Saving Meghan(36)

“Does your mom make you take it every day?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m supposed to.”

“Does she make you take a lot of medicines?”

At that point, I wanted to say, Why are you asking so many questions about my mother? but I didn’t say anything. Usually, when doctors ask me questions, they’re about how I feel, not my feelings. I guess that’s why these questions were so much harder to answer.

“Does your mom make all the decisions about what you do?”

“Sure. But I don’t really do anything anymore.”

“That must be hard for you, when your mom is always telling you what to do or what not to do.”

I nodded again, but this time more emphatically because it was true. It was hard for me, but a lot of things were hard for me these days. Maybe he could ask me something about my dad. Then I’d have an earful for him. I could tell him all sorts of things I knew, the kind of things nobody would want to know about a parent, but he was only interested in my mom. Too bad for him—we’d have a lot more to talk about otherwise.

“Doesn’t seem like you get to do what you want to do.”

“I don’t.”

“Because your mom makes you do things you don’t want to do?”

Now I was starting to get annoyed. Didn’t we cover this already? What does he want me to say? My mom takes me to doctors all the time. She’s always trying new treatments to get me better. She doesn’t have any real friends anymore. She doesn’t go out. She spends more time online than any of my friends do. That’s her world now. She’s all about my sickness and me. Do I want to see different doctors all the time? No! Do I want to keep trying new treatments? No, of course not. So I said, “Yeah, I don’t get to do what I want to do much, if at all.”

“Does your mom make you take these drugs?”

“Yes.”

“Does it make you upset to take so many different kinds of medicines?”

“It all makes me upset,” I said.

“Like the mito cocktail you told me about. Your mom makes you take that, too?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t want to take it?”

“No.” Who would? I’m thinking.

“It must be hard for you, having to do all those things your mother makes you do.”

“Yeah, it’s hard,” I repeated. “When can I go see my parents?”

I bit my nails. Bad habit, like the drinking, but it was a hard one to break, especially whenever I got nervous. Dr. Levine stood. I guess our exam was over. Thank God. He tugged at his jacket, but it didn’t fit any better.

“Thanks so much for being honest with me, Meghan. I’m going to go speak with Dr. Nash, and we’ll take it from there.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I felt my throat tightening as a trickle of fear traced up my neck. I didn’t like the idea of being left alone in here.

“Why don’t you sit up on the bed, and I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Up on that bed I went. I didn’t give a second thought to his instruction, because hopping up on hospital beds was something I’d been doing for ages now. It was a reflex, more than anything. But this was a naked bed. No sheets. No pillows. No crinkly paper beneath me. As he left, Dr. Levine took away the chairs we’d been sitting in, and it became a bare room. I was confused.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

He closed the door behind him, and I was alone. I sat on the bed, waiting, but after a while, I couldn’t sit anymore. I slid off the bed and started to pace the room like a caged tiger. At least I wasn’t in a “hospital sundress,” but I didn’t have my cell phone, so I felt a different kind of vulnerable. After a few minutes of pacing aimlessly, I decided I’d had enough waiting.

I went to the door, turned the knob, and pulled. The door wouldn’t budge. Trembling, I turned the knob again and pulled harder this time. My throat went dry and tight. The walls really were closing in on me. I turned and pulled again and again, but it was no use.

The door was locked from the outside.





CHAPTER 17





BECKY


She rose from her chair for the fifth time that hour. A check of her phone told her they had been waiting three hours without a word from Meghan or Dr. Nash. Anxiety made it nearly impossible to sit still a second longer. Becky took a single step in the direction of the reception window before feeling Carl’s gentle tug on the waistband of her slacks.

“Where are you going?” he asked in a whispered voice. He tossed the magazine he’d been pretending to read on the empty chair beside him.

Becky swiveled at her waist to break free of his grasp. “I’m going to page Dr. Nash again.”

“You just had her paged a few minutes ago,” Carl said in a displeased tone. “Give it a sec, will you?”

“We’ve been here for hours!” Becky’s voice rose in anger as she gestured toward the bay doors of the emergency room. “Where is Meghan? Where is she? What are they doing to her? What tests are they running? She’s not answering her phone. She always answers her texts. Doesn’t that concern you?”

“It’s just taking time. They’re busy.”