I practically gulp. “Is that normal? To do that? Is he going to be okay?”
“Yes, some patients take longer to come out of it than others. Completely normal.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I purse my lips for a moment as I gnaw at them from the inside, tossing the information around in my head. “Do I get to see him?”
“Only immediate family for tonight,” he says, his lips pressing into a sympathetic line. “He needs the rest. You can see him first thing in the morning. Go home. Get some rest yourself.”
Little does he know, home is nearly three thousand miles away, and there’s no way I’m going back to the hotel all by myself. As disappointed as I feel about the news, I can’t deny that Tate needs this time to rest more than anything. He’s been through so much in the last few weeks. Taking a deep breath, I glance down at the raggedy hospital chair that I’m about to be real acquainted with tonight, before looking back up at Dr. Hammond.
“And Tate’s mom?”
“I’m heading to her surgery right now,” he tells me.
“Okay,” I say after a moment, “thank you for coming to talk to me.”
He nods once. “Of course. Get some rest, okay?”
“Okay,” I repeat.
Watching as he walks away, I drop my arms from their crossed position against my chest in a small pout before sitting back down in the chair and pulling out my phone. My mom has been checking in for updates periodically since I told her about everything that’s going on with Tate, so I send her a quick text, letting her know that he’s okay and I’ll see him tomorrow.
With a sigh, I bring my feet up into the chair, cradling my knees to my chest just as my phone buzzes with another message from her.
Mom
So glad he’s okay. Are you okay?
I frown, my fingers hesitating over the keyboard before I type back.
Me
I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be okay?
Mom
I know it must’ve been stressful to be worried about him. Whether he was okay or not.
Me
Well yeah, anyone would be.
Mom
But this is different. Isn’t it?
My jaw clenches as I lock my phone without responding, unable to answer that question. Or maybe it’s because I don’t have the energy right now. Or maybe a little bit of both. Because how can I even begin to explain the shit storm going on inside my head? How can I explain that thisisdifferent, but it scares me half to death to acknowledge that it’s different withoutsounding like a complete loony? If I can’t make sense of my own thoughts, how can I describe them to someone else?
The questions plague me as I doze off in the chair, cheek resting on my knee.
Pain.
Aching, throbbing pain.
With a raspy groan, my eyes blink open slowly as I stretch out my legs, holding my breath as the pain travels from my back down to my toes. The once bright waiting room is now dimmed to a low light, and based on the darkness looming outside the large glass-paned windows, I’ve been asleep in this chair for hours. The room is empty aside from a few stragglers and the woman sitting at the front desk, and it’s quiet, unlike the busy hustle and bustle from earlier in the day.
The surging ache in my knees brings a sting to my eyes as they water, and I let my head rest back on the chair for a moment as I adjust. It’s my fault for falling asleep in this chair for god knows how long.
Picking up my phone, I blink at the bright screen for a moment before my eyes hone in on the time.
