[stylist] writing what you don't know

[Bridgit Pollpeter]

Hey,
 
Last night, Patricia Foster, during our monthly phone meeting, spoke
about writing what you don't know.  Using conjecture, she encouraged us
to create sections of memoir, essay and autobio that tell someone elses
story or perspective.  She spoke about using our imaginations to develop
a part of our writing that steps outside the borders of our own thoughts
and perspective.
 
I thought it would be fun to use this as a writing prompt for the list.
I challenge everyone to write something about another person, or
persons, and get inside their mind.
 
Here is my attempt.  Enjoy.
 
Bridgit
 
The incessant drip of the IV filled the silence as she lay pale and
dying in the hospital bed.  Her mother sat semi-conscious in the blue
vinyl recliner the nurse had brought in.  Two months and no change had
occurred.  Her family watched day after day as she slipped further away
from their reality at the age of twenty-two.  The unknown virus had
taken her strength, and all it left was a tiny shell that seemed ready
to collapse at the slightest touch.

The girl on the bed moved and murmured slightly.  Her mother placed her
fingertips on the girl's hand.

"Honey, are you okay?  It's Mommy.  I'm here, sweetie."

"It hurts," she whispered.

"I know, baby.  I'll call the nurse."

Her mom pressed the call light and prepared for the inevitable wait.
She stared at the wires and tubes that stuck all over her daughter.  The
main line sticking from her daughter's protruding collar bone had taken
an hour to put in.  Her mom recalled the frustration of the nurse who
attempted to glide the line through her daughter's collapsed veins.
Sweat had formed on the nurse's brow and she had seemed ready to give
up.  The blood that spurted from her daughter's vein had made her
nauseous, but she had gripped the bed until she had almost passed out.
Her daughter had laid there unable to cry from the dehydration that left
her face hollow.

A nurse entered with squeaking footsteps and a cheery expression that
belied the distance she kept from her patients.

"What can I do for you?" the nurse asked.

"She is having the pain again.  Can we give her more morphine?"

The nurse raised an eyebrow as she reached for the chart clipped to the
foot of the bed.  "It's too soon.  Maybe if you can get her out of bed
and walk around it would do some good."

"Excuse me?  Are you insane?  My daughter has been here for almost two
months and dying and you want her out of bed?"

The nurse remained grinning as she crossed her wide arms.

"I am just making a suggestion."

The conversation was interrupted by a scream as the girl on the bed
twisted.

"Can't you see she is in pain?" the mom asked.

She touched her daughter's warm skin that a moment before had been ice
cold and whispered soft, soothing sounds.  The mom glared at the nurse,
who still retained her composure.

"Let me call the doctor."  The nurse waddled out of the room with her
permanent smile.

"Mommy, please make it stop."

"I know, baby."  The mom sighed deep and heavy.  

She always felt the pain of her children, but revealing her emotions
would not make it stop.  Her first born, the one most similar to her,
was slipping away and she couldn't cry.  Not in front of her, but she
wanted to take it all away.  She would trade places if it were possible.
All she could do now was squeeze the boney hand that felt child-like
once again.