Page 19 of Unnecessary Drama

‘Harper can bring you clothes if they want to keep you overnight.’

Oh god. Overnight in hospital. I am sweating.

‘I can’t just go to the emergency room. It’s for people who are bleeding and dying.’

‘It’s for people who are in need of urgent care. You might be bleeding internally. We don’t know.’

‘I’m not ready!’

‘It’s the emergency room. By its very nature, people who go there aren’t ready.’

I start making a list in my phone of all the things I will need at the hospital. My skin cleanser, my moisturiser, my good pyjamas, a hairbrush, a toothbrush, at least six pairs of clean, sensible, full-coverage underwear, a cosy cardigan, a blanket, a clean pillowcase, the book I’m reading, a back-up book, a second back-up book because who knows what kind of mood I’ll be in, my laptop, my laptop charger, a water bottle, snacks, my passport maybe, or even my birth certificate (I’m not sure why but I want the highest form of identification) a cute T-shirt and maybe headband in case I need to do a hospital-bed selfie with bad bed hair. Wait, do I even own a headband? Or know where my birth certificate is? I put question marks against these items on my list.

We get to the hospital and into the emergency department. I feel like a fraud walking in, but Jesse steers me up to the counter. He sits in the waiting room while someone takes my details, asks me questions about the pain, my periods, my history, if I could be pregnant. Am I sure, am I really, really sure, they’ll check for me anyway but am I sure? I answer as if my answers are getting graded. I would like an A+ on my emergency-room form, please.

‘Okay, head over there and we’ll call you when someone is free. You’re lucky, it’s not busy right now, you’ll be seen in a couple of hours,’ the woman says, sounding bored. This is nothing to her, this is her working day.

I walk back to Jesse, who is sitting in the corner, away from the myriad of other people.

‘It could be a while,’ I say. This is his opening to escape, to leave.

‘How are you feeling?’ he says.

‘I’m okay. It hurts, but the worst pain was on the run. It’s probably nothing.’

‘Should you call your mum?’

‘I don’t want to ruin her weekend away. She’ll freak out. I’ll call her when I’ve seen the doctor.’

‘Okay.’ He looks at me like he thinks this is a bad idea. He also doesn’t look like he’s about to leave.

‘You really don’t need to wait with me,’ I say. Obviously, I will cry if he leaves me alone, but I also must push him to leave.

‘I’ll wait,’ he says cheerfully, like it’s a fun prospect for a Saturday night.

‘You don’t need to though.’ This clarification is important. I am not asking him to stay. I am not asking Jesse for help. I do not owe him anything. Let it be noted on the record, let the history books reflect the truth of the matter. Let me have this technicality, your honour.

‘Brooke. I’m not doing you a favour. I want to wait here,’ he says.

‘Oh sure. Everyone loves hanging out in the emergency room. It has such a lovely, upbeat atmosphere,’ I say.

‘Exactly. The smell, the people, the sounds, the germs. I’m just excited to soak it all up.’

I hide a smile. I pull out my phone and start googling phrases like ‘sudden abdominal pain death’ and ‘top ten signs you are going to die’ and Jesse looks over my shoulder and sighs.

‘You’re going to be fine,’ he says.

‘You only say that to someone if you think there’s a chance they won’t be fine, so it actually reinforces the idea of being not fine.’

‘So what should I say instead? You won’t be fine?’

‘Yes. I am the kind of person who appreciates an acknowledgment of the reality of the situation.’

‘Okay. You’re not fine. I think something might be seriously wrong.’

There’s a beat of silence between us.

‘Huh. You know what, I didn’t like hearing that either,’ I say.