Little Things

Painfully Stressful Situation.

Kind of a serious chapter and I had trouble getting the words to flow, but this is the best I could do, hope you guys like it! :)

____________________________________________________________

“Mom.” I shout as I walk into my house. “I’m home.” I can hear some shuffling in the kitchen and a fire alarm go off. She was probably attempting to bake again. Don’t get me wrong the Italian blood in her made her an exquisite cook, but her baking just wasn’t any good.

“I’m in the kitchen honey!” I find her standing on a stool wafting away the smoke from the alarm with a hand towel.

 “Try baking again?” I already know the answer, but I thought I’d ask anyways.

 “Chocolate cookies aren’t as easy to bake as they seem.” She defends. “So how was school?” She steps down from the stool and an expression of concern washes over her face. “Why’s there a bruise on your face?” She asks coming closer to get a better look at it. “Did someone hurt my baby?” I swat her hands away. I nearly forgot about that, I knew I should’ve covered it up with makeup.

 “I got hit in the head with a football.” I wince just thinking about the pain. “I actually feel kind of dizzy.” I confess.

 “We have to call doctor Hogue, he told us to call if symptoms occurred like easy bruising or bleeding.” She looks flustered and just about ready to have a panic attack.

 “Mom, don’t make any irrational decisions, I’m fine.” Well, I was fine before I feel onto the kitchen floor.

 “I’m calling the doctor.” My mother picks me up and gives me and icepack for my head, helping me sit down on a stool. “Frank!” She yells for my father. She got no reply. “Dammit, that man is always locked up in his study.” She hastily walked out of the kitchen, probably to go find my father. “Frank, your daughter just collapsed on herself in the kitchen, try spending some time with her, who knows when her time’s up.” She whispers probably unaware that I’m eavesdropping. Tears fill my eyes, but just as quickly as they came, they were gone. I wiped them away once I heard my parents footsteps approach the kitchen.

 “You okay Katie?” My father stupidly asks. I just fell onto the kitchen floor, of course I’m not okay. I nod anyways.

 He slips an arm under my arms and the other one scoops under my knees making his way to the car. He lays me down in the backseat placing a blanket over me. “Your mom’s going to call the doctor to let him know we’re on our way, and then we’ll leave, okay?”

 “Okay.” I weakly reply, my throat becomes dry and I get even dizzier than I was before.

 Every time we hit a bump in a road or stop abruptly my head pounds, threatening to break free of my skull. Of course to anybody under normal circumstances, a hit to the head with a football would at the most give you a headache, but for someone with cancer the side effects would be much worse due to their weak immune system. My parents pull up in front of the hospital and help me through the doors, supporting most of my weight. The ladies at the front desk look slightly alarmed when I walk through and place me on a stretcher. My parents aren’t allowed to come with me until the doctor has found out what the problem is and the severity of it. I’m being wheeled into a room and propped up on a bed.

 “Here’s a bucket in case you need to vomit, the remote control for the TV is over there, and with this button you can control the angle of your backrest, the doctor will be with you shortly.” Tanya, a nurse at the hospital informs me before walking out. I reach for the bucket and empty the contents of my stomach into it, I look up only to find doctor Hogue standing in front of my bed.