"You got here just in time," said the medic as he looked down
at the readout. "A few more minutes and you wouldn’t have
been walking anywhere."
I struggled my way to a standing position and peered over his
shoulder. He wasn’t wrong. If I hadn’t found this
transfusion station, I’d have died right there on the street.
And there wasn’t much help for the wounded out there.
"We’re going to need to swap about two pints of blood," he told
me as I plopped back down onto the examining table. Two
pints. Good God. I knew guys who died with one pint of
bad blood. I supposed I was lucky to be alive.
The medic continued to read the contents of my blood as he
walked out. I placed a hand on my forehead and felt the
burning hot skin. I began to wonder if it was normal for
someone in my case to have a fever. Someone in my case
should be dead, I thought, so I should be expecting just about
anything.
"Alright Mr. Hodgens," said the medic as he entered the
examining room accompanied by two assistants. "We’re going
to start your blood transfusion." As the fever began to make
me dizzy, his words became more and more distorted. "Just
relax, and this will all be over in an hour or so."
"What’s his type?" One of the assistants whispered.
"B negative," the medic responded. Was he right? I
struggled to remember anything about myself, but my mind was far
too weak. I tried to remember where I met my wife, but to no
avail. I attempted to recall the year. Where I was. My
name. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t remember
anything. The medic’s words were nothing more than a buzzing
sound in my ears.
They started by inserting one intravenous line into my right
arm to draw bad blood, and another in my left arm to pump some
clean blood into my system. The process would take about an
hour, and the medic would monitor the percentage of infected blood
throughout. Anything less than five percent was considered
stable, and my percentage showed up as a little green blinking
light on their monitor. With my last ounce of strength, I
shifted my head to the right so I could watch the screen.
The last thing I saw before I passed out was horrific: my blood
was thirty-five percent infected.
***
It was about a week ago that I felt the symptoms of the
infection encroaching. I knew I had to wait six more days
until I could get my transfusion, so as soon as the clock struck
midnight, I jumped in my car. I felt like I could pass out
and any second, but I knew if I didn’t get to the transfusion
station soon, I’d drop over. I turned the keys and heard the
engine straining to turn over. This ’09 Mustang was an
animal when my grandfather bought it thirty years ago. I
begged for it when I turned sixteen, but he told me I wasn’t
responsible enough. My grandfather died four years ago just
after my twenty-third birthday, and sure enough he left it to me
in his will. But I didn’t take care of this classic car like
I should have, and now, just as I felt myself growing colder, the
old rust-ball wouldn’t start.
I barely remembered making my way down the hill and into town
on foot. I have no more than a glimpse of stumbling into the
transfusion station, being rushed into the examining room, and
pricked with an adrenaline booster to keep me conscious a little
longer.
Whenever I dreamed, it was usually about the way the world was
before. The days when oxygen came from trees and wasn’t expelled
from laboratories all across the country. The days when the
government didn’t regulate air content at all.
They devised the technology about ten years ago. The
chemical they came up with was designed to reduce the amount of
harmful chemicals in the air. For a time, it seemed
successful. Air pollutants and greenhouse gases alike began
to disappear. The problem it caused, however, was far worse.
This chemical caused a horrific infection in human respiratory
systems. It slowly traveled from the lungs to the blood
stream where it infected the body. There was no known cure
for this virus, and the only way to survive it was through blood
transfusion. The Medicare program adopted about seven years
ago provided one covered blood transfusion per month, but these
were rarely enough. A person had to wait one full month
before their next transfusion, and paying for extra transfusions
outside of coverage was next to impossible.
"We couldn’t get him to wake up, so we just let him rest," I
heard a voice say. My eyes shot open, but the rest of me
didn’t move.
"Well you have to get him out of here. It’s morning.
We have patients with actual appointments coming in," another
replied. I pulled myself off the examining table and
steadied myself on the medic desk.
The door swung open and I heard, "Mr. Hodgens."
I held a hand up and nodded, "I’ll be right out."
Outside the transfusion station, the sky was blue and the sun
shone brightly over the empty roads of this town. It was a
beautiful morning. I took in a breath and once again picked
up on the slight chemical odor the human race had all grown
accustom to.
I miss the good old days.