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New Hospital RP!S
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New Hospital RP!S
New Hospital RP!
So, I was looking for a thread I had made, and for some reason this came up. And as I was reading it, I remembered how much I loved this RP, and how attached I was to Jasmine.
So now I'm thinking, let's redo it.
This is exactly what it sounds like. Realistic fiction. Your charries can be people in the hospital (which is mostly a kids' hospital, but it'll do adults too) or people who have relatives, friends, or just want to help out in the hospital.
Here's the form:
Name:
Age:
Appearance:
Personality:
Other:
If they are visiting the hospital:
Family/friend in the hospital:
Family/friend's condition:
If they are in the hospital:
Condition:
Here's my charrie:
Name: Jasmine Nimakita
Age: 10
Appearance: Small for her age, she has short black hair and large, dark green eyes. Her skin is very pale.
Personality: She's almost silent, rarely speaks, and when she does it's very short sentences. She's easily startled but quite friendly. A bit hesitant.
Other: She has a full-time doctor who stays with her 24/7. She's also an orphan.
Condition: Odine's Curse, which means you have to consciously remember to breathe. So her hospital room is permanent, and it has a big sign saying "BREATHE" in large, red, bold letters. (and, to answer the inevitable question, she has to be hooked up to a machine during the night that forces her to breathe.)
submitted by St.Owl, age Recarnated, Everywhere
(April 15, 2016 - 4:41 pm)
(April 15, 2016 - 4:41 pm)
Can we get started, Saint? (also tip topping)
(April 19, 2016 - 11:06 pm)
Top!!!
(April 20, 2016 - 12:15 pm)
Ruby: I don't mind that your character is based off yourself. Of course you can use Oliver.
Jasmine~
In, out. In, out.
There is one pattern.
One pattern, repeating over and over and over and over and over and over. Hammered into my head who-knows-when, the words that mean my very survival.
In, out. In, out.
I cannot forget. I must not forget. They must be a part of me like breathing is for others, because they are my breathing. They are the words that simply create what is so simple for everyone else, the one thing that not one person counts in their blessings because why would they? Everyone breathes.
In, out. In, out.
Except me.
Yes, I breathe. I need to breathe, as everyone needs to breathe. But the one thing no one notices, no one realizes, is how easily it comes. How they don't need to think. How they don't need to hammer words into their heads so they remember. How they can just do it, can just breathe and never think why, or how, or why in the world they never even thought that some couldn't.
In, out. In, out.
I once listened to a song, "One More Time With Feeling" by Regina Spektor. She says breathing is just a rhythm. In a way, she's right. In a way, she's wrong. Yes, my words are rhythm. Yes, for most people, it's simply there, and it's so easy to call it a rhythm.
Regina Spektor is not like me.
In, out. In, out.
She cannot, no one can understand how breathing is so much more than a word. How breathing is so much more than in, out. Breathing is a priviledge. It's something that humans are so used to they will call it things like rhythm because they don't know better.
Breathing is life.
Breathing is hope.
Breathing is another thing I cannot do.
(April 20, 2016 - 5:34 pm)
[On a side note, I did go to the hospital today for a support group. It was pretty useless, haha.]
I went to the therapist's today for the first time in months, since before school began. She is not very helpful at all. She says she wants to be my friend, tells me to call her Rachel as if calling her Dr. So-and-so is too demanding for little old me. I'm getting kind of tired of adults looking down at me. Looking down is literal as well, because even though she's a small woman, she's still taller than me.
Almost everyone at my school towers over me. Kids think I'm a small freshman. I'm not. I'm going to graduate next year. It's okay, I guess, but they don't know if I'll be able to grow and become a full size adult. I may have a squaky, high-pitched voice forever. I might be five foot three and built like a hobbit for the rest of eternity. I may smile stupidly and be afraid of stepping on peanut shells or flail my arms around whenever music comes on the stereo for the rest of my life. Of course, there won't be steroes in the rest of my life. But there'll be me, and that's bad enough.
There'll be me and no one else. It's a little lonely sometimes, until I remember that I'm human too. Sometimes, it seems like the therapist lives on a different planet entirely. She says things like, "Maybe tell the bad thoughts to go away next time." Yeah, as if it's easy as that. I wish.
Today, she had a semi-reasonable decision. She wants me to meet with some other children staying in the hospital. She knows that I like to help people, so she'd like me to meet with other kids with serious illnesses and/or conditions. Wouldn't you like that, Oliver? Yes, I would like that, but I'd like it if you didn't put on a voice for a four year old first. I hear you talking to my mom in a serious tone and then turn to me with a sugary sweet smile and raise your voice an octave. You speak baby words to me. I didn't say any of that to her, though. I said it'd be very nice.
