FicWad

Chapter Three: The IV and Your Hospital Bed


I nervously flip through one of the ages-old magazines that lie on the dilapidated coffee table next to my chair. I hold back a flood of tears, biting my lip till it nearly bleeds. Crossing and re-crossing my legs, I try to focus.

The white walls of the Intensive Care Unit are barren except for puke green wallpaper covering the bottom half of it and a vending machine stands in the corner, blinking like it’s in need of repair. Chairs are pushed against the wall, and a leather sofa is underneath the third-floor windows. Stars are beginning to twinkle against the twilight sky outside. Down the hall is the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, where other concerned people wait for their loved ones. I feel their impatience, their worry.

Patrick is sitting next to me, looking awkward and uncomfortable. Andy is off somewhere, doing something. I’m really not aware of much at all right now. He had comforted me on the way here, to the hospital, and I am so grateful. Leah’s my only close friend – we’ve known each other since high school. I’ve got other friends – Mike, Cathy, and even Veronica – but none of them are like Leah. Patrick’s all I have now.

The television is blasting the local news channel. Tonight’s top story is that of a party that had been interrupted by a call to EMS.

“Earlier this evening, a twenty-three year old girl, whose name has not yet been released, collapsed at a party, held just outside the city,” drones the announcer in her nasally voice. “When the paramedics came, they found drugs there, including ecstasy, rohpynol, GHB, and marijuana.”

It cuts to a picture of the owner of the house – a shifty man who had been standing on the deck with us. His tousled black hair falls in his face, hiding his emotions. “The owner of the house will not speak to the media.”

This time, the tears do fall. At least we got out of there before someone tried to sell us something, I think bitterly.

“Leah Keane,” a bored voice calls out, interrupting my thoughts, “family of Leah Keane.” I get up, a foreboding lump in my throat.

“Patrick?” I ask.

He gets up slowly, stretching his legs. “Come on,” he says, putting his arm comfortingly around my shoulder. “Let’s go visit Leah.”

The bored nurse leads us down the hall to Leah’s room. I get the sinking feeling that she’s done this before, many times, and it’s just another day on the job. Leah’s room is just as grey as the ICU waiting room was. She lies on her bed, wearing an ugly hospital gown. At least she’s smiling, I think optimistically.

An old, withered doctor in a spotless white lab coat stands next to her bed, taking notes on his clipboard. He stands crooked, leaning over her and muttering to himself. His wispy, thin white hair gives an eerie glow in the fluorescent lamplight.

I squeeze Patrick’s hand tightly, my fingers woven with his. “Excuse me,” I say timidly, barely even whispering. He doesn’t seem to hear me.

This time I speak louder. “Doctor?” I clear my throat.

He looks up at us and sighs softly. “Your sister here, Leah, was probably drugged.”

I think of the TV news report. The old man continues. “We’ve sent some of her blood samples to analyze, but I’m pretty sure it’s drug effects. Probably rohpynol, or GHB, if I had to guess. Together, these drugs are generally lethal, so your friend here is lucky to be alive. We weren’t sure she’d make it – she had a hard time breathing there for a while.” He pauses to write something down again. “She most likely won’t remember much of tonight, if it is the drugs. Right now she’s fine, fit, aside from the drugs in her bloodstream.”

I wobble, and the doctor notices and his expression softens. “Go get something to eat now. She’ll be fine until you two get back. I’ll make sure to let you know if her condition changes.”

I stumble numbly out of the room. Rophynol and GHB were found at the house. But Leah, drugged? Why anyone would do that is beyond me. Leah is so kind, with a huge heart, even if she’s somewhat introverted. My feet aren’t connected to my brain anymore, and they move of their own will down the hall.

Patrick leads me into the elevator, apparently taking the aged doctor’s advice. I dumbly follow, not able to think on my own at the moment. I rest my head on his shoulder, staring into space. He strokes my hair, telling me it’s okay, even if we both know it’s a big fat lie.

What if someone had slipped it in her drink? It haunts me, that idea that it could’ve been me; what if I’d been there, and they hadn’t done this? Guilt floods over me, and I try to push the thought out of a mind. A quiet sob escapes me.

Patrick glances concernedly at me. “Aeri?”

I sniff, regaining my composure. “I’m okay, I guess. Just . . . this never would’ve happened if I hadn’t left her alone. God only knows where she’d’ve ended up if Andy hadn’t been there. I hate myself for leaving her all alone just so I could watch the show!” I don’t mention it was really him I wanted to see.

“Aeri, listen.” Patrick cups my face in his hands. “It is not your fault. Would it’ve done her any more good if you’d gotten drugged too? Besides,” he smiles wanly at me, “we met. And, the show was pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

This earns a small smile from me. A small one. “That’s true, I suppose. It probably wouldn’t’ve mattered, but I still can’t help think that I could’ve done something for her.” I sigh and rub my temples.

“Let’s get some food in you. Maybe you’ll feel better after you eat something,” he says. The cafeteria is on the first floor, across from the gift shop and the main lobby. Its big glass doors have intricate patterns on them.

There’s a serve-your-self theme going on; there’s a buffet bar lining one wall, and more vending machines on the other. Tables fill the room, and a corner has a big screen TV and leather couches. I grab a salad and some chicken from the buffet bar, while Patrick gets some chips and a drink from the vending machines.

“So,” Patrick says, “what were you doing at the party?”

“Err, partying? Well, not really, but whatever. Leah and I were kind of lounging around and looking like we belonged.”

He laughs. “I meant why were you at the party.”

“Oh. A friend of a friend knows a guy who was best friends with the guy who owns the place in high school, and neither the friend nor the friend of a friend could go, so they invited us to go in their places.”

“Wait . . . what?” Patrick blinks rapidly, trying to process what I just explained.

“Basically, my friends couldn’t make it, so they said we could take their places.” I look down sheepishly. “We – Leah and I – usually don’t go to parties like that.” I grin halfheartedly as tears sting at the corners of my eyes. “And Patrick?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for everything. For being here with an almost total stranger, at the hospital in the late hours of the night, waiting for someone whom you’ve never met to wake up from a drug-induced coma. You’re the only support I have right now. You have no idea how much this means to me that you stayed,” I gush, thinking of Leah in her ICU room.

Patrick squeezes my hand. “It’s no problem at all.” He looks me straight in the eye. He has beautiful blue eyes. “I mean it too. It beats sleeping on the bus tonight, and besides, you didn’t give me a chance to leave. You have a strong grip.”

I smile, a full smile now, even if it is tainted with my sorrow. We chitchat about mundane things while we finish eating, avoiding any mention of hospitals or related topics. I tell him about the time Leah, Mike, and I nearly burned down my parents’ house. He then proceeds to tell me about all the stupid things his friends have done. I’m content to let him do most of the talking. Nibbling at my food, I nod and laugh. By the time we get up to leave, my stomach hurts from laughter.

On our way out, Patrick grabs a salad for Andy and makes a call. I wait patiently, and then we head back up to the Intensive Care Unit.