesn't feel like anything's happening even though the urinal is filling. Weird. I do my best to screw the top onto the urinal and place it next to this bed. 

 The nurse said physical therapy and occupational therapy might help. I hope so. I want to get back on my bike with my buds and feel the cold air on my face again. Then, I feel a small grasping on my arm and some instrument is squeezing it, but it releases again. Weird. 

*

 The doctor comes in and asks if he can perform some standard tests and I say, “Sure”. He takes the small hammer doctors use to test our refluxes and he taps my knee, but nothing happens. There's no kick. He tries it again on my left knee and nothing happens. He then tries my right knee and nothing happens. He puts his fingers on the soles of my feet and asks if I can feel them and I tell him “No”. Then, he says he'll need to refer me to a neurologist since this isn't his area of espertise. 

 The neurologist later sees me and refers me to a pain specialist. The pain specialist refers me to a physical therapist to measure ROM. The OM then sees me and talks about what my goals are. Then, they put me in a wheelchair to transfer me. Wheelchair? Why would I need a wheelchair? This'll probably get better in a few weeks. They wheeled me to another specialist who gave their opinion. They explain to me the wheelchair has breaks and I have to make sure the breaks are on before moving into the wheelchair or getting off of the wheelchair. They warn me I might need an electrical wheelchair for a while. Fuck that. If I have to be in a wheelchair, I'll get my buddies at the local shop I buy my gear at to make me a gas-engine wheelchair that's loud. It'll be just like Sue. In fact, I think I'll call her Sue II. I ask to use their telephone and to get a yellow pages. I call them up and ask if they can do it and they said they could, but there'd be a problem. 

 “What? I'll pay for it or the insurance company will.”

 Then, they remind me most wheelchairs are used indoors and gas causes carbon monoxide poisoning. Maybe I could make it a hybrid.