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“I’m going to watch you for another ten minutes to make sure nothing else is going on. And then I’m going to need you take some blood to send out for lab work so we can eliminate any other possibilities.” Kerry jotted down some quick notes. “Who’s your physician?”
“Dr. Lourdes Fisher.” I grimaced, thinking of the handouts Dr. Fisher had given me.
“I’m going to send her a copy of this report. You’ll need to schedule an appointment—for as soon as possible—you’re going to need a follow-up, as well as the labs. She might want to put you on medication or monitor you.”
I narrowed my eyes at Kerry, who I’d liked up until this point. “Great.”
She sat down on the floor and regarded me. “A panic attack is no joke, and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. They can sometimes lead to serious complications, so it’s good someone called 9-1-1.”
“I’m still embarrassed.”
Kerry smiled. “Don’t be. This is nothing. I got a call earlier today—I had to go cut a guy out of his kitchen. He got a piercing down there”—she motioned to her private parts—“and he was making himself breakfast naked—because this is Northern California, and people are weird. His piercing got stuck on a cabinet hinge when he reached up to get his flour sifter, to sift flour for his pancakes. No lie. I had to cut him loose with a pair of wire cutters.” She giggled.
In spite of myself, I giggled, too.
“Are you feeling better?” Wes called from outside the door. “Do you need anything?”
Kerry got up and motioned for him. “You can come back in, and I’ll check Hannah again in a few minutes.” She turned to me. “Would you feel more comfortable in your bed, not on the bathroom floor?”
I started to get up.
“Whoa,” Kerry said, “take it easy.”
Wes was beside me in an instant. “I got her.”
He led me to the bed, and I realized that not only did I feel better, I almost felt normal, as if nothing had happened.
And then I realized Wes was helping me. “You need to take it easy,” I mumbled.
He shook his head, ignoring what I said.
Kerry ushered the other paramedics to the hallway. “I’ll be out here if you need me.”
Wes tucked me into the bed and sat down. “Do you feel better?”
“Yeah. I don’t think I need to be in bed.”
His look told me not to budge.
“I’m fine,” I insisted. “In fact, I’m living proof that you can’t die of embarrassment.”
Wes put his hand over mine. “I’m sure that was hard for you, but you have nothing to be embarrassed about. I’ve had guys on my team—men who weigh two-thirty and seem like they could crush a small car with their fists—deal with panic attacks that have incapacitated them. It’s a medical emergency. Your body is completely out of your control when it happens, and it’s scary.”
“I don’t know why. I was just blow-drying my hair.”
“What were you thinking about?”
My shoulders sagged. “The Pace girls. And then it just sort of spiraled. I was thinking about all the things I try not to think about.”
“Like?” Wes’s voice was gentle.
“Like my parents’ car accident. Like when you got shot in front of me.”
He winced. “Anything else?”
“Just…violent things. Sad things. Li Na things.” I squeezed his hand. “She deserves to pay for what she’s done, you know. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Wes’s gaze held mine. “Me, either.”
