I laid there in the silence, blood out, spin, spin, separate, separate, whoosh, whoosh, blood in. The television was turned off, the blinds on the plaster free wall were drawn and the night shift had just arrived. I could tell because the sun had gone down and they always left with the sun. Was it different in the winter? Sun left and so did they. Nice deal. Butterscotch nurse was back. Mint green scrubs… she always makes me hungry. But I'm not hungry, just bored… and my arms kind of hurt.

"Hey," night nurse says. I give a half hearted smile, trying to hide my surprise at not seeing her come in. She looks over at the machines and begins to speak. Oh, God, here it comes. She's not going to know. She's not going to realize it and I can't sign. Two lines in my arms and I can't communicate. I look up, realizing that she had said something and was waiting for a response. I try to raise my right arm, finding that I can't bend my elbow. A look of confusion has spread over her face. I can't speak you moron. I can't answer your question or make small talk. I'm mute, I'm MUTE!

The nurse looks over at the machines again, trying to figure out what I'm trying to do. Trying to raise my arms, but failing, my hands, but failing, my upper body but failing. She must think I'm having a seizer.

She writes down something in the chart, looking for past medical history as she goes. Am I a mental case?

"Are you all right?" the nurse asks and I give up, my hands flopping down onto the bed. This is useless. "I'll go get a doctor," she says and I don't even respond. What's the point?

The nurse opens the glass sliding door and comes face to face with another person. The angle is bad and I can't see who it is until she walks into the room.

"Oh thank God, Dr. Cuddy," the nurse says. "I think something is wrong with her." Cuddy steps in and immediately sees the frustration on my face.

"You all right?" Cuddy asks, taking a stethoscope off of her neck. I nodded an imperceptible nod. I was doing so well, it was quiet, but I was doing well. She pulls down the neck of the gown slightly and the metal is cold against my chest.

"She wasn't responding," the nurse says and Cuddy turns, taking the plugs out of her ears.

"What do you mean?" Cuddy asks.

"I asked her to give me a pain rating, but she just thrashed around," the nurse says. Green scrubs humming, mint green, yum. Cuddy smiled, I could tell because there was an unnatural silence.

"She's mute."

"Mute? As in she can't talk?"

"No, mute as in she has decided to become a mime." the night nurse smirked and looked back at me. I was not smiling. I closed my eyes, hearing the door close. There was silence for a long time and I figured I was alone. I squeezed my hands slightly, trying to relieve the numb, cold feeling in my fingers. Like insects running across my palms, tickling my life line. I wonder if that's a sign of something. Cutting my life line. My lips were dry and my toes were cold. I sighed, a silent sigh as I felt cold metal press against my chest. Jumping slightly, I opened my eyes to come face to chest with Cuddy. I looked up to find that her eyes were trained on mine. Why was she listening to my chest, my heart. The monitor beeped at a steady rate behind me. Beep, beep, beep, lubb dubb, lubb dubb.

"Hey," Cuddy said softly, a small sympathetic smile on her face. She made me want to cry. I looked into her eyes and I wanted to cry, weep, completely let go and dehydrate my body so completely that they would have to invent places to make lines for saline IVs. Drown in tears and let my body melt into a puddle of unusable flesh and tubes. Half way there anyway. But I didn't. Really, what would that accomplish?

"Where's doctor House?" I tried to sign, poorly, but she only withdrew her stethoscope and looked at me, confused. I sighed, frustrated. Cuddy looked at the chart and smiled.

"House?" she asked and I nodded, excited that I was understood. I nodded a little too violently and the lines in my arms shook slightly. I winced, which Cuddy must have taken as a smile, since she didn't ask any further. "He isn't here," Cuddy said, sitting down in the stool next to the bed. I watched her for a moment and looked away.

"Take the line out," I tried to sign and again she was confused. I couldn't blame her, even if she could understand ASL, my arms were too constrained to be understood. It was like duct taping a speaking person when the tape could be placed over the nose. The IVs in my arms could have been placed in my legs, but no one thinks of these things. Couldn't really blame them, I was fighting the process every step of the way. Cuddy reaches over for a plastic pink cup and pitcher. Pink, why would they make it pink? Was I having a baby girl? Pink was such a horrible color. Reminded me of death. Red blood and white flesh: pink.

