Standing Out

It has been yet another week of dire agony and my parents have begun to develop a serious concern over my well being. They had taken off of work just to be with me, claiming to their bosses that they had a “medical emergency” to tend to.

Jeanne has tried to convince them to take me to the doctor and I think that after about three weeks of being ill, they were finally starting to listen.

When it came to tissues, I had made Mount Everest in my trashcan. I honestly wasn’t sure where my body was getting all of that mucus.

Recently, Sara and Cindy had come to visit me with “Get Well” cards. They didn’t make me feel any better, but it was still nice to see my only friends.

“How are you feeling?” Cindy had asked.”

“Horrible.”

Sara’s eyes surprisingly brimmed with pity. “Well, we brought you some cards and a balloon. We hope that you feel better soon so we can play together again.”

“We’ll let you rest, but we promise we’ll visit you again soon!” They left and I had felt unbearably lonely again. I wanted to be cured so that I could have fun again. I was sick of being inside.

Luckily, Jeanne kept me company and informed me of any drama that I had missed out on. She certainly didn’t leave out details about Brianna. But today her gossip was different.

“Jeanne,” She called, running over to my bedside.

“What,” I growled angrily, although slightly interested. “What is it this time?”

She was panting. “Mama and Papa are going to take you to the hospital.”

I froze. Why not just take me to the doctor? I wasn’t that sick was I?

“You need to get up.” She shook my arm and I glared at her indignantly. She sounded exasperated. “At least change into some fresh clothes.”

My distaste of her sudden urgency lingered as I wriggled into a tee-shirt and some shorts. I frowned. “What now?”

“Come with me downstairs. Everyone’s waiting.” Reluctantly, I followed her. I felt kind of disoriented, though. It had been three weeks since I had left that bed and just standing seemed to be taking a toll on my body.

“Hurry up!” Jeanne grabbed my arm and guided me down the stairs.

Papa looked at me sorrowfully and Mama leaned into his shoulder, searching for any source of comfort.

Suddenly self-conscious, I hastily told them that I needed to use the bathroom. They nodded solemnly.

“We’ll be out here if you need us, honey.” Mama’s soothing tone made me feel worse.

As I opened the door to the restroom, I moved to see my reflection in the mirror. My face was a ghostly white and my eye was pink and swollen. I looked horribly ill. Just yesterday my temperature made a dangerous swing from 103 degrees to only 95. I think that might have been what convinced my parents to get me medical help.

I didn’t come to the bathroom because I needed to use it, I came to see the grotesque creature that everyone had recoiled from, and a mirror would be sufficient enough in providing me with an accurate depiction.

My hand moved to touch my eye and I flinched as it made contact. I felt terribly vulnerable. I sneaked another glance in the mirror and paused to meet my reflection. Is this it? Am I going to die?

Slowly, I exited the bathroom, unwilling to meet my fate. Surely no one could heal me? No, I won’t think like that. It would be more accurate to say that they wouldn’t want to heal someone as vile as me.

“Let’s go, Mya.” Mama’s eyes filled with grief.

We all hopped into the car and said nothing as we drove on. Greens, yellows, and blues flashed in the vision of my one good eye and I admired it for once. I took in all of the outdoor glories for it was likely that it would be the last time that I would see them. As the landscape dove into hills and valleys, my left eye sighted a farm. As we passed it, the pungent scent of manure filled my nose. But for once, I didn’t wince. I felt as though I should appreciate everything that I had before I would lose it.

After about thirty minutes of silence, the sight of a large brick building loomed ahead and my heart skipped a beat. This is it.

Papa had been speeding. He wouldn’t admit it, but I could tell that he was. I knew that he was concerned, but if we got pulled over, I wouldn’t have arrived at the hospital any sooner.

As we stepped out, the warm spring breeze ruffled my shirt and I embraced it. The winter had been long and grueling, so I couldn’t help but welcome the pleasant weather.

As Mama took the lead, we all followed at her brisk pace, heading for the entrance. Jeanne stayed behind to help me walk and I cursed her for doing so.

“I’m not impaired!” I protested as she took my arm to guide me.

“Well, you’re sick enough that we’re here. You should thank me for helping you.” Jeanne hissed.

I grumbled at her and did my muttering habit, but it didn’t make me feel better.

Mama reached the door first and held it open for Papa, Jeanne, and me. I didn’t like this new treatment. It was as though they didn’t think I could even open a door because I was so sick.

Proceeding onward at a brisk pace, we reached the front desk in which the semiarid feel of the secretary’s stare became quite apparent.

“How can I help you?” She droned as though this phrase had become mindless after so many repetitions.

Not missing a beat, Mama interjected, “Our situation is dire, ma’am. Mya here is very ill and needs attention as soon as possible.”

The secretary narrowed her eyes. “I’ll leave the diagnosing to the actual medical professionals. I don’t need your analysis.” She paused. “We have an opening in two weeks. Would you like Wednesday at 9:50 pm or Thursday at 10:45 pm?”

“Neither! What part of our situation do you not understand? We need help right now!”

“I suppose I can fit you in next week.”

Before Mama could lose her patience entirely, Papa interjected. “Is there any way that we could have her see a doctor briefly today?”

The secretary rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, you win. In 10 minutes, when Dr. Donahan comes out, you can see him.”

Papa nodded, but did not thank her. After all, she had planned to turn us away. Nearly carrying me, my family settled down on a series of tarnishing mahogany chairs. In a state of utter mental paralysis, I felt myself shift in and out of focus.

Brought on by illness, time seemed to waste away as my fever began to blur my vision. Only visible was the smudging of my surroundings to form a psychedelic metaphysical reality. If you asked me at the time, I would have told you that I felt a subconscious serenity where there was no true sense of directions, just an acceptance of what is to come. All the same, I felt like a perishable item; easy to dispose of and destined to reach an expiration date. Maybe this was like the universe telling me that it was time to take out the trash.

After ages of meditating in my feverish cataleptic state, something caught my attention. It sounded as if I were underwater as the warped sound of Dr. Donahan calling reached my ears. As far as I’m aware, I remember Jeanne hoisting me into her arms and carrying me into the examination room. After that, I’m almost certain that I passed out.

________________________________________________________________________________

“So that’ll be $80 for this visit and since she’s going to be transferred to the Emergency Room, we’ll tack that on as the weeks progress.”

Papa looked demoralized. Eighty-dollars wasn’t so unreasonable at first, but he was frightfully aware of the potential longevity of the visit and how it could detrimentally impact the family. I would never question his love for me, but I am also painfully alert to the fact that this certainly wouldn’t be the first medical bill that he had to pay on my behalf. In the grand scheme of things, it was just simply more money that Papa didn’t have to be expended for my ever-sickly state of being.

Sometimes, for these very reasons, I wish that I didn’t exist. It would be so much easier for them to live without me. I bet they can only imagine a life free of Mya’s medical bills and liberation from the scorn of other families regarding my obnoxious behavior. I don’t mean to sound melodramatic, but they would honestly be better off without me serving as such a heavy burden on their lives.

Moments like these reminded me of the feeling of being just another perishable object in a sea of miscellaneous items.