Page 60 of Things We Tell Ourselves

Twenty

“Sorry, Ma’am, but only one visitor is allowed back.”

“I am her one visitor,” Camille retorts, fighting to keep her emotions in check. It’s been too long of a day. “I talked to her parents on the way here. They’re at her house getting a bag packed with all the stuff she’s wanting. I should have a good hour with her before they make it back.”

The young woman in scrubs behind the hospital’s reception counter shakes her head. “Ms. Sykes already has a visitor with her.”

This is it. She’s about to reach her breaking point. With her luck, she’ll end up in the psych ward. Don’t all hospitals have those? “Can you at least tell me how she’s doing? She isn’t answering her phone. I need to see her.”

It’s a fight to keep it together. The failed trip, Evelyn’s injury, the last-minute conference that she’ll no doubt have to attend alone, and now she can’t even see her best friend. She sniffs back snot as it fills her sinuses.

The nurse gives her a sympathetic look, and Camille assumes she’s probably used to seeing emotionally fragile people. She rises from her seat. It dawns on Camille as the woman walks to the open door behind the reception counter that whoever she’s speaking to could be security or the person in charge of admitting to the psych ward. The young woman straightens, returning to Camille.

This is it. I’ve never been kicked out of a hospital before.

A large woman emerges from around the door. Camille takes one look at the lady’s scrubs, the thoughts in her head changing. I’ve never seen the inside of a psych ward either. Camille holds her breath and wonders what one has to say to get out of being admitted involuntarily. I’m not crazy. I just want to see my friend. The woman takes a right toward the electronic doors down the hall.

“She’s going to let her know that you’re here,” the nurse behind the counter says gently. “You can have a seat.”

Camille eyes the woman disappearing behind the sliding doors and wonders if the nurse is telling the truth. She could be going to get a male nurse to help sedate her. Reluctantly, Camille collapses into a chair a few seats away from a man doubled over with his elbows on his knees, holding a barf bag inches from his mouth. She can tell that he’s waiting for it to happen, and she doesn’t care.

Sure enough, when she looks back at the hospital doors, the woman is already walking out, a petite blonde nurse behind her. At least it’s a female nurse and not some burly male nurse. Camille looks her over. She could totally overpower her if it came down to it. The heavier-set woman stops at the reception desk, pointing the nurse to Camille.

“Ms. Lee,” the nurse says, hurrying up to her.

Camille stands. “Yes?”

“Come with me.”

The nurse spins around, jetting right back to the doors she’d just walked out of. For little legs, the nurse sure can move. Camille has to nearly jog to keep up. They walk through the doors, and the nurse points at the sink on the wall.

“Hands and wrists,” she instructs, stopping at the end of the sink to give her an impatient stare.

“Yes, ma’am.”

A quick, thorough, sudsy wash, and she’s following through another set of doors, drying her hands off on a paper towel. The patient rooms are divided into two hallways that meet at the nurses’ station directly ahead of them.

Camille frowns at the nurse when she sees her going straight to the mounted hand sanitizer pump on the wall. “Hey, why couldn’t I use that?”

A dollop of foam drops into the nurse’s hand. She glances back at Camille. “You can use it, but you still have to wash your hands when you come in.” The nurse rubs the hand sanitizer in with both hands. Camille stares at her, silently reminding herself that she could still end up in the psych ward if she pisses the nurse off by pointing out that hand sanitizer must be pretty effective if she’s using it instead of washing her own hands.

“Third room on the left. Try to be quiet, she’s resting.” The nurse veers off down the hallway.

“But I thought she had a visitor with her,” Camille begins, but the nurse is on the move veering off down the opposite hall. “Wait,” Camille calls, “can you tell me how she’s doing?”

The nurse looks over her shoulder. “She’ll make it. No worries.”

“No worries,” Camille repeats under her breath, wishing it were true. She practices her calm face. You can get through this…I’m here for you. What do I do at the meeting Monday if you can’t make it?

Rounding the corner into the third room, she stops inside the doorway. Evelyn is passed out in her bed with her mouth drooping open. Her left arm is wrapped up, resting on top of a pillow they have lying at her side. It’s bandaged from her wrist all the way up to her shoulder. The small room is empty besides Evelyn, and the machines attached to her. So much for having a visitor, but maybe one of their girlfriends is here, and they went to the cafeteria or something. Evelyn easily could have called Jasmin or Gretchen to come and sit with her. Jasmin would be who Camille would call if Evelyn couldn’t make it. Something about the stories Jasmin tells about her family back home in China always has a way of taking her mind off life’s daily stresses. She sure could use one of those stories right about now…

“Let me know about the room situation,” a male voice is saying in the hallway.

Camille freezes.

“The surgeon should be here by morning.” Footsteps stop in the doorway behind her.

She turns around to see Wade standing next to a doctor.

---