The Beginning is the End

Written by Nick Wilson

The old – no, that wasn’t accurate – the decrepit man shuffled into the room and, with help from the nurse, stripped his clothes off and lay down on the bed. He looked up at the young woman, smiled, and said, “If I were the man I once was, I’d pinch your ass.” She smiled back, with just a hint of pity in her eyes, and replied, “Well, if you ever become that man again, you go right ahead.”

He barked out a laugh. “We both know that won’t happen, girl.” She just smiled at him again as she set up the IV. He did not even flinch as she missed the vein the first time and it occurred to her that his body was probably in so much pain, he hadn’t even noticed. It hardened her resolve and she started the drip just as the doctor came in.

“Good morning Mr. Flournay. How are you today?”

“I’m ready, Doc.”

“Are you sure? As you know, once we flip the switch, so to speak, there’s no stopping it and I can’t promise that there will be no pain.”

The old man looked at him. “When your body starts falling apart like mine has, you’ll understand.”

The doctor smiled at him. “I hope I do. I really hope I do.”

He started explaining the final paperwork and gathering the signatures – so many signatures! – for the legal documents as some technicians fiddled around Flournay, who just lay there as the good doctor droned on. Finally, the signatures and legalities fully explained, the doctor went to the control panel, flipped the safety cap off a large button and, turning to the patient, said, “This is your last chance to change your mind, Mr. Flournay.”

There was a pause, a long pause, silence save for Flournay's raspy breathing as the old man lay staring at the ceiling for what felt like minutes. Then he whispered,“Do it!”

The doctor pushed the button. The first chemicals entered Flournay’s bloodstream fighting the pain. Even so, the controlled substances coursing through his veins could not defeat it. Or was that just part of death, and there was no avoiding it? Flournay pondered briefly about pain and death, then wondered if his life would flash before his eyes. He thought of his childhood, skinned knees, the broken leg when he fell out of his tree fort, the teenage crushes, that first time with his first love fumbling in the cramped confines of her mom’s car, the anguish when that same car crashed a week later and took her from him, the ongoing pain of high-school after that, the parties in college, the drugs, the sex, the booze, the graduation, the degree, the job, the marriage, the children, her affair, then his, the divorce, the alcoholism, the sobering up, the second marriage, the uneventful but happy years, her cancer, her treatment, her death, his slide back into alcoholism, the regret, the anger, the growing pain; everything that had led him to this day, to this place and was followed by the thought, “Would my life have flashed before my eyes if I hadn’t wondered if it would flash before my eyes?”

The pain began to recede. It started at his feet, slowly working its way up his legs. Pins and needles, followed by a numbness, followed by... nothing. It traveled up to his pelvis, up his chest, his lungs and heart (thank god!), his shoulders, up his neck.

The nothingness reached his chin, jaw, and cheeks. He started to panic. His eyes darted around franticly, his neck muscles refusing to respond. They weren’t there anymore as far as he could tell. His eyes found those of the doctor, looking at him with a look of pity, concern, and... admiration? The nothingness continued, his eyes stopped moving, dimmed to black, and then...

Nothing. Not even nothing. Less than nothing.

I’m dead? I can’t be dead. I’m still thinking. I think therefore I am. Unless this is Heaven. Or Hell. Maybe it’s Hell. Nothing for eternity, except a thought in the darkness. Just my thought in the darkness, all alone. All alone. Maybe that’s the meaning of l-

Pain exploded around Flournay and through him as every bit of his body simultaneously went from nothingness to full-on feeling, the nerves overloading his brain as though they had never carried any signals before. He gasped for breath, lungs clamouring to inhale, to fill to capacity, and his scream echoed off the walls at the terrible pain of their first exhalation. Eyes snapped open, staring with brutal clarity at the ceiling, tears running down his cheeks as the brightness of the room overloaded his optic nerves, the doctor running into the room, the technicians madly pressing buttons and whipping tubes and monitoring sensors from his – his – body, the nurse holding his hand and brushing the hair back from his sweat-stained face, the EEG monitor showing his pegged heart rate...

“Well, Mr. Flournay, it looks like you’re feeling better.”

The doctor was scribbling a few notes on his clipboard.

“I have to say that you were a bit more... dramatic than usual shall we say? But your test results are fine, and you can go home immediately.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Just remember, you have a good 70 years or so of experience to forget. Remember, your body is capable, but it won’t be if you don’t use it.”

Five minutes later, Flournay was looking out over the clinic’s parking lot from the wheelchair the nurse had used to push him to the door. Flournay sat in silence, taking in the air, the trees, when her voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Did it... did it hurt? When you died?”

“Yes. Just about the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. I don’t recommend it. Unless of course, you find you have to.” She laughed and he joined in, his laughter growing louder and stronger, finally trailing off moments before the taxi arrived. He quickly stood up, picked up his suitcase from next to the wheelchair and started to the cab.

“Mr. Flournay?” He turned back to the nurse. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He looked at her, puzzled, as she turned away from him. She stood there for a second, then a smile broke out on her face as she felt the gentle pinch. She turned back to him. “Have a great life, Mr. Flournay.”

He smiled back. “Thank you. You too.”

“I plan to. And I’m still on my first one.”

He smiled wider. “So am I.