Cuddy poured some water into the cup and offered it to me, a straw pointed in my direction. I looked at the offered cup for a moment and then turned away. I didn't want any water, I didn't want to be here, I didn't want pity and I didn't want Cuddy. She was nice, female, which was not a poor adjective. Female meant sweet, caring, 'aw it's a baby' attitude. Cuddy was female as far as all that went, she was trying any how. I heard a tap as she put the cup down, but I didn't turn. Hoping that she would leave, I just concentrated on the opposite wall.

"I could change that for you," she said after a long silence. I turned, questioning. "Get you at least one arm free," Cuddy said and I raised my eyebrows. What else was I going to do?

She took that as a 'yes, please do' and stood up from the stool. I watched her cross the room, the shadows following her as she walked to the cabinets to the right of the sliding door. Coming back with a tray of medical equipment, I watched as she snapped a pair of nirtile gloves onto her hands. Not as satisfying as latex, but a new day was dawning and so was the incidence of latex allergy in the general population. I winced despite myself and lack of elasticity. She took my right arm, finding that this was my dominate hand, and placed it on the stretched out material that had been covering the instruments.

Blue and white, wrinkled plastic cloth, stuffed with cotton and coated in wax. Who makes this stuff? Is there a five year old out there that says, 'I know, small blue wax coated sheets, that's what I want to do with my life'.

She stood up slightly, her heels clicking on the floor. Her white coat was new, clean and slightly reflective. That's odd. She turned on the overhead floresant light and I squinted, pulling back slightly at the sudden intrusion. Cuddy sat back down, the wheels on the stool rolling back slightly. She took my arm, which had fallen into my lap in my attempt at escaping the harsh light, no, not of day, just of the lamp. Well, maybe the harsh light of day, despite it being night.

In pulling my arm, she pulled herself closer to the bed, the wheels squeezing. Who oils the stools in the hospital? Is there some guy who walks around with a can of oil and just oils all the stools? I mean, there must be thousands of stools. And if so, what else does he oil? The doors? There are rollers on the sliding glass doors. They must need oil. He must have quit, I mean… Ouch. Before I knew it, Cuddy has stuck me in the posterior tibial vein. I tried to pull my leg back, knee towards the ceiling, but she had a firm grip as she attached the cannula in my leg to the tubing for the plasmaphoresis machine.

Blood out, spin, spin, whoosh, whoosh, blood in. I was no longer complete as I watched the thin line of humanity that ran out of my arm and into my opposite leg. What a thin line, thin… red… line. Circulatory. A system so old, that its found in nearly every living being. Used to be a hemocoel, an open circulatory system fit for lobsters. Yum. Now, it was just a line. A line for saline, a line for a calorie IV, and a line for my humanity. Thin, red line.

Cuddy pulled the blanket over my leg again and pushed back from the bed. The stool rolling over the floor and I pulled my right arm up, free from its constraints. Cuddy took her gloves off and placed them back on the nightstand table, where the open tray lay. I looked at her expectantly, but when she didn't look up, I looked over at the chart that she was writing in. Leaning in, the bed sheet rumbled beneath me and she gave me a sideways glance. I smiled. I wasn't happy. That wasn't it. I mean, how happy can you be with the person who just stuck a piece of plastic in your leg? But I smiled because she had freed me, and seemed to understand. She didn't know sign language, that much I could tell, but it was something.

"Give a scream if your leg starts hurting, ok?" she said and I raised my eyebrows. She smiled. "You know what I mean," Cuddy said and I nodded, looking away. "Get some sleep ok?" Cuddy said touching my freed arm, I looked down at her hand and looked back into her eyes. Female.

I took a deep breath and the monitor behind me beeped. I looked back at the monitor, the numbers quickly changing. My blood pressure, a steady 108 over 72, dropped and the monitor bleeped again. 99 over 69. I turned around, the room spinning. Too dizzy to keep my eyes open, I closed them. I could hear Cuddy take a step closer, but everything was a step behind. A slight shaking, I squeeze my eyes tighter, turning away from the source.

"Open your eyes," the voice said, but it seemed so far away. I opened my eyes, but it wasn't of my own will. 95 over 64. A pen light shone in my eyes and again, I tried to pull away, but it was no use. "I'm going to lower the bed."

86 over 61.