“Is it bad?” Damien asked, hovering like a nervous husband.
“With that kind of reaction, we could be talking about a ruptured appendix.”
“Her twin sister just had an appendectomy last month,” Damien said, putting two and two together.
“Could be genetic,” the doctor mused. “We just don’t know, and unfortunately, we’re not equipped to handle it if the problem escalates. We have to advise you to go to the hospital. We can offer to call an ambulance.”
“No,” Damien said quickly. “I’ll drive. You can walk, can’t you?” He turned to me, all concern.
“I’m fine.” I winced. I wasn’t fine, but as long as no one was pushing on my stomach, there was little pain. It was a general feeling of discomfort that bothered me, not anything to get all upset about.
We went back to the car, Damien glancing at me the entire way. He wanted to hold my hand, to guide me as if I were an invalid or an elderly woman. I tried to push him off, but he just came back, so I accepted his assistance and waited for him to open the door for me. He helped me sit down and closed the door behind me. I couldn’t stay angry with him. It was almost ridiculous the amount of care he was showing. You would think I was at death’s door the way he was acting.
“They’re just trying to cover their own ass,” I told him. “They’re not worried about me; they’re worried about getting sued.”
“I’m going to take you to Mercy,” Damien said, ignoring my pronouncement.
“Providence is closer,” I said.
“Providence is where Millie went,” Damien reminded me. “I don’t want a repeat of that mistake.”
“That was one in a million,” I said with a sigh. “And Millie is fine.”
“No thanks to the doctor. What if this is your appendix?” Damien sped down the street, darting in and out of cars as if he were driving an ambulance himself. The only thing he was missing was a siren.
“Slow down,” I said, gripping the dash.
Damien eased up on the gas a bit, allowing me to relax.
“I’m telling you, they just want to get me out of their office because if something happens, it will be our problem, not theirs.”
“That means they’re worried something will happen.” Damien turned my argument on its ear, using my own words to prove his point.
I sat back, crossing my arms over my chest. At the hospital, I walked into the emergency room feeling corralled and railroaded. I knew it was going to cost a fortune, even if they discovered that it was just gas. Luckily, I had a great job with three wonderful bosses who purchased health insurance for all their employees. So I didn’t have to worry about paying out of pocket. Still, it was frustrating to find myself in an institutional setting after having experienced mild symptoms that I was sure were the result of poorly cooked chicken.
They took my vitals and processed me into a smaller waiting room. Damien sat beside me, composing emails on his phone. I let him be. Work came in a close second in his heart, and he couldn’t bear to be apart from his clients for very long. I didn’t mind. I still wasn’t convinced that the same thing that had happened to Millie was going to happen to me.
Things changed abruptly when a whole troupe of nurses rushed in. They fanned out, checking my vitals and hooking me up to machines. It was worse than a frontal assault because they weren’t talking.
Damien stood up, making way for them to puncture my arms and clip my fingers to heartrate monitors. I followed him with my eyes, desperate for information.
“What’s going on?” I cried.
No one answered.
“What are you doing?” Damien demanded.
Finally, one of the nurses stopped. “Please step outside, sir.”
“Not until you tell me what’s happening,” he complained.
“The doctor will be here in a moment,” the nurse replied, pushing him out the door.
“Call Millie!” I shouted as they led Damien away.
“I’ll be right here!” Damien called out as the door swung shut behind him.
Then I was alone with the three terrible witches and no idea what would happen next.