42.Saturday: Out of Her Life (Sue, Emery's Mom)

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She went slack, completely silent. The nurses took this opportunity to hold down her head.

I wasn't sure if it was because she was held down or her body finally started to give in...but she stopped resisting.

"Good job, Emery. Stay still," the doctor said, nodding in the nurses' direction.

Emery just shut her eyes and began whispering words, I couldn't hear most of them, but they were full of pain and accompanied by shallow tears: Levi...love...over...failure...shit...dead...no one..." her voice kept getting softer and softer as they slowly put the tube in her nose.

She gagged and choked as the tube was put further in her body. Then she looked at me, her green eyes were wide and red from crying and gag reflex...but she had the most deadly look in her eyes: debilitating fear and anger that erased any happiness I ever saw in her.

Skip

Emery finally fell asleep at 3:45 am after being given medicine. For the first hour, she was clawing at her tube and pleading.

My daughter was no longer the proud, determined person destined for Yale. She was broken and tired and no more than a dead skeleton.

Then she had another small cardiac episode with intense chest pains, the pains lingered for a few hours. A few doctors came in to try and do a psych eval, but she wouldn't answer them.

Actually, she did answer them once.

The question was: "What are you thinking about now, Emery?"

"Death," she croaked, her voice so scratchy.

I eyed the psychiatrist nervously, terrified of what she meant.

The doctor remained calm and indifferent.

"Whose?"

"His. Mine. Everyone's." she paused between each word to take a shaky breath.

And then she went silent again and hadn't said a word since.

But it was 8 am now and my phone began to ring. I at first thought it was my sister who is taking care of NayNay, but it wasn't a number I recognized.

For the first time since we arrived here, I left Emery's side and stepped in the hall to take the phone call.

"Hello," it was a woman's tentative but serious voice. "Is this Emery's mom?"

To be honest, there was no Emery anymore. But I replied: "Yes..."

"I wanna thank your daughter. Last night she, um, saved my son Levi. He, well, I bet Emery told you. She saved his life and-"

As a parent of a special needs child, my first instinct was to yell at anyone who got into her Naay's way.

The instinct kicked in. "My daughter may have saved him. But he didn't save my daughter. It's because of him my daughter is in a hospital bed."

There was silence; neither of us knew what to say.

"What?"

"My daughter starved herself to woo over your son."

I knew that wasn't the reason, but it seemed believable enough.

"I I dunno—I."

"My daughter is smart enough to know to stay away from boys like your son. But she didn't, your manipulative son who used to bully her pulled her in and now she's here."

"I don't know. I, I hardly know anything about Levi's life. But I don't think he meant to hurt her. he asked about her when he woke up, I think, well, I think he likes her."

Likes? Woke up? That was too much information — too many factors.

I wasn't mad he lived, that would be sinister. But I was angry he still could kill my daughter emotionally.

I had a hard time believing Emery would be foolish enough to care about something so vain and harmful.

I paused, noticing the irony.

The news he likes her that didn't make his role in her near-death experience any less prominent. I needed to protect Emery. So, in a bitter vivaciously angry voice, I gave Levi one command.

"Tell Levi to leave Emery's life. Tell him if he really loves her, he'll focus on himself getting better and never talk to my daughter again. He can't ruin her life. "

I needed to take my rage out of someone, I needed someone to blame.

Before she could respond, I hung up.

Thank you guys! I will try to update every week or every other week. I had to leave a gap because if I want to qualify for next years Wattys I need to have ample chapters published after August.

So, there should be 5 more chapters..or more if I decide to write about their individual recovery paths.


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