Page 41 of Insidious

The last thing I remember …

I close my eyes, trying to catch it before it slips away.

Dancing with Amelie in my arms.

And then … nothing.

“Amelie is fine. You have been in and out since yesterday,” Lily rambles. “You pulled out that nose tube. You had a bit of yoghurt yesterday, and then it was lights out.”

“Am I at the hospital?” I interrupt.

Lily nods, but she is struggling to hold it together.

“Why am I in the hospital?” I ask, grabbing her hand. “Why can’t I remember?”

There is a knock at the door. It opens before I can piece my fragmented thoughts together.

A young man in scrubs with a head of wild, messy curls walks in. His glasses slip slightly down his nose. A nurse follows behind him.

His eyes widen when he sees me sitting up on the bed, and he gives me a bright smile.

“Hello … Luna?” he asks. “Wonderful to see you up. Do you remember me? No? It’s alright. You were not 100 percent yesterday, but I can see you are feeling better today.”

I nod slowly.

“It’s good to see you awake,” he says, stepping closer. “You’ve given us quite a scare. Let me introduce myself. I am Davis. I’m one of the doctors on the medical team. And this is Sandra, one of our nurses.”

His voice has a soothing quality. Closer, I can see the streaks of grey hidden in his brown hair.

“What happened to me?” I ask, and even I can hear the tremor in my voice.

He glances at Lily. Something passes between them.

I don’t like that look.

“I need to know what happened. Why am I here?” I ask, my voice rising.

“Alright. Before we go there, I need a few details, okay?” He turns back to me, pulling a chair closer. “What is the last thing you remember?”

I swallow. The last few memories are grim.

“I haven’t been feeling … right since I came back from the hospital,” I say slowly. “Just tired. And … sad. Just blank, even when I hold Amelie, like nothing matters.” The words sit awkwardly on my tongue. “I didn’t know what was wrong.”

I pause.

My head feels heavy.

“I’ve been struggling,” I finally admit, “with breastfeeding. With … everything.” I look at him. “Tell me what happened.”

He nods slightly.

“Sometimes, it’s easier if you have the information in small packets instead of all at once. It may feel overwhelming otherwise …” he tries.

“It’s worse, not knowing why I am here,” I interrupt. “What are you not telling me? I am fine. I can take it. Is it my daughter? Is Amelie alright?” I can feel the panic rise.

“Yes. Your daughter is fine, but the hospital is not the safest place for newborns. Do you recall that you fell and hit your head?”

I can feel a headache coming on as I think hard.