On the way home in the car, my mom asked me what kind of people would be in the group. I don't know yet. It'd be interesting to get some kids who aren't in for the psych ward. Most of the teens in the psych ward are in for depression and such, which can't lead to unlimited conversation topics. I want to make some friends who won't mind me for being me.
Because we're writing information for each other, I wrote this for all of you. I'm Oliver James. I'm 16. I go to public high school and when I get home, I moderate a community for people like me, people with schizophrenia. I play video games sometimes and like certain books more than I should.
I don't want a miracle cure. I want a friend. Let's be friends together, everyone.
(April 20, 2016 - 10:23 pm)
In the other RP, I was leading up to an operation on Earnestine's eyes. It happened.
Earnestine~
I promised myself I would never need to come to the hospital again. I told myself that I would never let myself be an invalid. And I hadn't. For 12 years.
But I'm back now.
"Earnie, your parents are here to see you," Nurse Mara says gently from across the room. I try to pinpoint her exact location. I'm good at that. Let's see... standing a little to the left of the door; probably smiling. Yes, she's smiling. One thing I've always wanted to see is Nurse Mara's smile. It feels so warm, like sand under a hot summer sun. I hear Sanders shuffle into the room. He coughs nervously.
"You look weird," he states, fingering the bandages wound around the upper half of my face. Grabbing his wrist tightly, I shove him towards what I calculate is the wall. He hits the table. I miscalculated. Oh well, I'm still stronger, even though my brother is eleven now.
"Sanders!" Here comes the lecture. Mom's high heels peirce the floor angrily. She's even more agitated then usual. Sanders groans and shuffles as Mom drags him into a corner. I catch the words "sister," "gentle," "behavior," and "public place." From the other side of the bed, Dad talks with Nurse Mara.
"Operation went well," she assures. It's not like they're going to lift the banages off and I can suddenly see. I have to stay a week in the hospital. They have to take tests, give medications, make assumptions, try to come up with the next step. A whole week. A whole week.
The bandages suddenly feel too tight.
(April 21, 2016 - 1:16 pm)
I changed one thing: She has Pots syndrome(Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome) which causes her blood flow to decrease when she stands up after lying down, leading to seizures/heart beating too fast. It is a rare condition though, so they don't know that's what she has yet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sophie~
"Shh, shh, shh. It's okay. It's okay," I keep hearing, over and over. A blurred face leans over me. A hand checks my pulse.
Finally, my vision clears and my body stops shaking. I breathe in and out, and touch myself to make sure I'm still there. Nothing's wrong. I tell myself. I'm fine. A nurse that I don't recognize runs a few diagnostics, then leaves me in the room all by myself.
I'm here in this hospital for a test. At least that's what they told me. I've just been sitting here all day, the doctors waiting for me to have a seizure. This isn't the first time I've been tested, actually. The time before this, they diagnosed me with epilepsy. The time before that, they told me nothing was wrong.
I start tapping my fingers on the side of the bed. It is always so boring, waiting for them to finish up. I want to talk to someone. It's hard for me to be quiet for so long, so I start to sing.
Chanda hai tu, mera suraj hai tu,
You are my moon, you are my sun,
O meri aankhon kan tara hain tu,
Oh, you are the twinkle of my eyes,
Jeeti hoon main bas tujhe dehk ke,
I live just to see you.
It's my favorite song. Mama sings it to me when I'm sad, or not feeling well. Sometimes, it distracts me from real life; music can give me a world away from mine. For those short periods of time, everything is perfect.
Then, I'm forced back into reality. Nothing will ever be perfect.
(April 21, 2016 - 8:21 pm)
Luke~
The grass is still wet from last night's rain. My
shoes are soaked in a matter of minutes. Quickly, I hurry through the
tangle of long grass and scramble up a large rock by the edge of the
road. My shoes slip on its smooth surface.
Nina is gone. She's really gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. The
doctors had decided that Nina didn't need hospitalization. They
released her. And she moved. Nina needed to start over. She needed to
get away from this place—for her health. So she did. And she left me
here alone.
I look up. At the treetops, then higher, at the
buildings in the distance, picking them out one by one. There's the
museum—to the left of the capitol building. And there's the hospital.
The hospital... A car passes; skittering down the road, splashing
through puddles. By the time it disappears behind the trees, I'm halfway
down the road.
~
"Hello, are you visiting someone?" I nod. Yes; Jasmine.
"Are your parents with you?" I shake my head. No, they're at home.
