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Before my mom can answer, some guy in blue scrubs strolls in carrying a tray. Setting it down beside me, he smiles and squats down to my level like it’s supposed to be comforting or something.
“Okay, Miss Romanescu,” he says my name like I’m a toddler, “I’m going to stick a needle in the middle of your back. It might hurt a little, so I’ll numb the area first.”
“What’s this for?” Nana asks, stomping her foot down.
He glances nervously between my mother and grandmother until my mom nods.
“It’s to check if there is an imbalance of cerebrospinal fluid. If there is, that could be causing her headache.”
Headache. I want to laugh at the word, if I could laugh. This is not a flipping headache.
“And what exactly does this procedure entail?”
He glances at the scary syringe on his tray. It’s like one of those things from horror movies, where they suck your entire brain into it. “I’ll be drawing some fluid from her –”
“You’re sticking that huge needle in her?” She stands up straighter, shoving herself between me and the guy in light-blue scrubs. “She’s barely a hundred pounds. Becca,” she glances over at my mother, “is this really necessary?”
“The doctor wants to check.”
Shaking her head, Nana sighs and hugs me tighter.
“It should only take fifteen minutes. I promise, she’ll barely feel it.” He smiles sheepishly between me and my grandmother. “It’s a simple procedure. You can stay in the room, if that helps.”
She purses her lips, but moves out of his way.
He’s cute, and way too young for a doctor. In a different life, or at least different day, I’d probably think he was hot, with his dimples and all. Is it weird to ask your doctor out?
Wait, no way he’s a doctor, he’s wearing scrubs. Maybe a tech or a nurse. My nerves bubble as he helps me turn around. I start to ask his name, but instead of words, the rest of the contents from my stomach hurl all over the hospital bed.
Yep. My brain’s exploding inside my head, and I’m covered in vomit. Win for me. Groaning, I clutch at my temples.
“I’m going to need you to hold still for this.”
I moan something incomprehensible, but still manage to roll my eyes as all of his hot factor disappears. At least he didn’t comment on the smell or mess.
Without batting an eyelash, Nana pushes her way around the tight room until she’s directly in front of me. Reaching out, she grasps both of my hands and holds them tight. “Just focus on me and breathing, dear. In and out, nice and steady.”
Listening to her voice, I ignore everything around me. The room, the beeping of the machines, the chaos outside the door in the busy Portland hospital, even the guy behind me as he opens my hospital gown in back and rubs a cold wipe on my lower back. Instead, I listen to Nana, to her sweet voice and the calm she brings.
“What do you say if you come over to my house after this? Spend a few days at the beach?”
“Nana, I –” A ball of pressure on my lower back cuts off my words as I squeeze her hands tighter and focus on my breathing.
“Don’t you worry about your school none, I’m sure we could get your doctor to sign a note for you. Isn’t that right?” She tips her head behind me to the guy in scrubs.
He smiles and nods, holding up his giant syringe full of a pale, yellow liquid. Fluid that was inside me a moment ago. “Of course. Rest is one of the best medicines.”
“Ijust don’t understandit,” my mom complains from the next room over, “she was fine last week, then her head just started hurting during school, and now this.”
I blink a few times, staring at the ceiling from my bed.
Nine days. Nine days of hell, at least that’s what it feels like. Seven of them were spent back and forth in the hospital. Apparently, what I had was just a regular, run of the mill migraine. An IV filled with pain meds fixed that. But, the spinal tap to check if there was a spinal fluid imbalance caused a leak, leading to, yep, a spinal fluid imbalance. Spinal migraines. If I sat up, my vision went black and boom, instant migraine. When I tried to stand up, I blacked out. I couldn’t walk, stand or talk for three solid days.
Scariest thing in my entire life.
Then there was the blood patch. I sigh, blinking back a few fresh tears. Wherever the cute, young guy in scrubs was, he wasn’t there for that procedure. Nope, I got some two-hundred pound behemoth who couldn’t find my spine and had to poke me three times, twirling the three-inch needle around in my back each time before grunting, pulling it out, and poking me again.
Sighing, I sit up, then make my way to the bathroom using the wall to help. I pull off my sweatshirt and stare in the mirror. Bandages cover my arms, hands, and back. I huff, bite my bottom lip, and start ripping them off. Three on my arms. One on each of my hands. Turning, and glancing at my back through the mirror, I almost cry. Bruises line the lower part of my spine. It’s like one giant green and brown pizza party back there.
