“Get a doctor in here, stat!” A nurse screeches into an intercom. I open my eyes slowly and my head throbs. I’m lying in my bed, with nurses circled around me.
One of the nurses straps a blood-pressure cuff to my arm. It crushes my bones. I wince and try to pull away. Another nurse pushes a thermometer underneath my tongue. It tastes like metal. I spit and she clucks her tongue in annoyance.
The nurse that screamed into the intercom saunters to my bed. She eyes me carefully before pressing her cool fingertips to my flushed cheek. I sigh.
A doctor appears in the doorframe a few seconds later. When they said “stat”, they weren’t kidding.
His shoes clunk against the tile flooring. One of the nurses gives him my chart. He looks it over. “What happened to her?”
“She was in group therapy, and she passed out.” The nurse informs him. The doctor scratches his gelled grey hair.
“Well…” He checks the blood pressure cuff. “Her blood pressure is through the roof, and by the looks of her chart, she had some kind of attack. It may be a panic attack, but I’ll have to run some tests to make sure.”
“Do you want to do anything about it now?” The nurse asks curtly. The doctor hands my chart back to her.
“No. Tomorrow, at the earliest. For now, just keep an eye on her. If she has any more… attacks… let me know right away.” The doctor says to the nurse.
“Alright.” She says as he leaves the room.
The nurse turns to me and looks at me sternly. “If anything else happens, let me know right away.”
“Yes, I will.” I promise.
“Thank you.” The nurse strides out of the room.
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The same doctor that was here yesterday comes into my room again. “Isabelle, I’m going to take you to the trauma unit to run some testing.”
“Okay…” I say, uneasily. I notice he’s wearing a nametag. Dr. Joyce.
“Don’t worry… it shouldn’t be very busy today.” He assures me as he guides me to the elevators. I hug my arms to my chest as we step inside the elevator.
Irritating music plays through the elevator’s overhead speakers. I groan as Dr. Joyce presses a button. The door slides open.
We’re on the first floor. My room is on the fourth floor. I inhale shakily as I step from the elevator.
A sign above me reads things like TRAUMA UNIT, EMERGENCY and X-RAY, with arrows next to each word.
Dr. Joyce guides me towards the trauma unit. The speckled green chairs were mostly empty, a table stacked with outdated magazines stood in the centre of the room, and a bored receptionist sat at her desk. She straightened up when she saw us approach.
“Gilda, I have a patient here who needs to be checked out.” Dr. Joyce says.
“Name and information, please.” Gilda, the receptionist asks.
“Isabelle Jameson. She’s been here for a few days. I have a hunch that she’s suffering from panic attacks… that’s why I’ve ordered some testing.”
Gilda taps on her computer then nods towards the door. Dr. Joyce leads me through the door and into a wide hallway. He turns to the first door on his left. A wide barrelled machine stands in the centre of the room, with buzzing machines around it. A CT scanner. I gulp nervously as I’m ordered to lie down underneath the scanner.
The darkness consumes me and I try to hold back a scream as the red laser passes over me.
