With a nod of gratitude, I hastened towards Y/N's room. Although I had inquired about her condition earlier with the university nurse, an unsettling feeling still lingered within me. After all, she was in this predicament due to my stubborn behavior, and the weight of that responsibility hung heavy on my mind.
Entering the room, I was met with the sight of the doctor meticulously examining her condition. My concern and anxiety prompted me to barrage him with a series of questions: "Is it something serious? Does she need to be hospitalized? If so, for how long? What is her current condition? Do I need to procure any medication or an IV? When can we expect her to regain consciousness? Are her lungs functioning properly? Is she experiencing dehydration?"
The doctor's expression remained calm and composed, but I could sense a hint of surprise at the rapid-fire questioning, reminiscent of my earlier encounter with the college nurse.
Just as I was about to continue my inquiry, the doctor posed a question of his own: "And who are you, may I know?"
The old man's raised eyebrows conveyed a sense of puzzlement, as if he were oblivious to the gravity of the situation unfolding before him. I was taken aback, wondering if he was genuinely concerned about my identity at a time when the patient's well-being should have been his sole focus. The unconscious patient lying in front of him seemed to be of secondary importance, and I felt my frustration simmering, ready to boil over into anger.
Fortunately, a voice intervened, providing a timely clarification: "This is our neighbor's son and my daughter's best friend. He was the one who saved her." The doctor's expression shifted, and he nodded in understanding, finally addressing my concerns with the gravity and urgency they deserved.
"She's fine, her unconsciousness is probably due to tiredness. It seems she hasn't slept for too long. As for the IV, we've already administered it to her." The doctor said, pointing to the bottle beside her and smiling. "You were eager to buy the IV bottle, but don't worry, we've got it covered. We've already given her the necessary treatment."
I felt a mix of relief and frustration, thinking, This definitely ain't the right time to smile, old man. My concern was genuine, and I wanted to ensure she received the best care possible.
Aunt chimed in. "She hasn't had good sleep recently due to her exams." My expression softened, knowing how hard she worked to achieve good grades. I could relate to the pressure she was under.
Her parents denied. "She's a healthy child apart from the usual headaches and occasional fevers. We've noticed nothing unusual with her health."
The doctor reassured us. "She just needs some rest and recovery time. We'll keep monitoring her condition, and I'm sure she'll be back on her feet soon."
Her parents expressed their gratitude, "Thank you, doctor." I couldn't help but feel a crushing sense of guilt. The truth was evident: their daughter's condition was a direct result of my actions. My conscience compelled me to take responsibility and ensure her well-being.
I followed the doctor to his cabin, my determination evident in my purposeful stride. He seemed taken aback by my sudden appearance, but gestured for me to take a seat. I restrained my anger, recognizing that I needed his expertise and guidance.
"Doctor, I must confess," I began, my voice laced with concern. "I mentioned her lungs earlier because she fainted while I was smoking with my friends. She clutched her chest and coughed rapidly. Please, can you re-examine her and ensure there's nothing wrong with her lungs? Perhaps a complete body X-ray scan would provide a clearer understanding of her situation?"
