Nothing to Lose

Chapter Three

“This place sucks.” I said as I walked into the lobby of Lucille Packard Children’s Hospital, looking around with the disgust of a snotty little kid who was raised like Eloise in the Plaza. Crowded around the front desk were a cluster of teenage volunteers who wore shirts with painfully cheery messages like SMILE! and WE’RE HERE TO HELP! They collectively turned to look at me and waved like little helper elves.

A woman who appeared to be leading them approached my mother and I, who was weighed down with my luggage and pillow as she had been instructed to not let me lift a finger for anything.

“You must be looking for the CCP ward!” she chirped in a voice that reminded me of cough syrup- sickly sweet but with an underlying bitterness. “You get to take the special elevator!”

With the excitement of a Disneyland employee, she guided us to and elevator that required a key to press the “up” button. I pitifully took note of the sign that warned us once we went up, you required explicit permission to go back down. The inside of the elevator was extremely odd, lined with cushy benches and a flatscreen with an ornate frame around it that displayed a slideshow of photoshopped pictures of beaches and various other destinations set to calming music.

“Please sit down!” the woman called after me as the doors closed. I resisted the urge to make a snarky comment, but I complied. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was feeling the affects of not eating all day (...and the day before…) coupled with the emotional distress I had undergone.

After the world’s longest elevator ride, we walked about ten feet before hitting a locked door. Just as we were about to hit the big, red “PRESS FOR ADMITTANCE” button, a nurse walked out, looking exhausted and ready to go home. I assumed that she would ask us to wait for verification, as the fine print below the button said we would, but she just shrugged on said, “Go on in.”

Joyous.

I was ushered past the plexiglass-enclosed balcony and placed in a brightly illuminated hospital room that had a concerningly sticky floor. A tall, Indian woman with strikingly beautiful features and an air of importance came in quickly after me, and with a voice that was kind but with a no-nonsense tone to it, informed me that “bedrest” meant “not pacing around the room”.

“I’m Dr. Aubwan.” She said, holding out a hand for me to shake. “I’m the doctor for the CCP ward during the week. Since it’s Friday evening, most of our staff is preparing to leave for the weekend, so you’re going to have to undergo our admittance testing immediately, all right?”

Without waiting for a reply, she smiled and turned to the door. “Dr. Toby, you can come in now.”

A young man with blond hair and oversized glasses walked in, and introduced himself as the psychologist on staff. He would be doing the bulk of my psychological testing, and he asked that my mother leave the room at this time. “I’m going to go meet Dad in the lobby...he’s having trouble finding a parking spot. I’ll be back right away.”

She looked nervous to leave me for any amount of time, but Dr. Aubwan, who clearly had experience dealing with flustered parents, calmly escorted her out of the room with a reassuring smile and some kind words. Dr. Toby took a seat in a chair across from my bed, with I sat lightly on so as not to contaminate myself with the germs that I was sure ran rampant around the room.

“So I’m just going to ask you some questions, okay? All this is confidential. I’m not going to tell your mom or dad, and I’m only going to tell the doctor’s anything that will help you. That means if you say you’re going to hurt yourself or anyone else, I have to report it, but if you say you cheated on your math test last Tuesday, it’s our little secret. Sound good?”