Page 5 of Haunted

Blinking my eyelids open, I took in the stark white walls of the dimly lit room, willing my fuzzy brain to recall the details of the night before—at least I hoped it had only been one night.

I knew I should have called out sick, but that was a luxury I quite literally couldn’t afford. All morning, I’d been nauseated and when I walked into Over Easy,the diner where I waitressed part time, the urge to lose my lunch hit full force. Luckily the owner, Shirley, kept a virtual pharmacy of over-the-counter medications in the break room, so after popping a couple Pepto, I pulled up my big-girl panties and went to work.

The nausea never went away, despite the meds. In fact, it got worse. I grabbed a bite of something here or there throughout the day, knowing how dangerous it was if I didn’teat, but unfortunately, even the half a slice of dry toast made a reappearance twenty minutes later.

By the time I clocked out and left, I knew I was in trouble. There were glucagon tablets in my car, which would help get my sugar levels up, so If I could make it there, I’d be okay. That was the mantra I repeated over and over in my head when I stepped out into the cool evening air.

My legs felt like rubber, still I put one foot in front of the other, praying to a God I stopped believing in years ago to keep me vertical for the next two blocks.

Just a few more steps.

As I rounded the last corner, which led to the lot where I parked my car, the world tilted sharply. My vision, which was already blurry, completely blanked out and everything went dark.

When the door against the far wall swung open, letting in a tremendous amount of light from the hallway, the dull ache at my temples grew in intensity—like I was being stabbed by a thousand needles behind my eyes—and a new pain at the back of my head, I hadn’t noticed before, throbbed with each beat of my heart. Slamming my lids closed against the onslaught of agony, I took in several slow, deep breaths until it subsided.

“Good morning, Miss Graves,” a woman’s voice called out. “My name is Lucy and I’ll be your nurse today.”

“Where am I?” I tried to say, though it sounded more like “worm I” considering my mouth was so dry, my tongue stuck to the roof of it.

“Cabell Huntington Hospital. You were brought in last night.”

Soft footfalls sounded against a hard floor as she moved to my side. Something smooth pressed against my lips.

“Here, sweetheart. Small sips.”

The cool water tasted heavenly as I swallowed a few mouthfuls, grateful for the instant relief to my scratchy throat. All too soon, she pulled the straw away.

“That’s enough for now. We don’t want to upset your stomach.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. The doctor is doing his rounds right now and will be in shortly. Let’s go ahead and check your vital signs and blood sugar, then I’ll help you order some breakfast. I’ve also got some Tylenol here for the goose egg on the back of your head.” She held up a small plastic cup with two white pills inside.

I reached without thinking, wincing when I felt the knot beneath my hair. It wasn’t the first time I’d passed out when my blood sugar got too low, and I’m sure it wouldn’t be the last. Especially given my current circumstances.

A few minutes and a poke to the finger later, Lucy declared, “One hundred thirty-three. Much better.”

“How bad was it last night?”

Slowly, I opened my eyes again, relieved when there was only a twinge of discomfort. Lucy wore a kind smile on her face as she began to tidy up the already immaculate room. She looked exactly like her voice sounded; young and chipper. She was maybe a smidge younger than my twenty-three and her long blond hair was held back in a high ponytail, which cascaded down past her shoulders. It swayed side to side with every step she took.

Turning back to me while folding a stray blanket, her jovial mask slipped slightly when she finally answered my question.

“Thirty-two, so pretty darn bad.”

After placing my order for scrambled eggs and toast, sheleft the room but not before giving me orders to use the call button if I needed to get out of bed for any reason.

I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, my name was being called by a voice, which was not nearly as friendly as Lucy’s.

“Miss Graves?”

“Yeah?” I peeked through slits in the bottom of my eyelids, only to be assaulted by the bright lights again. Thankfully the Tylenol had worked; turning the roaring lion in my head into a more manageable meowing kitten.

“I’m Dr. Stallworth. I’ve been in charge of your care during your stay.”

Blinking, I took in the man standing at my bedside. He may have been good-looking to some, but to me he looked a bit too stuffy, dressed in a crisp white lab coat covering an even crisper light blue button-down shirt with a matching paisley tie. Even his navy dress pants looked like they’d just come directly off an ironing board. His entire outfit screamed money, probably costing more than my piece-of-shit car. If the annoyed expression on his face while he looked through my chart was anything to go by, he knew I was a charity case and he wasn’t happy about it.

He stood at the foot of the bed, droning on about the hazards of diabetes with almost as much care and concern as I’d expect to receive from the clipboard he held in his hands. It made me feel like I was a duty, an unwanted burden who couldn’t pay for his expertise, so he was simply checking off the boxes of his obligation, rather than trying to prevent further hospitalizations by educating his patient. Not that I needed to know all the ins and outs of a disease I’d been saddled with since I was eight, but still, he didn’t know that.

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