“Excuse me.” I tap on the front desk, but both workers are on the phone. The one on the right holds up a finger as if she’s telling meone moment.
Onefuckingmoment. Are you kidding me? You’re leisurely talking on the phone while my mom’s in one of these rooms, possibly clinging to her life.
“Excuse me,” I repeat, maintaining what little composure I have left, but she lets out a long sigh and rolls her eyes. Then, she turns her chair to look the other way and continues her conversation. “Un-fucking believable.”
I push myself off the front desk and head down the halls, but I have no idea where to even look for her. She could be in one of these rooms… or in the ICU… or surgery. I have no information about what happened. It might have nothing to do with her cancer.She could’ve fallen down the steps or cut her finger while cooking, and Declan just didn’t get the full story.
Maybe this whole thing has been blown out of proportion.
Or, my biggest fear has finally come, and I’m losing her. Once and for all.
“Excuse me.” I try to stop a nurse as he passes by, but his eyes stay glued onto his fucking clipboard.
“Excuse me!” I say it a little louder, hoping to get someone's attention. Anyone’s attention.
I can’t breathe.
It’s like my lungs are being squeezed tighter and tighter with each passing breath, taking away any possible oxygen remaining, and I can’t breathe.
I think it’s happening again. I can’t remember the last time I had a panic attack. It might’ve been the night I found out she was sick.
Or when it came back the first time.
All I know is I haven’t felt like this in a while.
The shakes running through my body, the numbing tingles in my fingers, my throat closing up, and my vision blurring.
I hate it.
And I don’t even remember how to deal with it. Every time I try to slow my breathing and relax my body, I only make it worse.
“Zeke?” I blink open my eyes to see Dr. Sanchez standing in front of me.
“Oh my god.” I jump up, the feeling coming back into my limbs, almost like my body knows I have something more important to deal with than my own emotions. “I’ve been trying to get someone to help me, and no one stopped to do anything. It’s like I didn’tfucking exist to any of them. All I was trying to do was find my mom and… where is my mom? I got a call, well I didn’t, I was out, and I missed, I just, I came as soon as I heard and—”
“Son, slow down.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “We should get you some water. Sit down, talk.”
“Talk?” I scoff. “Why? I just need to see my mom. That’s why I’m here. If I had been here to talk, I would’ve just called you back and saved a trip. I don’t need to talk to you. I need to see my mom.”
“Zeke.”
“What’s going on?”
“We’ve done everything we can for her, but she doesn’t have much longer.”
My eyes fill with tears, blurring my vision.She doesn’t have much longer. I purse my lips, nodding like I understand what he’s telling me.
I don’t.
How thefuckam I supposed to understand this?
“I just,” I sniffle, “she was fine. I mean, s-she was getting better. How does this happen?”
“Better?” he asks.
“She came home. She was home because she was in remission. She’s been fine. She told me that everything had come back clean at her last appointment. That was, that was a week ago. How does this happen in a week?”
“Zeke, I think we should go sit down.”