Page 81 of You Had Me at Hello World
He doesn’t respond. I don’t even think he’s conscious. His face is stiff except for this horrible gurgling sound that oozes from his mouth. Even though I’ve never seen a seizure before, I’m deathly sure that’s what this is.
Fuck. Fuck. He never told me what to do in this situation. But I should’ve asked.
Should I turn him on his side to ensure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit? Or is that only for drunk people? Do people even vomit during seizures? I hate myself for not knowing. God, I need an actual adult right now. My mom is down the hall, but let’s be real. In a medical crisis, she’s not much better than Reddit.
With trembling hands, I dial 911.
By the time the EMTs arrive, Khoi’s stopped jerking, thank God, although he’s still out cold. As one of them checks his vitals with easy confidence, the other asks me how long he was seizing for.
“Um, maybe a few minutes?” It felt like forever to me. I feel like an idiot for not having a better answer. Why didn’t I think to time the seizure?
“If it was longer than five minutes, it’s considered to bestatus epilepticus, which can be life-threatening.”
The wordlife-threateningmakes my stomach knot up, and I force myself to take several deep breaths. I have to keep my shit together. For Khoi.
They say he’ll probably be fine as long as he gets back on his meds—withdrawal seizures are a common side effect of missing multiple doses of Keppra—but they want to whisk him to urgent care just in case. The paramedics let me ride in the ambulance and I hold his hand the entire time. At least his breathing has steadied. He looks so small and pale on the cot, like a porcelain doll, and it makes me want to never let go.
Once we arrive, they disappear with him in the back and I collapse in the waiting room. My entire body is vibrating with anxiety.
The dude next to me, who’s definitely old enough to be my dad, shoots me a low-key flirty look. Yeah, no thanks. Maybe it’s an overreaction, but I bounce to the other side of the room. Not today, sir.
Ugh. I feel so useless. There’s nothing I can do for Khoi. I can’t even call his aunt and uncle to let them know about what happened because I don’t have their phone numbers. I think MIT Medical might be taking care of that.
No, wait. There is something I need to do.
The clock’s ticking. We’ve got, like, ten minutes before we’re supposed to present. I should tell the judges that we had amedical emergency and can’t make it anymore. Beg for a do-over slot later. So I call HellomynameisCourtney.
“Hello?” Her voice is crisp, efficient. Like metal scraping against metal.
“This is Charise Tang, I’m in Alpha Fellows, my team is supposed to be presenting, like, right now, but we’re going to miss our time slot, my teammate Khoi Astor, he suddenly had a seizure…” The words tumble out all piled up.
“Charise. Charise. Take a deep breath.”
I oblige, but it doesn’t calm me down much.
“Great. Now, is he okay?” she asks sharply.
“I don’t know.” I haven’t even had time to doomscroll WebMD. “He hasn’t been taking his medication.”
A horrible thought hits me. What if the last thing he ever hears is me saying that we shouldn’t be together? No, I’m spiraling. The paramedics said he’d be fine. And people don’t just die from seizures. I think. But what if they do? I don’t know anything about this. I should’ve asked him more about his condition. Why did I never ask? It’s such a huge part of his life. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it… but maybe I’m just making excuses for my awfulness.
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” she says. “Health takes priority, of course.”
“But the presentation?” I feel shitty for even asking, but I have to know.
“Well, you’re perfectly fine, right?”
The implication is obvious, but I want Khoi there too. I don’t want him to miss out on this, especially when he poured so much of his soul into Hello World.
Plus… I don’t know if I can do it by myself. Without him.
“They might let him out soon,” I say. “They’re just, uh, observing him?” Like he’s a goldfish in a fish tank. “What if we presented later?”
“Unfortunately our schedule is tight and we won’t be able to allocate a different time slot to your team,” she says. “You have to present by yourself or not at all.”
“Please—”
“Charise, it’s eight minutes to ten,” she says. “If you don’t want all your hard work this summer to go to waste, I suggest you goright now. If not for yourself, then for your teammate.”
