I rush through the doors to Pennsylvania Hospital and lean frantically over the front desk. My eyes feel heavy and red and my hands are shaking uncontrollably.
"Lydia Watson!" I shout at the person I the white jacket. "She's my mother! I need to see her."
The woman turns around, peering at me from over her glasses. Her brown eyes seem to carelessly stare into mine as she sits forward and folds her hands.
"Ms. Watson is undergoing surgery at the moment. She's not allowed visitors. You can speak with her doctor."
"Fine. I want to see him."
I walk over to a seat by the aquarium as the woman intercoms the doctor. I sit down and lean my head back against the wall, breathing out heavily.
Relax, Honey Bee, I hear in my head. Relax. Breathe. We will get through this.
My mother has been in and out of the hospital for months now. It seems as if the hospital is our new place of residence since we're here so much. Not knowing what is going to happen to her from minute to the next is so stressful. I shut my eyes as tight as I can, continuing my breaths. I hear a loud pounding and my eyes fly open. I jump up, startled by someone touching my hand.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Jamerson. I didn't mean to scare you. The doctor will see you now."
The woman leads me to the doctor's office and I have a seat in front of his desk. I fold my hands in my lap and sit up straight. The doctor folds his hands as well and leans forward to me. His wrinkly nose crinkles up against his sallow skin, making his furry, white eyebrows sink low.
"I'm sorry, Hunter. You're mother had another heart attack".
I lean forward and bury my face in my hands, unable to stop the tears from pouring out of my eyes. I feel the room spinning around me and my head feels so heavy. My eyes feel like they may fall out of the sockets.
"Hunter." I look up to see the doctor standing beside me with his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry about your mother. I understand how hard this must be for you."
I look at the doctor and nod silently. My eyes are hurting from this stinging sensation I get whenever I cry and my vision is red and blurry. I look down and notice my hands shaking.
Damn. I never ate today-- all I had was that damn cup of coffee.
"Hunter," the doctor says interrupting my thoughts, "I know we've talked before about your mother's condition and how it's affected you..."
"No." I wipe my eyes and sniffle, swallowing hard. "I already know what you're going to say."
"You know it's what your mother would want. And Rider."
I look up at him and stare a hole through him. I can't focus on anything but my mother right now. I can't allow my own demons to get in the way of what's most important. My mother needs to come first. If I can't take care of her, who will?
"No, Doc. My mother needs me. My father-- he hasn't been around since I was six. If I can't take care of my mom... she has no one else. Just up the dosage on my prescription if need be. I'm not that bad, I swear!"
"Hunter, I can just keep changing the prescription. That's the third time we've done that this year. That's not healthy for you or your mother."
He sits back in his seat and pulls a book out and plops it on his desk. The dust puffs into the air like pixie dust, except it was less magical and more disgusting. He opens the book and looks back up to me, gesturing emphatically.
"Think of it this way," he continues, "How can you take care of your mother if you're not well?'
"But Doc--"
"No 'buts'. I'm recommending you to Dr. Valerie Fortini."
"I've already seen a therapist. Remember?" I start fiddling with a loose thread on my green, plaid flannel shirt.
"She's not a therapist-- she's a psychiatrist. She's one of the best. And a friend of mine, no less. She's pretty pricey, but if you tell her that I sent you, it shouldn't be a problem." The doctor hands me a business card. I look at it: Fortini & Monaco "Taking Care of Clients Is Our Number One Priority.
"I don't know. How am I supposed to find time to see this woman in between taking care of my mother?'
"That's the other thing, Hunter. Your mother is going to have to stay overnight for observation. She may need a heart transplant. She's just not as strong as she should be. She's getting weaker by the day. Her heart is failing her. You may want to think hard about this. You don't want your mother to see that you're not well-- it could put her into severe shock."
I look at the card once more and stand up. "I'll think about it."
I walk into the house and throw my black leather bag on the chair, ready to run up the stairs. I stop when I notice my reflection in the mirror. I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and swallow hard, holding back tears. I look down at a flickering light bouncing off my chest-- it's the dog-tags on my chain, reflecting the moonlight from outside. I pull the chain over my head and stare at the two tags in the palm of my hand. My eyes start to water as I squeeze the chain tight in my hand.
I turn around and walk upstairs to my room and curl up in fetal position on my bed. I lie down facing the door. My eight year old white Westie Henry walks in, whimpering and wagging his tail at the foot of my bed. I put my head up and look at him.
"Come here, boy," I say, putting my hand out towards him.
