It only takes a moment for everything to change. One split second, and nothing will ever be the same again.
Lana Brooks, a high school senior, will learn how far she can push her friends and family to the breaking point after she gets into the bad c...
"His first and only child had been viciously ripped from his grasp, so I could see how he could be so upset."
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❀ Philadelphia Memorial Hospital, one week later, Friday, March 3 I heard various voices throughout those seven days, like my parents telling me it was okay if I wanted to let go, Jordana updating me about the latest drama (a Sophomore was expelled for spray-painting 'shitbag' on a locker), and a few of my friends making one-sided conversation with my cardiac-arrested body.
It was a bleak evening when I had woken up from my one-week 'sleep,' and I pressed the 'nurse' button.
A group of doctors and nurses burst into my room, along with a sandy blond-haired, brown-eyed boy around my age. There was lots of movement in my room, like checking my vitals and switching IV's around in my arms, but the young boy stayed by my side.
"Who are you?" I sputtered weakly, my voice sore and hoarse from a week with no use.
"My name is Carson Kirkman. I'm seventeen, and a nursing assistant-in-training. I've been watching over you since you came in, and I was really interested by your case. Plus, I've heard a lot about you from around school, especially now that you're in the hospital. I'm a Junior, by the way," he blushed and handed me a glass of water, helping me sit up. I groaned in pain from the lack of overall use in my body.
"Where is James, can I see him?" I asked, as a few nurses left the room, making the room a little quieter. The remaining medical staff stopped and stood still at the mention of James' name.
One of the doctors, a tall, dark-haired man, lightly pushed Carson out of the way to stand by me. He took my hand in his, and looked me in my eye. I felt scared and a little intimidated.
"I'm so sorry, Svetlana-"
"Doesn't it say to call me Lana on that clipboard of yours?" I said, sharply.
"My apologies, Lana. As I was saying, James has, unexpectedly, taken a turn for the worse."
"What? H-how?" I sputtered.
"When he was electrocuted, something was triggered inside of James that caused him to bring out his previously dormant Epilepsy. He suffered something called a Grand Mal seizure, and he is in critical condition. His doctors are currently preparing him for his third surgery this week, to try and reverse the electrocution's effects. They are trying to reboot his heart."
"No," I whispered. This couldn't be happening. James had Epilepsy?
"It should've been me," I sobbed silently, my oxygen tubes falling out in the process.
"Shh, oh, here." The doctor, his name tag read "Dr. Schaffer," cooed, and re-adjusted my tubes, putting the loops around my ears.
Then my parents and sister rushed into the room, fawning over me and asking tons of questions, after Carson was shooed out of the room by Dr. Schaffer.
"Wait!" I called, but my cry fell upon deaf ears.
Two hours later, 9 p.m. I'd seen a lot of visitors so far today, but none as somber as Mr. And Mrs. Olson.
My mom had been reading an old issue of Vogue, my Dad had been talking on the phone about how the Red Birds were in the Philadelphia Correctional Facility, and my sister was texting her boyfriend, Chris, on her marble-cased iPhone.
There was a knock at the door. We saw that it was the Olson's, and my dad invited them into my hospital room. Mrs. Olson, normally always put-together, had smudged black spots around her eyes, probably from runny mascara. Mr. Olson wore a plain black suit and a black tie, and looked ready for his son's funeral. James' funeral. My father shook Mr. Olson's hand, bringing him close and whispering inaudibly into his ear.
"Would it be alright if we talked to Lana for a little bit? Alone?" Mrs. Olson asked. My mom tightly smiled, nodding and leading my family out of my room.
"Lana, we need to know the truth about what happened that night, and it is very important that you don't lie to us," Mr. Olson droned.
"Sure, what do you want to know? Or, more correctly, what do you want to know that could've been different in the case file?" I crossed my arms.
"You are right, we want to know about the real info. Neither your father nor I were on duty when we got the call. We got to the hospital as soon as we could when we heard that our two kidnapped children were in bad condition after being electrocuted almost to death. We aren't optimistic for James at all, so we thought you could be of some use." He said, wearing a hardened expression. His first and only child had been viciously ripped from his grasp, so I could see how he could be so upset.
I explained the entire story, Mrs. Olson burst into sobs at several different points in the story, and Mr. Olson just rubbed his forehead in frustration.
"Did you know he had Epilepsy?" I asked, looking from one of James' parents to the other.
"No, we didn't. When he was born we knew it was a possibility, but his test was negative back then. That was eighteen years ago, though, and apparently it's been dormant in his body all this time," Mr. Olson responded.
A second later the door opened, revealing Carson Kirkman, the nursing assistant.
"I'm so sorry, but ICU visiting hours are almost over. You are, however, welcome to wait in the guest lounge during your son's surgery," Carson offered.
Mr. Olson let out a huff and Mrs. Olson grabbed her purse off the couch, leaving without a goodbye.
Once the door was shut behind them, Carson began to check my IV fluids and the wires taped to my body.
"I had no idea your name was Svetlana," He laughed.
"No one outside my family does, either. Not even my best friend. My parents hate the name as much as I do. We put 'Lana' as the "full name" on school registration papers, too. But unfortunately, hospitals have birth records." I rolled my eyes.
"If your parents hate it so much, why did they name you that?" He asked, not looking up from his clipboard.
"It was my Russian Grandmother's dying wish that I be named after her. My mom was eight months pregnant with me when she passed away." I rolled my eyes slightly. My parents didn't have to listen to my grandma.
"I think it's a beautiful name. Mine is just kind of generic. Like everything else about me." Carson added, making me laugh.
"Thank you," I said, surprised, "but you still can't tell anyone school, or I'd be the laughingstock of PHHS."
