“We can’t find anythingwrong with you.” The doctor flips through his chart before glancing up at me, a smile on his face like that’s great news.
“But, then what?” I gesture toward my body from the hospital bed, then return to scratching my arms. The Promethazine pumping through the IV in my arm has reduced most of my pain. But now everything itches, and I’m so sleepy, I can hardly think straight.
He glances back at his chart, flipping through the pages slower. “The EKG and blood work didn’t show anything abnormal. No ulcer, blood clot, infection, swelling, everything is working fine. You are completely healthy.”
“If there’s nothing wrong with me, then why does my stomach hurt so bad?”
“Does it still hurt?”
“Well,” I close my eyes, focusing on my body, weighing all the pain like it’s some sort of scale, “not really.” Not compared to what it normally is.
“There you go.” He flips his chart closed and tucks it under his arm.
“But,” I gesture toward the IV that I’ve been hooked up to for the last four hours. A tear wells in the corner of my eye. I wish Nana was here. She’d give him a piece of her mind, tell him everything that’s been going on with me, find the words that I seem to have lost and make him see.
There has to be something. This is the third time I’ve been to the ER in the last two months. I’ve been eating Tums and Pepto-Bismol chewables like they’re candy. I tried prescription antacids for two years. The pain is still there. The nausea, the headaches, the random pains shooting down my arms and legs. It’s there, real.
“I’d like for you to talk with someone.”
Before I can answer, he waves a woman in. Wearing a white lab coat like him, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail, she smiles at me.
“Hi, my name is Mrs. Valleru, I’m a licensed, substance abuse counselor with the hospital. Is it all right if I ask you a few questions?”
Chapter 13
Brendan
“What are you doing?” Breckin glances up from his laptop from his position on the patio.
I gesture toward the towel and soap in my hands. “Taking a shower. I stink like your ass would if you actually did any of that tiling.”
“Why are you smelling my ass?”
I stroll down the steps to the porch not bothering with another comeback. Work was brutal. Two of the guys didn’t show, so I had to jump in and carry lumber all day to keep us on schedule.
“Hey,” he calls out as I pass our pool, “I wouldn’t head next door.”
If I had a free finger, I’d flip him off. I know he wants us to wait, but I’m not talking about trying to get in the girl’s bed. I need a fucking shower. “Don’t try and seduce the angry chick with all this charm,” I raise my shampoo in the air, “gotcha.”
“I saw her today.”
That has me stopping in my tracks.
“We went out to breakfast.”