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One Week Later
Late Night Assistance
Chloe
Seattle, Washington
3 a.m.
“Oh Goddddd. Pleaseeee!” I groaned in utter agony. “I don’t want to go out like this right now. I haven’t gotten a real job or seen Taylor Swift in concert yet. You have to let me do those things… ”
I was starting to believe that I was destined to die at age thirty, here on my bathroom floor.
My skin felt as if someone had set it afire, and I couldn’t stop vomiting for more than an hour at a time.
All the migraines I’d previously experienced were no match for the synapse symphony that was currently playing in my brain.
Using what was left of my strength, I gripped the edge of the tub and stood to my feet.
I walked into my bedroom and picked up my cell phone, calling Madison.
“You’ve reached me!” Her voicemail played within seconds. “My phone is probably dead because I’m working overtime or I’m avoiding my BFF and she knows exactly why. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you! Unless this is Chloe. In that case, hang up.”
I called Kristin next.
It rang once, then twice, but it served me the same result.
“Thanks for your call!” she said. “I’m not available at this time, so leave a message at the beep!”
I dialed 9-1-1, but then I calculated the cost of an ambulance ride.
Uber it is…
Ordering one for the emergency room, I put on a pair of sweatpants and headed downstairs.
The driver eyed me suspiciously as I lay across the backseat.
“No, no, and hell no,” he said. “I don’t transport drunk people.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m dying.”
“Right.” He cursed under his breath and sped onto the street.
Racing through red lights and avoiding every stop sign in sight, he didn’t give me a chance to get comfortable.
We arrived at the doors of the emergency room in five minutes flat.
“Oh, wow.” A security guard opened my door. “What the hell happened to her?”
“She’s drunk.” The driver groaned. “Please get her out of my car.”
I was too faint to argue.
The guard placed me in a wheelchair and pushed me into a bright white room. At some point, a nurse helped me redress in a paper blue gown.
Another nurse drew my blood and helped me pee in a plastic cup.
“Drink this, Miss March.” A doctor handed me a mini water bottle when she entered the room. “Tell me something. Besides nausea and a fever, what other symptoms are you experiencing lately?”
