The Hanging Words

To the Stars

I find the constant, underlying chorus of beeping machines to be somewhat soothing. They're like a pulse for the hospital. An audible reassurance that the building is alive. But maybe I feel that way because nothing in my room makes any consistent noise. That the sounds are somewhat removed from me creates a separation—I might be in another world tethered to this one by a single, repetitive note.

Brian and Milo stand beside Doctor Allende, asking her questions that seem so common sense but which I know I never would've thought to ask. So far, she's been nothing but enthusiastic today, and this conversation is no exception. I like that she smiles with her whole face, especially her eyes.

When she sees me watching, she approaches the bed.

"We are going to keep you overnight," she says, one hand holding a clipboard against her hip and the other gesturing with a pen.

"Is it because you think I might hurt myself?"

"Goodness, no!" she says. "Why? Are you feeling the urge to self-harm?"

I shake my head. "No. And I don't think I ever really have."

"Okay." She nods and takes a note. "If you're feeling at all like you—"

"Really, I'm not going to hurt myself," I say. "It was a stupid question."

"We want to monitor your response to the medication," she says. "The effects can be vastly different for each patient at the start, but the first twenty-four hours will give us a good idea whether we're on the right track."

"Will the attacks stop?" I ask. It's really the only part of this that matters to me.

"They should," Doctor Allende says. Then she adopts a more serious demeanor, all traces of her smile gone in an instant. "I want you to know that I'm here to help you, Felix, but there's something I need you to understand. There is no cure for Lacrimosus, only treatments. And those treatments will have to change over time as your condition evolves. If all goes well, we'll see that your condition clears up and you'll be better than ever soon. But there's also the possibility that you might struggle with this for the rest of your life. You'll go through periods where the medication works wonders, and sometimes the attacks might return.

"Whenever that happens, I ask that you remain open to treatment. That you'll let me know so we can adjust to whatever works best for you and your mental state. Some people turn away from treatment when it's a been a while since their last bad spell—or if they don't think the treatment is working and they get discouraged. The idea of a battle without a definitive end can be daunting. But please remember that there are always people who want to help you."

She looks from me to Brian and then to Milo, her smile returning. "It looks like you have some great family members to back you up already."

Just then, a harried woman comes shuffling in from the hallway. All heads turn as Aunt Evora enters, her Louis Vuitton bag swinging from her shoulder. She looks utterly windswept and unkempt, her hair disheveled as if she's just power walked through a fucking hurricane. Wiping her bangs out of her eyes, Evora looks around at everyone before settling on the woman beside me.

"You're the doctor?" she asks.

"Yes, Mayra Allende."

"Oh! My niece used to work with Yesenia Allende. Do you know her?"

I roll my eyes. When it comes to doctors and nurses, Aunt Evora's first instinct is to establish a connection. She says they treat you better that way.

"I don't think so."

"Maybe your cousin?"

Doctor Allende laughs. Luckily, she's good-natured. "Not that I know of."

"Oh, that's too bad." Evora whips out a handkerchief from her purse and starts blowing her nose. Everyone but the coma patients hears it. "I thought maybe you knew her. Sorry I'm so late, I didn't get my messages until this morning. I thought I lost my phone."