Page 88 of 32 Days in May

“You don’t want to be alive?”

I dig into my pocket and pull out the note.

It’s a pathetic mess of a note. I’d written it after drinking all day. I’d been so sick, I wasted four hours just puking up violet, acrid semi-solid mess.

I unfold the paper and hand it to her.

I sort of remember what it says. I’m sorry you never thought this could happen to someone like me . . . I think I’ve done this all well enough. I’m sorry if this seems extreme . . .

A little on the nose. Pathetic for a writer. All clichés. So very hack.

Audrey lips part as she reads it. Then, they come back together in a practiced line.

“Well.” She reaches for the tissue box and hands it to me. “Thank you for changing your mind.”

Friday, May 26

“Nadia? Nadia, how are you?”

My ears are still ringing as I blink out of the light sleep I’ve been drifting in and out of involuntarily for the last day. Through the wash of sound, I can hear her voice. Gentle and deep.

“I’m Dr. Willis. Sorry to wake you up, I know you’ve had a rough morning. Can you see me okay?” A woman with soft gray waves is sitting beside where I lie in a hospital bed.

“Hi, Doctor.” My voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere far off inside my skull.

Dr. Willis pulls a stool up to the edge of my hospital bed and looks at me with genuine, soft concern. “Feeling okay?”

I nod then try to lift a hand to my face but the wires and tubes connected to my arm snag painfully. I let out an anxious squeal of hurt and fear. Dr. Willis jumps up to help me untangle myself. When she settles back onto her stool, she leans folded hands onto the side of my hospital bed.

“Your sister let us know about your diagnosis and correct medication regimen, and she put us in contact with your rheumatologist. We discussed the elevated levels of protein in your urine, indicating some potential renal damage due to systemic lupus erythematosus. Does that sound right?”

I nod.

“Okay.” Dr. Willis gives my bed a little maternal pat. “Nadia, yesterday you had what’s called a tonic-clonic, or grand mal, seizure.”

“A seizure?” I repeat. Why couldn’t I remember that? Wouldn’t I remember that? All I can remember is feeling thirsty and scared; Mike’s arms under me and then the back seat of his car.

“This is not uncommon in lupus patients who have very high levels of inflammation.”

Very high levels of inflammation. “I’ve been forgetting to take my medicine.”

Dr. Willis bobs her head. “Okay. I’ll note that in your chart, thank you. We’re going to keep you overnight again and run some tests. I ordered a chest X-ray so we can see if you have any inflammation in your lungs or heart, as well as a brain scan. I’d also like to run another round of blood work, but we can do that tomorrow. For now, let’s get you rested, okay?” She watches me for a moment longer, her eyes unreadable. “I know it’s a lot. Do you have any questions or concerns?”

“Maybe . . .” I run my tongue, dry and chalky, over my bottom lip. “Where am I?”

Dr. Willis looks startled, then she lets out a small laugh. “God, right. University of Penn hospital, dear.” She pats the edge of the bed before getting to her feet. There’s a nurse in maroon scrubs standing off to the side, typing at a computer. I hadn’t noticed her at all. How long has she been here?

How long have I been here?

Does Marco know?

Marco.

Hot tears burn my eyes. “I did this to myself.”

Dr. Willis pauses with her hand on the doorknob. She turns back to face me. “Regardless of whether or not you’ve been taking your medicine, you did not do this. Sometimes things happen and no one’s to blame. Try and get some rest, okay? You don’t need to figure out everything right now, and tonight you don’t need to focus on anything other than trying to get some food down.”

She leaves me alone in the yellow room.