Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Seven

My eyelids feel heavy.

Insanely heavy.

Swollen.

Burdened.

Like they each have anvils sitting on them.

It’s the most unusual sensation.

And, for some reason, everything feels slow. Lethargic. Disoriented.

I vaguely register the sound of soft knocking in the distance. Gentle taps come in five at a time, followed by a long pause.

I think I’m imagining it, almost positive I am, until I hear the sequence of knocks again; still gentle and soft, but my awareness of them increasing each time they come through.

A sea of nothing engulfs me, pitch black emptiness everywhere. I shift involuntarily, my eyes fluttering against the gentle intrusion with difficulty. Sparse rays of light break up the darkness, veiled sunshine slowly eating away at the blanket of obsidian as my eyelids reluctantly part from each other.

I lie there, feeling nothing for several seconds.

No, that’s not true.

I do feel one thing:

Confusion.

A shit ton of it.