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Intubated
Intubated is a medical drama that tells the story of 35- year-old therapist Rebekah Dawson, who faces the challenges of living a life that was unexpected, and in her mind, a mistake. It isn't until she meets a mysterious patient that she begins to reconsider her survival. Intubated shows us how one faces the universal obstacles of fear, doubt, and unbelief and how rehabilitation begins by discovering the difference between "living" and what it means to truly "live".
INTRODUCTION
“For I know the plans I have for you. Plans to give you a hope and a future. Plans to prosper you," the voice reminded me. "Though the pain may last through the night, dawn comes in the morning. Rise. Run your race and finish strong. You have many witnesses.”
“What is your name?” a gruff voice asked. “Re … Rebek…Rebekah Dawson,” I said. My lips stuck together and my throat was sore. “Where are you?” the demanding voice questioned again. “I…I don’t know,” I muttered to the best of my ability. “Open your eyes Rebekah. Go ahead. Open them,” a second voice, more comforting than the first, urged me. I tried so hard, but they were so heavy. “Try Rebekah. Try again, Sweetie.” On my second attempt, I had minimal success. I caught a glimpse of two figures dressed in white standing over me. Unsure if the figures were humans or angels, I forced a question from my dry, cracked lips though my eyes had already closed. “Am I…dead?” “No, Rebekah. You’re in the Recovery Room.”
INTRODUCTION
“For I know the plans I have for you. Plans to give you a hope and a future. Plans to prosper you," the voice reminded me. "Though the pain may last through the night, dawn comes in the morning. Rise. Run your race and finish strong. You have many witnesses.”
“What is your name?” a gruff voice asked. “Re … Rebek…Rebekah Dawson,” I said. My lips stuck together and my throat was sore. “Where are you?” the demanding voice questioned again. “I…I don’t know,” I muttered to the best of my ability. “Open your eyes Rebekah. Go ahead. Open them,” a second voice, more comforting than the first, urged me. I tried so hard, but they were so heavy. “Try Rebekah. Try again, Sweetie.” On my second attempt, I had minimal success. I caught a glimpse of two figures dressed in white standing over me. Unsure if the figures were humans or angels, I forced a question from my dry, cracked lips though my eyes had already closed. “Am I…dead?” “No, Rebekah. You’re in the Recovery Room.”
233 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 23, 2011
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