"Oxygen" Slice of Life #3

I am rushed down the hallway in a stretcher. I reach up and touch my face. An oxygen mask covers all but my eyes. I reach out to the bars on the sides of the stretcher and try to pull myself up. A hand pushes me down, just as I am wheeled into a room. Behind me is a room, and on the sides are flowered curtains.
"Stay still, honey," says a young lady. Her voice is gentle and comforting, even while I am in dreadful pain. "I'm Bernie." she says. I groan. I try to swallow, but discover that swallowing puts me in more pain than I have ever been in. Bernie tries to talk to me, to calm me down. I can't manage to talk to her, because when I try nothing comes out of my mouth. She takes off the oxygen mask, but I need it back, I can't breathe without it.
My Mom enters the room. By now I have opened my eyes, and I know what is going on.  The pain surprised me. I thought that once I got out of the surgery it would be all over. But trying to do something as simple as breathing proves an astonishing challenge.
After 15 minutes Bernie and other nurses manage to force ice chips down my throat. I can't laugh, I can't cry, I can't talk, I can't cough. I can only wait for the pain to pass. 30 minutes go by, and the curtain to my side is pulled over. I see Noah resting there. I wave to him. His face is pale, and his eyes are red. I looked the same way. It has been over an hour, and I am pushed into a wheelchair, and wheeled to the mini van. My parents talk quietly, and my brother sleeps, and I try to leave my body, and get away from the pain.
After 24 hours, the pain isn't as bad, but everything seems routine. I can walk, and whisper, but it hurts. I hope that the pain truly will go away.