I greet our receptionist, and my smile freezes on my face.Something isn’t right.My steps falter after I pass her desk, a mind-numbing pain shooting through my skull.
I pause at the entrance to my office, a spasm of cramps bisecting my midsection, nausea rocking me.I pinch my lips together and grip the doorframe, taking deep breaths.Sweat breaks out over my forehead.
Turning slowly, I look around.Going to be sick.Bathroom… Black dots wink in my vision.Can’t think?—
The scentof vomit singes my nose.
I’m choking and gagging.Choking on my vomit.
Frantic voices clamor above me.
I open my eyes, then shut them.I don’t know where I am.Why am I on the ground?
“What has she eaten?Does she take prescription or illegal drugs?”a deep voice asks.
“Is this her purse?”
“Percocet.”
“Percocet?What’s—” This from a high-pitched voice.
Someone wipes my mouth.A mask goes over my nose and chin.Strong hands lift me.
I open my eyes again, and this time, an image comes into focus—Lewis watching me from the front door, a look of shock on his face.
Men with medical patches hover over me.Paramedics?They push me on some moving bed.I’m bumping over the threshold and out the glass doors.I’m at work?
My chest rattles with each breath, my heart swooshing slowly in my ears.My head is too heavy.I close my eyes and rest.
Moments later, I hear, “Calista?Calista, can you open your eyes?”
The voice is male, but not one I recognize.I open my eyes and the vision in front of me isn’t blurry this time.It’s a man in a white coat.A doctor.I move to sit up.
“Please lie still while I ask you a few questions.”
The doctor leans over me and flashes a light in my eyes.“They’re no longer pinpoint,” he dictates to someone over his shoulder, then returns his attention to me.
“Calista,” he says loudly, as if I’m hearing impaired.I want to tell him he doesn’t need to shout, but my mouth is dry and my chest hurts.I still can’t breathe well, and there are popping sounds coming from my chest.“I’m Dr.Gregger.I’ve just given you Narcan to counteract the opiates in your system.The paramedics said they found Percocet in your purse when they searched for prescription and allergy information.Have you ever used Percocet before?”
I shake my head.
“Were you given a prescription by a physician?”
Another negative head shake.I’ve never heard of Percocet.I have no idea what he’s talking about.
A round of phlegmy, body-rattling coughs steals my breath.I’m gasping.The doctor rattles off orders to someone in the room.
“Calista,” he says to me, “the paramedics believe you aspirated when you passed out.We’re going to do a chest X-ray.”
What seems like only minutes later, but that I suspect is much longer, I’m being admitted into the ICU.My chest X-ray showed pneumonia.
I must have dozed again, because the next time I open my eyes, there’s a warm pressure on my hand.Jaeger’s beside me, his large fingers wrapped firmly around mine, his head bowed as if he’s praying.My mom is at the end of the bed, her hand gripping my foot.
“Mom?Why are you holding on to my foot?”My mouth is sluggish.I sound like a lush.
Mom blinks as if startled.She’s been staring silently at me for the past minute.“Calista.”She rises and crosses to my side.She kisses my forehead and runs a cool hand down the side of my face, which feels hot in comparison.“You’ve been in and out with a fever.I wasn’t sure if you were really awake this time.”
Jaeger watches my face now, his breathing shaky, as if some deep emotion has taken hold.