"Who are you visiting?" Jasmine.
"Who? Which floor?" Jasmine. Fourth floor. The receptionist asking these questions looks at me oddly from behind her desk.
"Come
back with your parents, okay?" No, they won't come. Shaking my head
vehemently, I look around for someone I know. The nurse with the curly
blonde hair, maybe. Doesn't she pass this way sometimes?
"Are you...looking for someone?" The receptionist asks. I nod again. Yes; Nurse Hadley. Wasn't that her name?
"Who?"
She asks. Nurse Hadley, of course. The one with the blonde hair.
Sighing, the receptionist turns away. She sees that this conversation is
getting nowhere. At times like this, I'm almost tempted to talk. But
then I remember that not talking is my silent protest against many
things. Like Nina leaving. Someone walks by. The receptionist
frantically signals for help with her eyes.
"Oh," says the passerby, turning, "hello Luke." It's nurse Hadley.
"Visiting
Jasmine?" She questions. Yes, yes, yes! I smile. She understands.
Glancing back at the receptionist, I almost laugh. Her face is a mess of
confusion and frusteration.
"Here, walk with me," Nurse Hadley commands gently.
"We're
starting a support group. To get some of those staying here together." She
pushes open the door to a stairwell. Mmhmm. Why would I be interested? I
don't live in the hospital.
"You love the hospital," she explains. I guess I do. It's strange. Or maybe I just loved seeing Nina, and now Jasmine.
"Some of the children here haven't experianed the 'outside world' in a long time." Like Jasmine.
"You can join us. I'm sure they would like it. And you would like it." She mounts the last few stairs and opens the door to the fourth floor.
Hmm. I guess I would like it. As I ponder this, we keep walking down the hallways, skirting around doctors, visitors, nurses, and patients. Right outside of Jasmine's door, we stop. Nurse Hadley bends down. And gives me a look. But it is exactly the wrong type of look for a nurse—I think—because it's a parent's look. A caring look.
"I love children," she murmers, almost whispering, "all children. That's one of the reasons why I'm a nurse." Suddenly, I understand. She wants me to talk, and she thinks that, somehow, spending time with people like Jasmine will help me. I don't need help. I'm protesting. I don't even know if I can talk now. It's been 4 months. 4 months is a long, long, long time not to say a word. I'm a master. Although my answer to her unasked question is no, I still nod. All right. I'll come back tomorrow. But I won't say a word. Slowly, Nurse Hadley opens the door. The first thing I see is a picture on the wall. A picture of a deer. And I smile.
From the bed, Jasmine smiles.
(April 22, 2016 - 9:50 am)
My dad says I have to stay for testing. I know that's not true. Every time I have a seizure or a reaction they bring me here and every time they keep me here longer than necessary. I think it's cause my mom and dad ask them too. They try to hide it, but I know it's hard for them. Dad spends all day watching over me making sure I re-apply my special sunscreen every once and a while and that I take my meds. Mom has to have two jobs to make enough money for us. They spend all their energy worrying about me. I honestly think they are a little relieved every time I have to stay at the hospital. They know it means I am safe and that they can take a break.
(April 22, 2016 - 1:05 pm)
Jasmine~
Luke!
It's Luke.
He's one of my only visitors. After all, I don't really have a family. And not many friends, because I don't get out much. But Luke is different. He has a friend here, Nina. But once he couldn't see Nina so he came to see me instead. He gave me a painting. It's still there, on my wall, taped up by the doctor because he understood how special it was.
Now Luke sees me all the time.
We don't talk. I've never seen him speak, and I don't speak often because it's hard to multitask, juggling breathing and speaking. Others make it seem so easy. It's not.
"Hello, Luke!" says the doctor. "How are you?"
That's silly. Luke won't answer. He shrugs and smiles a bit instead.
The doctor leans to my ear. "Nina moved away recently, so Luke may be a bit down. Cheer him up for me, okay?"
Cheer him up? How can I cheer him up? I'm not going to say kind words. Of course not. One, it would take too long. I might choke. And two, it's cheesy anyway. I can remember faintly how people act towards me the first time they meet me, and probably everyone else in the hospital. It doesn't help. They don't mean it.
"Maybe the picture?" the doctor whispers.
The picture! I had forgotten about the picture.
Luke's an artist. It's so obvious; he can do amazing things with paint. Proof is hung on my wall. But me? I don't know what I can do. And I might even survive this now, as I've reached ten. The doctor says that's a very hopeful thing. But then I'd have to figure out what to do, and I don't know yet. So I want to try art.
Where did I put it? The drawer in the dressing table. I pull it out.
