Off the Gurney

The quiet broke as tension surged through my joints. I was lying flat on my back on cold plastic, strapped to a stretcher, looking straight up into the dim room. Giving up was never an option. I clenched my right fist, feeling the plastic fingers lock with sudden force, and drove my elbow against the stretcher frame. With a sharp kick, I shifted my weight, gripping the metal rail until my torso forced itself halfway upright. The stretcher rocked against the dark surface, but I held my ground. I am breathing, I am awake, and I will not stay down.