Days of Remedy

Part 7

The acrid smell of hand sanitizer wrinkles my nose as I wake up to a beeping sound next to my head. My memory is a bit hazy, but seeing an IV sticking out of my forearm makes me realize that I must be in the hospital. My muscles tense up as I try to deduce what kind of emergency this is. Did they send me to the psych ward? If so, things will get severely worse than they were. The horrors of patient treatment, forced medication, and isolation aren't rare occurrences in Japan, not to mention the scandal if my father's clients and colleagues hear about this whole situation. I need to get out of here or at least learn more information, so they release me as quickly as possible. Jumping out of bed, the IV almost rips out, frightening me even more. I have never overcome my fear of needles, so my head can't even think of a way how to get it out without causing a scene. While panicking about what to do next, not knowing where I am nor what the doctors have prepared for me, my thoughts get interrupted by my parent yelling at each other in the hall.

Mum's booming voice could make the blood run cold: "You are not going to pin this on me! She is as much as your daughter as she is mine!"

"You are her mother! You are supposed to know what's going on with her. I am working; I can't keep up with the business and the girls 24/7," dad replies, absolutely frustrated.

"Excuse me? You act as if I don't care for her! She is a teenager, and when I was her age, I also didn't want to go to school or spend the weekends with my parents. How was I supposed to know she was THIS unwell?

"Your job is to talk to her, you—"

Mum cuts him off: "DO NOT! I talk to her every chance I get. If you spent more time with us, we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place."

Their yelling is getting out of hand. However, someone settles the argument. "You two! Calm down or I will call the security! This is a hospital, not a circus; patients need quiet. And move out of the way! I am going to check on the girl."

The steps kept getting louder as the person came closer, making my heart beat like crazy. Before I realized it, my body switched to autopilot, running back to the bed and acting as if I just didn't spy behind the door for a couple of minutes. An old nurse in a light blue uniform and white hospital shoes enters the room with a big smile, happy that I woke up already. She pours me a cup of water, asking how I feel—scared, disoriented, tired. The number of emotions bubbling inside me is so overwhelming that the words keep twisting over my tongue, and only a pathetic "well" manages to escape. She checks my pulse and temperature, carefully writing it down in her small notebook. Suddenly my mum appears at the door, which concerns the nurse: "I didn't say you could come in!" she says forcefully.

But my mum isn't the type who would let herself be easily commanded, especially by someone she sees as inferior. Although her appearance today doesn't seem as graceful and confident as usual due to the lack of makeup and messy braid she only wears when sick, her tone certainly doesn't quiver even for a millisecond: "I am her mother, and I would like to see my daughter; I don't need permission to do that, miss."

As much as mum tries to sound threatening, the nurse doesn't seem to care: "Oh, I know you are her parents, but she just woke up. Her body still needs to rest and I won't allow you two to argue in front of her."

Dad and I look at each other as we notice mum's face getting red. To defuse the ticking bomb, also known as my mum, I tell the nurse everything is ok, and my dad thanks her for her hard work and fantastic service, which makes her leave before anything embarrassing happens.
Then, mum sits at the end of the bed, and dad picks up a small stool at the corner of the room to sit closer to me. She grabs my hand and squeezes it while collecting herself: "Sweety, it would be for the best if you took some break. I know that high school can be very stressful, so I called some of our friends, and they recommended me a wonderful establishment."

Even though the sentence could be heard loud and clear, I didn't understand anything, and she must have noticed as she quickly elaborated: "It's not far from here, and they have a specialized department for people your age, you know...when they start having some disturbing ideas."

"You mean like a mental hospital?" I blurt out, almost biting my cheek.

"Oh, don't think of it like, it's more like a...retreat." She smiles.

I desperately look over to my father, waiting for his reaction, but it seems he is on mum's side this time."But I am not crazy! How can you do this to me!?" I ask.

He rubs his hands nervously before speaking up: "Kumiko, we don't think you are crazy, but you scared us to death today. The hospital is very discreet. They use progressive practices, and most of their staff have experience abroad. So, please, It would not be a long-term stay, just for a couple of weeks so things can get better. We as a family don't need any unwanted attention from the media, so this is the best option."

For a second, I thought this time the conversation would be about something other than the business and the scandal my life decisions could cause. It is pointless to argue; knowing them, they will send me to who knows where regardless of my protests. The emptiness in my chest once again swallows me whole, giving up the fight before it even started.