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Seconds later, footsteps resounded in the distance. I struggled to move, but even a tiny squirm sent flames of agony dancing through every nerve. Remaining prostrate, I pushed my face further into the shallow pool of water, desperate for relief.
The sound of heels clicking against the tiles grew louder and I saw a sensible pair of pumps attached to smooth brown legs appear in the doorway.
“Portia!” I heard my name. It sounded like Amanda, the new hire. More clicking—and a little sliding—filled the air as she scurried toward me. “What are you doing down there? Are you okay?”
“I… can’t move,” I admitted, through gritted teeth.
It was a humbling confession. Moving was my thing. They called me ‘Worker Bee’ here at the Belize Shipping Company. I didn’t feel right unless I was flitting from one project to the other, making sure everything was progressing the way it should.
“Hold on. I’ll call the ambulance. You need to go to the hospital.”
“No, just help me up. It’ll be faster if we take my car.”
“I can’t lift you by myself,” she said hesitantly like I was some beach whale stranded on the shore. I knew I’d been gaining a little weight but geez.
“Then go get Mr. Franklin!” I snapped breathlessly.
Amanda ran out to get the boss. Mr. Franklin darted into the room a few minute later, his expression a mix of concern and fright.
Together, they helped me to my feet.
I could feel sweat beading on my forehead. My fingers clamped into the fabric of my silky pink blouse. My legs felt like jello. Every step only amped up the pain.
Amanda winced. “We’re almost there, Portia.”
My head was swimming with dizziness and I could barely acknowledge her.
They led me through the office—half-dragging me to the exits. I probably looked like a woman on death row with my head hanging down to my chest and my body limp.
But appearances weren’t a priority. I was doing my best not to groan like a dying hyena up in here.
I needed relief. And I needed it now.
Vera and Queenie, my other co-workers, shot to their feet and gasped as our solemn trio trudged by.
“Are you okay, Portia?”
“What’s wrong?”
I tried to speak but all that escaped was a mewled cry. Embarrassed, I remained silent.
Amanda shook her head and spoke for me. “We’re not sure, but we’re going to the hospital to find out.”
My human crutches hauled me outside to the nearest car, which so happened to be mine. I forked over the keys and spent the duration of the ride in the back seat with my butt in the air, pressing my tortured moans into the chair.
Mr. Franklin went all Fast and Furious on me and we got to the hospital in record time.
The pain lessened when we entered the building. I wasn’t sure if that was a coincidence or a mental thing. Either way, I limped to the receptionist’s desk and filled out my information without any hiccups.
“Could you just wait over there, ma’am?” A nurse in a white uniform that beautifully contrasted her dark skin pointed to a row of black chairs.
We all trudged over and took a seat.
Memories of another waiting room washed over me. This was a different hospital, but everything felt the same—from the clean smell in the air to the urgent strut of the nurses to the muted sounds of conversation.
Lost in my thoughts, the seconds flew quickly.
I didn’t even know what time it was until Mr. Franklin checked his watch with a wiry frown and said, “Where’s the doctor? You signed in ten minutes ago.”
