Page 12 of Reaching Hearts
Chapter Six
Annie
San Francisco General Hospital and Trauma Center. Room 315.
An unfamiliar, white ceiling comes into focus. Looking around me, I’m startled to find I’m in a hospital bed with an IV drip in my arm, the flesh around the needle’s entrance tender and red. I stare at it, completely confused. How did it get there without my knowing? What happened? Did I pass out? Did my friends bring me here? I don’t see my bag. The money was in it. Surely someone saved that. I was at Le Barré, talking to Christiano last I remember. They must have known I had every dollar in that bag. God, I hope so! Who undressed me? I don’t like this. Where is everybody? There are hard things everywhere I look. A weird, uncomfortable chair. A heart monitor. Thick, colorless curtains. A dry erase board with the name – Maria Gutierrez – written on it in blue.
There are no flowers. There are no friends.
An all too familiar aloneness settles into my soul, unwanted. It picks up the pulse of my blood to a panic until I’m rising up, searching for a button to call someone.
“Hello! Is anyone there?!” I yell out to the door.
A chord attached to the bed has a button that looks like a garage door opener. Is this a call button? I push on it a bunch of times until a voice in an intercom sounds from the wall behind me. Twisting, I look at it. My salvation.
“Yes?”
“Can you come in here, please?”
A pause. “I’ll be right in. Did you need your breakfast?”
Breakfast? What time is it? What day is it?
“No. I just need a person. I need a person to explain things to me. Please come quick.”
The intercom goes dead, but I stare at it like the only person who knows what’s going on is in it. The door opens and I turn to see a pretty nurse walk in, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail, dressed in flowered scrubs.
Before she has a chance to speak, I start blathering. “I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what’s happened. I don’t know why this IV is in my arm. I don’t know where my bag is. Where my friends are? If I’m even still in California. Where am I??!! What’s happening?!”
She rushes to me and holds her hands up like small stop signs. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on. You’re okay. Let me check your chart. It’s going to be okay.”
Gulping down more questions, I stare at her, eyes wide. I’m having trouble breathing. The fear is trying to strangle me.
Scanning words on the pages, she blinks, reads more, and looks up. “Okay. I just started my shift, so I didn’t know what happened. It looks like you suffered a traumatic event?”
I nod. “I was robbed. Yes.”
“Okay.” She holds the folder in front of her belly, one hand over the other. “Well, it says you fainted and were brought here. The IV is because you were dehydrated, which is common with stress. Looks like you’ve been asleep since you came in.”
“And when was that?” I’m scared to know the answer.
She smiles, guessing where my mind is going. “Oh, just last night. You had a good night’s sleep and were drinking water while you were resting is all.” Her hand motions to the tube like it’s my friend. The effect she’s aiming for is working. My pulse is slowing and I actually have the ability to take in air.
I flop back down on the bed. “Oh wow. That was freaky. Have you ever woken up somewhere and not known where you were?”
“In my early twenties, all the time.”
I look over from the corners of my eyes, a smile sneaking out of me. “You’re just saying that to make me laugh.”
“No.”
I chuckle and she grins back. My eyes widen. “You’ve got dimples. I always wanted those.” Relieved I’m feeling better, I mumble, “Well, I guess I needed a ton of sleep because I never woke up once, and I always wake up.”
“That’s funny.” She slides the folder back in the plastic case that hangs off the end of the bed. “Another patient was just complaining that he can’t sleep because we wake him up every two hours.”
“Why would you do that?”
“We have to check vitals on a two-hour schedule.”