Chapter 22:

Mid November

When my uncle died, we spent most of our time grieving at my aunt's house. We couldn't believe he was gone. None of us could sleep. My cousin had an idea to go to the 24 hour CVS for snacks. We all piled in her small car, bought so much candy, chips and chocolate. It made us feel happy for a few hours, we ate almost everything, had a sugar rush until we passed out in the wee hours of the morning. This time, I wondered if me and Damien would do the same. We didn't. In the morning after staying up and watching the netflix series, he took me home. We were silent. Silent. He said he liked the silence, it was deafening. We spoke nothing about what happened. I didn't even know how he was feeling or if the kiss meant anything. I should say something. The sky was dusky, the sun was almost up. 5am. I woke up at 5 am. I had a doctor's appointment at 10 before my class.

I hated hospitals most of the time. The underlying feeling of the diagnosis, death. Birth. I thought of my uncle again, as we waited for good news. I  thought back to mom was squeezing my hand to see her brother again. To hear his voice. I stared at the wall while I waited, in a tired daze. I breathed in. I should have canceled and stayed in bed, but my parents would have known if I did. I'm still on narcotic watch. One of the great things about off campus hospitals was the coverage of health insurance. I bounced my leg up and down to keep myself awake. Two more patients came in and I sat up straighter tugging my sleeves in wait. A patient's name was called, she stood with her two kids following the nurse. Picking at the dead skin on my nail bed, the mild tone of the office room was calming, the beeping from the other side of the room. The receptionist's monotone voice as she called numbers for the next patient for blood work. He hasn't texted me since I left. Two days ago. Back to square one. I checked my phone if I missed any. Chewing on my bottom lip if there was a missed call or delayed text. Nothing.

"Miller? Olivia Miller?" The nurse announced, I jolted and stood, following the nurse behind step by step. She asked while looking at the clipboard. "How are you?"

I answered, "I'm ok." She wheeled in the blood pressure machine, wrapping the cuff around my forearm she turned it on.

I breathed evenly, looking away from the machine. The beeping stopped, she recorded it: "103. Have you been taking your medication?"

"Yes." Today, once. I kept my lip tight as she typed in the results.

"Any other drugs or drug related substances you have taken recently?"

"No."

"Sexual activities?"

"No." I didn't think dry humping counted. I breathed in again.

"All right." She wrote down on the clipboard, "have you been taking any other medication? Vitamins?"

"Yes, gummy vitamins."

"All right. Just to be sure we may have to run an EKG."

"Ok." I rubbed my palms along my thighs. I wanted to ask if it would take long. I kept the words. This was my health.

She came back with another machine, "let's just check to make sure of no other underlying issues. Can you take off your shirt?" I did what I was told, she stuck stickers on my chest, arms and legs. Wires with clamps came next, she placed them on strategically, turning it on I heard the steady beep. I took a peek, the numbers didn't rise up.

"All good." I let out a sigh of relief, rolling the tension off my neck she removed all the wire and stickers.

"Ok. Dr. Hansen will see you shortly," She closed the clipboard.

"Thank you." I patted on my thighs rhythmically, staring at the sink across from me, it looked cold and untouched. I stood to wash my hands, pumping the foamy soap on my palms. Drying it with a sheet of thick paper towel, balled it up and threw it away, I sat back down in the chair just in time for my primary doctor to come in.

"Ms. Miller?" My doctor entered.

I smiled, "yes?" Lacing my fingers together.

"How are you today?"

"I'm nervous." I let out a shaky laugh.

"Has your pulse been palpitating recently?"

"Yeah."

"I saw the results and it does seem to have spiked up. How long have you been feeling this way?"

"A while. I had a panic attack again three weeks ago."

"How are you sleeping?"

"It's been off and on."

"How is the medication working for you?"

"It makes me drowsy but not sleepy."

"Any diet pills?"

"No."

"Do you drink coffee or any other caffeinated substance?"

"I drank coffee two days ago."

"All right, let's get you on the bed." He gestured. I stood up and carefully sat on the paper bed, tucking my hair behind my ear and he brought out another cuff. Pressing the buttons on another machine he instructed me to take a deep breath. I exhaled out. The steady beep from it calmed my nerves as I sat watching, waiting for it to spike. Nothing.

"Good, good, good." He removed it from my arm, writing it on his clipboard. He brought out a flashlight, pointed it in my eyes and directed me to look left and right.

"OK can you lie back?" I did as told, he pressed his fingers on my ribs and chest.

"Feel any discomfort?"

"No."

"Any headaches?"

"Tension. And the occasional eye twitch."

"What about your chest, has it felt tight?"

