Summer 1949 – Modern Thought for the Modern World

It was not that I could not move my limbs. I could not think about moving my limbs. The notion of standing would drift into my consciousness and then fade before I could grasp it much less implement the action. I sat on the floor. I don’t know how long I sat. I had lost the awareness of time along my ability to command my body. 

At last the doctor returned. Two nurses, both brunettes, in crisp white uniforms accompanied him. Their precise appearance made a sharp contrast to his rumpled one. The taller of the nurses wheeled in a metal table upon which lay a variety of medicine bottles and syringes. The bottles were arranged by height, tallest to shortest, the syringes by needle length, longest to shortest.