Chapter 14 narration

I know some ways of waking someone up are gentler.One morning at the end of January, I suddenly became aware that someone was bending over me and sewing my right eyelid with a needle and thread like a sock.I feel fear for no reason.If this person sews up my left eyelid on impulse, then the only connection between me and the outside world---the ventilation window in my dark cell and the periscope of the diving bell will also be sewn to death!Fortunately, I don't need to fall into such a dark night.He carefully put his small tool in the iron box covered with cotton, and then said simply in the tone of a prosecutor pleading for the punishment of a recidivist: "Six months." I use the one eye that is still intact. , express my doubts with various eyes, but this gentleman, he often spends a whole day carefully examining other people's eye pupils, but he doesn't understand the words in the eyes.He is a typical "I care about you" doctor, arrogant, rude, and supercilious. He wants the patient to arrive at 8 o'clock, but he arrives late at 9 o'clock, and is in a hurry to leave at 9:50. Allotted only his precious forty-five seconds.His appearance is a bit like naughty Adam, with a big round head on top of a short body, and his whole body is frizzy.He would not waste his words with most of the patients, and he would not waste his energy in explaining his condition to me for ghostly patients like me.Later, I finally knew why he sewed my eyelids up for six months: because the eyelids could no longer protect the eyeballs and lost the function of movable curtains, and if they were not sewed up, it might cause corneal ulceration.

A few weeks later, I thought to myself, did the hospital deliberately use such annoying people to make bedridden patients wary of the hospital?In a way, he was a scapegoat.If he left Belk (which seemed probable), whom could I laugh at?Here he is, and when he asks me, "Did you see a double vision," I can still enjoy myself and answer silently, "Yes, I see two fools, not one." As much as I need to breathe, I also have feelings, a need for love, a need for appreciation.A letter from a friend, a picture printed on a postcard by Balthus, and a page from Saint-Simon all give a little meaning to the passing time.However, in order to keep my sharp mind, and to avoid losing my fighting spirit in despair, I maintain a certain proportion of anger, neither too much nor too little, just like a pressure cooker, there is a safety valve to regulate it. explode.

Yay, "Pressure Cooker," that could be the title of a play, and maybe one day I'll be able to write about my own experiences.It also occurred to me that this play could also be called "One Eye", and of course "The Diving Bell" is also very good.You all already know the plot and the background of the story.Mr. L, who was in his prime, was originally the head of the family. Now he is lying in the hospital ward, learning how to live with "locked-in syndrome" and facing the sequelae of this serious cardiovascular disease.The script narrates Mr. L's experience in the medical system, and the evolution of his relationship with his wife, children, friends, and business partners. He used to work in a well-known advertising company and was one of the founders of the company. One, he is utilitarian and a bit cynical. So far in his life, he has not encountered any major setbacks.Now Mr. L has just started to learn to face the predicament. He watched all the certainties that supported him collapse, and found that the people close to him turned out to be strangers.You can find a good place to watch the whole process of slow progress carefully. The narration representing Mr. L's inner monologue will tell the situation on the side.I'm just starting to write the script, and I've already got the last scene in mind: the stage is pitch black except for a single light shining on the bunk in the center of the stage.The scene is a night scene, and everyone is asleep.After the curtain rose, Mr. L, who was weak and slow, suddenly pushed away the quilt, jumped out of bed, and walked in circles on the stage in the illusory light.Then, the darkness fell again, and the audience heard Mr. L's last inner monologue: "Damn it, it was a dream."