"Not tight, more caving in. Like on the top of my breasts. And then it will feel shaky."

"Right. Numbness in the arms? Legs?"

"No."

"Dizziness? Vertigo?"

"No."

"Blurred vision?"

"No."

"All right, you can sit up." I lifted my body slowly.

"So far your heart rate is on the normal level. EKG is normal."

I nodded, reaching behind to rub my lower back.

"I'm prescribing you Buspirone and melatonin." He wrote down on his clipboard again.

"Bus what?" I squinted at the alien naming medication.

"Buspirone. It's an anxiety medication," he answered.

"Oh. I shouldn't take the Gabapentin anymore?"

"For now, no. Let's see how this works for you. I will schedule a follow up."

"Right." I knew it. He told me he'll be back, I picked at my cracked lips. Scanning the hospital room, a worried feeling ran through me. He came back with more good news of the results. I was good to go. I smiled softly scooting on the edge of the bed.

He ripped a sheet off the notepad, handing it to me. I took it and thanked him.

"Hope you feel better." His grin was soft and genuine, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes deepened.

"Thank you." He opened the door for me, I exited the Doctors room and headed to the receptionist. She directed me to the pharmacy near the entrance. I looked at the scribbled handwriting to make sure I got the right prescription. I googled on my phone what the hell that was. Buspirone: manages anxiety and/or short term anxiety. Huh. I knew what Melatonin was, I've seen it on TV, it helped with sleep. It seemed I would be getting a low dose. As I waited in line, I tried to keep my eyes open.

A guy in a black shirt was at the counter, leaning on his elbow talking to the pharmacist with aggression. The pharmacist kept apologizing, his eyes were empathic of the situation. His muscles flexed as he hit the counter. I jumped from his action. The pharmacist continued to apologize, trying to calm him down. His black hair was gelled back. He snatched the bag, "this is bullshit," he said and left the counter. His brown eyes were wet, he wiped it quickly. He looked like he was my age. A pang in my chest felt his pain. The medicine price in healthcare was ridiculous, we're not all millionaires to afford these prices. We made eye contact and he smirked. I frowned as he exited the pharmacy. I was next in line. What the hell?

I handed the pharmacist the slip with a smile to lighten the tension and his mood. "Morning." His smile lit up his entire face. I read the nametag, Kenny. He turned to the shelves of medicine while looking at the paper at the same time. I drummed my fingers on the counter in wait and tilted my head back.

"Here you go." He announced, and handed me the white paper bag.

"Thank you. Have a good day."

"You too." I walked out of the hospital, a harsh wind blew in my direction. I zipped up to my chin, and stood for the bus. I rubbed my hands together for warmth and blew some air from my mouth. I read the slip on the bag: side effects may include headaches, insomnia, nausea or upset stomach, dizziness or drowsiness, feeling nervous or excited. Can be taken with or without food. All I needed was a cheesy commercial of someone dancing like everything was amazing. The melatonin was one a day, gummy melatonin, two hours before bedtime, avoid heavy machinery and driving. I didn't drive, anyway. I checked the time. Class was in fifteen minutes. The bus was coming from the corner I stepped on. I came to class on time, pulled out my notebook and wrote notes down of what the professor discussed.

By the time the day was over, I plopped down on my stomach on my bed for a nap. My eyes burned so much. I shut them for moisture until I slept off.

I heard my phone vibrating on the dresser, reaching over and grabbing it. One eye open I checked who it was. Over three text messages notifying me. Two from mom and dad, and one from Justin. I opened the message and it was an image of a party invitation.

With sleepy eyes I read the information: Saturday, 8pm at the Delta frat house. I didn't feel like going but I didn't want to be alone either. I forwarded it to Penny if she was willing to go.

Immediately she responded back with a smiling emoji and party hat too. Ready to place it back on the dresser it vibrated again. Damien's name read on the screen, poking my tongue out my mouth. I let it ring a little longer before I answered.

"Hello," I spoke and then coughed.

"Hey," he answered in a low tone.

"Hi." I sat up curling my knees in my stomach. "How are you?"

"I'm all right. You?"

"I'm hanging in." We should talk about it. I want to talk about, it's poking my shoulder to say something.

"Cool." He responded in a nonchalant tone.

I tugged on the hem of my pants. "So, there's a party on Saturday at the Delta frat house. Are you going?" I squinted, waiting for his answer.

"I don't think so."

"Oh." I slumped my shoulders.

"I gotta go," he rushed out saying.

"Ok, bye," I said.

"Bye." I pressed the end button when he hung up, frowning at my phone. 55 seconds. I've had shorter conversations. What's up with him? Throwing my phone on top of the dresser, I slammed my back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.