Us Against the World

23. It Can't Be Over

The hallway is vacant, and it's like I have a visual of the gap that grows at a constant rate in my heart. The tiny hole becomes bigger and bigger with each second that passes. It's infuriating to wait, and the helplessness that engulfs me is overwhelming and sharp, like I have a barrage of daggers sinking in and out of me.

Surgery...critical condition...surgery...critical condition...Those two words that the harried doctor told me continue to pound in my mind. A massive storm romps freely and gives me a massive headache, along with a tsunami of nausea and irregular heartbeats. In other words, my whole system is fucked up.

"Meera?" Chandini meekly tugs my sleeve. "Is Mum going to be okay?"

"I..." my breath hitches. Her tear-streaked face elicits another thousand volts of electricity thrumming inside me. I can't lie to her; she'd see right through it. Unfortunately, the truth is just as painful.

"I don't know," I answer quietly. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and tug her into my side, an action that she easily gives into. "We just have to trust the doctors and hope that they can do something."

"What can they do?" Chandini asks. "Mum's basically been dead for five years. If they wanted to do surgery, they should have done it when she first went out."

"I'm not a doctor," I say. "I can't answer that. All I know is that she was getting better, then something happened, and now she's really sick."

"How is her brain even working? Wasn't she brain dead?"

"Being in a coma and being brain dead are two different things," I sigh. "Besides, do you truly want the answer to those questions now? When Mum is in the operating room fighting for her life?"

"...No, I guess not." Chandini wisely shuts her mouth, pinching her dark lips together in a long frown. She observes the paintings on the wall, their images oddly and vexingly cheerful. I suppose they have to be, since this is a children's ward.

A nurse comes soon to bring us to a waiting room. She's unfazed with our ratty appearance and baggy eyes, and quietly she seats us on some plush red chairs and tells us to wait for the doctor to arrive.

"Do you have any family members to call?" She asks me privately, gesturing with a rough jerk of her head toward Chandini.

"No," I mutter. "I'm the only one here." My stomach gurgles and roars like a newborn lion cub, causing my cheeks to warm bashfully. "Er, I have some close friends, though."

The nurse nods. "See if they can take her," she says. "The critical care ward is no place for a child." She turns to leave, then stops. "If you're hungry, there's a cafeteria downstairs. I don't think you'll miss anything important if you go down to grab a bite."

"Thank you." I briefly close my eyes, trying to get some shut-eye. No use worrying if it'll cause me to collapse, anyway. Then, when my hair tickles my nose, I sit upright and rummage through my bag. Handing a hair tie to Chandini, I turn so I'm sitting sideways on the chair. "Can you tie my hair?"

"Sure," she lifelessly responds, completing the task without delay or complaining. Once she's done, she resumes staring at the TV that hangs in the corner of the wall.

"I'm going to the cafeteria to get some food," I decide after becoming bored of the animated children's cartoon. "Do you want something?"

"No."

"Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"No."

"WIll you be fine here for a few minutes?"

"Yes."

Her short, emotionless responses worry me, but another growl from my stomach reminds me that I won't be able to sustain myself longer without energy. After alerting the nurse on duty to my departure, I trudge out of the room and through the long, winding hallways of the hospital, searching for the elevator. The sanitized air hits my nose like a chemically-created breath of fresh air and stills the jerky, confused reactions that are happening inside my body. However, it also causes a stir in my eyes, dragging out the stinging droplets that I've refused to release.