My stomach ache is getting worse. I feel sick. But I have nothing in my stomach to vomit.
Eight days ago I stopped eating and drinking, and the accumulat-ing stomach juices make me feel sick. During the day a narrow tube is put in to pump out the fluid. In the evening the doctors remove the tube. My stomach is supposed to get used to working normally. But it doesn’t seem to want to.
I try to put up with it. I don’t want to cause trouble. And the tube also scares me. But the main thing I am afraid of, is that the man in the next bed will start shouting again if the nurse comes into the room.
"N-u-r-s-e!"
I can’t stand it any longer. My stomach is turning. Like being drunk or seasick. If only I could puke!
Rachel comes into the room. Her eyes are red with fatigue. She glances at the other wounded man. He looks at us blankly. Is he sleeping? Or is his mind in a world we don’t know?
"Do me a favor," I ask of her. "I feel terrible. I need the tube." "Don’t talk nonsense," she laughs at me. "It is just that you can’t sleep, and you are annoyed that the doctor is sleeping peacefully."
"Be a good girl," I say and smile through the pain. "When I get out of here I’ll give you a really nice kiss."
"Promise?"
"I promise!" She laughs and goes to fetch the doctor. I like her because she makes fun of me, as if I was healthy and just pretending to be a patient.