Treat.

I pushed the door open. It was deathly quiet in that little room. Air billowed from an air duct under the floor beneath me. The fluorescent light was bright and harsh.

 

I washed my hands at the white sink. All I could hear was the sound of air filling the room and the trickle of water as I soaped my hands.

 

Scrub the palms, the nails, the back of the hands. Remember the webbing between the fingers. Rotate one way, rotate the other.

 

I turned on the tap and the trickle became a little waterfall as I washed my hands under the flow. The water felt hot, slightly too hot to touch but hey, we're sterilising.

Turned off the tap and it was back to that deathly silence again. I dried my hands on rough brown paper towels, the paper rustling beneath my drying hands.

 

I grabbed a plastic gown and as I pulled it over my head, I wondered what I would do if I was to die. Curled up on the wooden floor, coughing out my last breath, the name of my beloved formed on my cold, dry lips.

It seemed meditative somehow to tie the straps of the gown behind you without having to look. Fingers fumble and hands stumble, trying to find the knot, the little hole where you slip the loop through and everything's secure.

 

Gown's on.

 

I let my hand drift into the plastic bag with the masks. I pulled one on, trying to get my glasses out of the way. It fitted a little tight around my nose. I breathed in and out, instantly feeling the moisture form on my cheek and nose. It felt a little harder to breathe, somehow, underneath that mask. I was breathing okay. But it felt odd. It felt weird.

 

Mask's on.

 

I pulled on my gloves, taking care not to touch anything apart from the little rubbery bits at the end, trying to guarantee a sterile procedure. It snapped satisfyingly, just like in the movies when the doctor pulls his gloves on. Checking to see that there were no obvious holes in my outfit, I turned around to face the day.

 

I opened the door.

 

The man whom I've seen for the past 3 days lay on the bed, looking up at me with slightly dead eyes. I stopped, wondering if he really had carked it until he cracked a smile and pushed himself up in bed. He adjusted the whopping big breathing mask on his face and tried to tidy himself up, brushing his unruly white hair out of the way.

 

I quietly breathed a sigh of relief. Live to fight another day.

 

"Morning, Bill. How are you?"

 

Oh, you know. So so. This swine flu isn't killing me yet."