Hunger Pains

Sugar High

            I could feel my heart slam against my chest as if it was going against a contender in the WWE. For a quick moment, I thought my heart was playing whack-a-mole in my chest. I felt the denim-colored fur scratch my throat as I held on tightly to my Baloo. It had been years since I last stepped foot into a hospital and already, I could feel my skin crawl as I heard the coughing and the sneezing and the monitors going off. I held on to my stuffed bear tighter and tighter as Ariana and I followed a kind woman wearing bubblegum-colored scrubs down the extremely bright hallway. I was fortunate enough that I was able to meet kind nurses who didn't make me feel bad for carrying my stuffed animal, even when I went to the hospital the first time. What for? I don't even remember. All I remember was I didn't feel good and the next moment, I was alone in a hospital room without my Balloo, crying my eyes out wanting my mama, my daddy, and my Baloo. I'm pretty sure if it wasn't for a kind nurse who gave me a raggedy doll with bright red hair whose name was Sally, and constantly checked up on me would I be willing to step foot into another hospital again. I only hoped that my daddy got a good nurse who was taking good care of my daddy like they had done for me. Yet, the fear of losing my daddy had started pouring itself into my mind and suddenly, I was holding on to my bear tighter and tighter with each step we took.

The morning I had to call 911 still haunted me. It felt like someone had gone in my brain, pressed the replay button and left me alone to suffer. He got us up for school like he had done a million times, but something was different this time. His voice sounded weaker, less intense, and loud. By the time I got out of bed, he had disappeared from the doorway. I rushed out of bed, raced to take a shower, and quickly got dressed. When I finally got to the living room, there he was lying on his side on our miscolored couch. What happened to him? Just a couple of days ago, he was fine...I mean, he had to use Ariana and I for balance to get from the car to the apartment, but other than that, he was fine...I think. It seemed like a small gnome had managed to crawl his way to my daddy's ear and in his brain and turned off the light switch that he needed to be our daddy. It was odd. Especially since over the weekend, he had made our favorite weekend treat, Oreo Blizzards with vanilla ice cream and Oreo cookies, and watched another Barbie movie for movie night. This couldn't have been my daddy. No...This wasn't the guy who would walk us to and from school every day or make our way to the nearest Seven-Eleven to enjoy a medium or large Slurpee or who would make homemade chicken wings. No. This had to have been a mean joke, right?

"M-Maeve...C-Call an a-ambulance...H-Hurry." He managed to murmur.

Somehow, someway, all I was able to do was rush to the landline and dial the number that had been repeated to me since I was six years old. I stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, glancing at my dad as he laid there moaning and groaning like a kid with a tummy ache, and listened to the phone ring and ring and ring.

"911 Operator. What's your emergency?"

"Hello? My daddy is on the couch not feeling good. He can barely move."

"Okay, how old are you?"

"I'm ten."

"Alright sweetie," she paused. "You said your dad isn't feeling good?"

"Yes ma'am. He's barely able to walk. He has been needing to use me and my sister to help him walk to the house and the car."

"Okay. How long has your dad been sick for?"

"I-I don't know...a couple of days maybe..."

"And do you know if he has any illnesses?"

I looked at my dad, hoping that maybe he would hear the questions the operator was asking me and give me a cheat sheet to what the answers were. Instead, all he could do was lie there.