Henry hops up on my bed and licks my face. I pull him in close, hugging him close to my body. I close my eyes slowly and fall asleep. I hear a loud, rapid pounding and jump up, breathing frantically. I look at the clock-- it's 3:43am. It was just a dream-- more like a nightmare. I has been asleep for a little over two hours. I get up and walk to the bathroom. Henry is sleeping on the floor in the hallway, making little noises while he rests. I lean on the sink and stare into the mirror, taking notice of my red eyes and pale skin. I open the medicine cabinet and take out an orange bottle, twisting off the white cap. I take two pills from the bottle and place them on my tongue. I lean down and turn on the faucet, sipping the water for a few beats, then I swallow and stand up straight. Staring at my reflection, I come to the sudden realization that I'm not well-- maybe I've known it all along. I just never wanted to admit it to myself. God, it feels so selfish to actually acknowledge that I want to help myself and take away from what I should be doing for my mom. I squeeze my eyes shut and hear that loud, rapid loud pounding again. My eyes open when I hear Henry let out a bark. I walk out the bathroom and walk back to my room.
I wake up the next day to the house phone ringing. I squint and reach for the phone on my nightstand. It's my mother's doctor. I sit up on my bed and my mouth drops open as I listen to him speak.
"I'm afraid your mother is going to need that transplant after all."
It felt like my heart stopped. How am I going to pay for my mother's heart transplant. How is this going to work? When does she get the transplant? What is going to happen to her? So many questions float around in my head. I just hang up the phone without a word and walk down the stairs. I pull my chain over my head and tuck it underneath my black tank. I don't care that I have on the same clothes that I did yesterday-- I just need to get out of this house. I grab my bag from the chair and my keys from the stand in front of the mirror and head out the door.
I walk up to a building and notice my fuzzy head of hair in the reflection from the glass door. I smooth over the top of my hair and push through the door. I see a directory as soon as I walk in. I pierce my lips and walk towards the elevator. Hearing the chime as the elevator doors open, I run as quickly as I can, hoping to get in before the doors close. I charge right in, knocking into someone.
"Sorry!" I say without looking back as I hit the "close" button repeatedly.
I catch a glimpse of blue staring at me as the doors close. I look up at the numbers light up as the elevator moves from one floor to another. The doors finally open at the sixth floor and I walk out to the door that reads "Fortini & Monaco". I swing the door open and pause when I see a woman with a slim frame straigtening magazines on a table. She wears brown tortoise shell glasses and a blue and green patterned DVF wrap dress. I could just smell the money pouring out of her ass. Must be nice. The entire office was freshly scented with eucalyptus-- very different from the stale, dusty ambience I'm used to at my house.
"Dr. Fortini?"
"I'm sorry. Do you have an appointment to see me?" she asks while standing up straight.
"No," I admit while walking towards her. "My doctor sent me. He said he's good friends with you. I'm Hunter Jamerson."
"Oh! Hunter! It's very nice to meet you. He said that you might be coming in today. It's no trouble at all. Come right in." She motions towards the door in back of her. "And please-- call me Valerie!"
I walk in and take a seat on a brown leather couch, right in front of a huge Picasso piece. I stare up at the painting and hear a familiar laughter in my head.
"Hunter, are you okay?" Valerie sits on the other side of me, a coffee table separating us.
I turn around and smile. "Yes, I'm sorry. That painting just... It's very reminiscent of... it doesn't matter."
"Did you want to discuss it?"
"That's not what I'm here to talk about. This is about my mom."
"I'm sorry about your mother, Hunter. I know you've been dealing with a lot for quite some time."
I look down at the white carpet. Everything in this place is bright and happy. "He shouldn't have told you that."
"It's important that he tells me everything that he can so that you can make a full recovery, Hunter. What's going on with your mother is just the surface." Valerie tilts her head a bit. I look up, meeting her gaze. "You haven't been getting much sleep either, right?"
I shake my head from side to side, making my brown waves move over my shoulders. "No. The medicine isn't even working."
Valerie smiles a bit. Something about her seems so inviting and calm. "I'll tell you what-- you fill out the paperwork on the table in front of you. Starting today, I want you to start documenting your feelings. Take down everything you can. Go out and just write. Getting it out may help. And tomorrow, we will start our first official therapy session."
I walk down the street and watch the street and watch the cars speed by. How the hell did going to see Valerie today help me? I don't think that it did. We barely talked. She didn't give me any useful information. And now I have to wait another day to talk to her? What good does that do me? I decide to sit on a bench underneath and oak tree. I take out my camera and snap a picture of two squirrels fighting over an acorn. I smile to myself and put my camera back in my bag. I pull out my pink notebook and begin to write. This better work.