When I opened my eyes, my nose was filled with the smell of disinfectant.
The incandescent lights on the ceiling hurt my eyes. I subconsciously wanted to raise my hand to block the light, but found that there was an infusion tube inserted into my right arm. The stripes of the hospital gown on my wrist are so familiar that they make me want to vomit—I died in the hospital wearing this kind of clothes in my previous life.
Wrong.
I sat up suddenly, the infusion tube pulled the needle, and I gasped in pain. The ECG monitor next to the bed started to alarm, and the nurse pushed open the door and rushed in, shouting something I couldn't hear clearly.
