Room 17475

you press the nurse call button
the button just above the tv channel up button
on the keypad
attached to the cord
hanging over the right side of your bed
and when the red light comes on the console
and the nurse’s voice comes over the speaker
you ask for your nurse
you ask for a tech
you ask for the doctor on call
you ask for another plastic tub to vomit into
you ask for mouthwash
you ask for more gauze to cover your incisions
you ask for them to come stop the beeping of the iv machine
when the line is occluded
when air is detected in the line
when the bolus needs to be changed
you ask for medicine for your nausea
for your pain
for your diarrhea
for the pressure in your gut
you ask for water
you ask for gatorade
you ask for juice
you ask for them to disconnect you from all the tubes
so you can change clothes
and to reconnect you when you are done
you ask for someone to listen to you
you ask why you look 6 months pregnant
you ask for new hats for the toilet
you ask for toothpaste
you ask for new blankets
for new washcloths
and a tub of icewater to cool your face
you ask for ice chips
for new towels
for maxi pads
for new bed pads
for new underwear
you ask to stop falling asleep while you are talking
your head slumping down every 10 seconds
and rising again after 5 to pick up where you left off
you ask for a shower
for chapstick
for lotion
you ask for something to calm your burning skin
you ask them to empty your ng tube tank
so the bile doesn’t spill over onto the floor

and when you finally fade off
into narcotic sleep
the keypad falls
from your hot little hand
and i reach over
and pick it up
and press the nurse call button
and i ask for the scars on your belly to stop weeping
i ask for medicine
that will stop you from seeing people in the room
who aren’t really there
i ask for them to stop your brain from spinning so hard inside your head
i ask for them to take away those scared saucer eyes of yours
when you wake up every 15 minutes and look around the room
and i have to explain everything again
asking you to remember the same details one more time
i ask for them to stop sending 5 different people into the room
in one night to try unsuccessfully to start a new iv
because your veins are collapsing
i ask for them to stop with the ct scans
the enemas, the palpations and the x-rays
i ask them to untangle your intestines
i ask for them to stop pulling at your superglue sutures
i ask them to fix the hard little veins in your forearms
i ask them for atavan
for both of us
i ask them to find the 20 pounds you lost
and the muscular curves of your thighs
i ask them to stop you from thinking i am plotting against you
i ask them to take the iv out of your neck
take off the blood pressure cuff
and the fingertip temperature sensor
i ask them to remove the pic line and the catheter
and while they are taking things out
i ask them to remove from my memory
the rank dark green rotten murky smell of your e. coli infection
i ask them to make me forget the beep of the pca pump
refusing to give you another dose of dilaudid
because you asked for it too soon
again

and then the red light comes on
on the console over your bed
and the nurse’s voice breaks through
asking what i need

and i realize she hasn’t heard anything i said

so then i ask for a second honeymoon
a secluded cabana on the edge of the beach
under palm trees
i ask for a pair of lounge chairs
just outside our door facing the ocean
the front legs of the chairs
at the furthest reaches of the longest waves
i ask for you, brazen, in your red bikini
reclining in the sun with your eyes closed
your toenails freshly painted
and your head slightly tilted towards me
i ask for your sandals and a bright yellow towel
in a pile on the sand by your left side
i ask for a barely read book split open on top of the towel
with a trace of sunblock smudged across its glossy cover
i ask for a fruity tropical drink in your right hand
i ask for palm leaves and a breeze
to scatter the sunlight
reflecting it through the facets of your glass
so it dances lightly across the scars on your stomach
i ask for the smallest hint of a smile moving across your face
arriving and receding with the waves

the nurse’s voice comes back over the speaker
asking
exactly what kind of fruity tropical drink do you want

and i tell her
any flavor will do

that part
is just really not that important
right now
any flavor will do.