It's a sketch. I wanted to try pencil first. It's two birds.
When I was drawing it, the doctor was playing Regina Spektor again. He says she's his favorite. I think she sings nonsense sometimes, but her music is still good. He was playing the album Far, which is mostly logical, and the song playing was "Two Birds." It's about two birds on a wire, and one flies away and calls the other, and the other doesn't really want to go, so it says it's tired and it wants to, but it's really lying. So I drew the scene: One bird flying and looking back at another, perched on a telephone wire.
I hope he likes it. The doctor gave me a book on how to draw books and I messed up a lot, so there are a lot of failures under this one, but I think the birds came out okay.
They won't ever be as good as Luke's deer, though.
(April 22, 2016 - 3:25 pm)
Paige~~
The needle.
Silver, encased in a blue machine.
Blocky numbers that tell me my blood sugar.
I hold the needle to my finger, sucking in my breath, anticipating the stab of pain that will soon follow as the machine takes a few drops of my blood.
I've stabbed myself with this very needle 21,396 times after my family found out that I had diabetes (But hey, who's counting?) and the process hasn't gotten any easier.
As I inject the needle into my flesh, i write a mental poem:
Needle
Silver vampire
Dressed in blue
Sucks my blood.
It's a weak poem, but I only have my thoughts to keep me company now. Nobody visits me; nobody cares if I live or die. My favorite song blooms in my mind, but I chase it away. The Tree Song won't help me get better, so why bother singing it?
I close my eyes and sigh, and surrender to the only medicine for my lonliness: sleep.
(April 23, 2016 - 8:18 pm)
Luke~
Birds. I smile. Jasmine can draw, too. Carefully folding the drawing, I slip out the door and into the empty hallway. I wonder why I've never seen Jasmine's parents at the hospital before. Maybe they visit during school hours. Or maybe they don't visit. How could anyone not want to be by the bedside of such a sweet, optomistic young girl 24/7? Perhaps I just have a strange attachment to the hospital. Perhaps I have a strange attachment to Jasmine.
~
The sky dims steadily as I walk home. I'll be walking alongside the road again tommorrow. i hope Jasmine is a part of the support group Nurse Hadley talked about.
(April 24, 2016 - 3:33 pm)
TOP
(April 25, 2016 - 2:15 pm)
Paige~~
Some kids in the hospital wing talk about a kid named Luke who visits them. I wish I had someone like Luke to visit me and make me feel like I belong.
It's getting late, so I turn off my reading lamp and kneel by my bed to say a prayer.
Dear God,
Please help me find someone like Luke to comfort me in these dark times, and please help me make friends in this hospital.
Help me feel like I belong somewhere.
Amen.
(April 25, 2016 - 3:52 pm)
Ernestine~
It must be night. My parents left long ago and I'm starting to feel drowsy. I lay back, letting the darkness that my eyes constantly experience to encase my whole body. The hospital is a noisy, busy place full of beepings and buzzing and concerned nurses. In spite of the clamor, I start to fall asleep, slowly shifting into the hospital sheets, when suddenly: tap, tap, tap.
"Ernestine?"
"Yes'm?" I mutter drowsily. The door squeaks open slightly.
"Just making sure you're comfortable," Nurse Mara says gently.
"Yes'm." The door starts to creak closed again, but it stops mid squeak. Above the usual noise, I can make out tap-tapping heels coming closer, and then a voice.
"Tricia?" I start at the unfamiliar name, but then I realize that it must be Nurse Mara's first name. It's strange to hear another person calling someone by a name I'm not used to.
"Lucy! How are you?" Nurse Mara replies rather tiredly. Lucy, Lucy...I search my brain for the name. Could it be Lucy Hadley? I think I've heard that name before.
"Fine thank you," her voice gets lower, "how's Ernestine?"
"Fine, so far. What brings you here?" Nurse Mara asks.
"I'm trying to get some of the kids in the hospital together. Some of them are so lonely. A few don't even have parents," Nurse Hadley explains. "I'm considering grouping the kids together based on similar conditions. I really don't know where to start, but I promised Luke we'd do something tomorrow," she continues, "I promised I'd get one group going so the other nurses can follow."
"Who are you considering?" Nurse Mara questions. I lean forward anxiously.
"Hmmm. Jasmine would want to do anything that Luke does, and Paige has been so desolate lately. Some encouragement would be good." As if suddenly suspicious of my eavesdropping, the nurses close the door and continue talking. I catch a few more names: Tyler, Sophie, Oliver, and a few more.
(April 25, 2016 - 4:28 pm)
Please post!
(April 27, 2016 - 7:14 pm)