It's Not Your Fault
Chapter 8
“WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?! THAT’S OUR MOTHER IN THERE! I WILL SUE ALL OF YOUR PANTS OFF IF YOU DON’T TELL US WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR MOM!!”
Had it been anything else, or any other time, I probably would’ve been standing next to her, cracking up. But, given the circumstances, I was glaring at the receptionist, trying to explain that we wouldn’t be carrying all of our medical and social security information on us, on account of it’s generally not something you think to bring when your mom is in the hospital.
“Yeah, cabbie, to the ER, and step on it! Oh, wait, I need to run upstairs and find my entire freaking medical history.” Not something you normally think of.
Eventually, after a couple of the doctors called security to calm Fia down and I explained the situation to the guards, we were allowed to know everything. One of the head surgeons led us to an uncomfortable-looking bench outside of our mom’s room. Sofia was still fuming and refused to sit down, or even look directly at the doctor, for that matter. She crossed her arms and stared down the halogen-lit hallway, shooting him dirty looks every few minutes. I, on the other hand, happily let myself fall onto the bench. The surgeon clasped his hands and looked at my sister and me. I noticed he looked extremely tired.
“Um, girls…your mother…well, I’m not sure if you are aware of her current situation.”
“Oh em gee! Really? And here I thought my sister was yelling because she wanted some popcorn. No way she’d be yelling because we don’t know what’s going on. Oh, not a chance. You’re a genius, doc.” I spat. It was my turn to glare at him.
He looked taken aback. “Yes. Of course. My mistake. Well, from what our doctors have figured out, we know that she is suffering from manic depression. Just a few hours ago, she was found unconscious on a restroom floor in a nearby fast food restaurant. When we examined her, we discovered that she had attempted to commit suicide by overdosing.”
Had it been anything else, or any other time, I probably would’ve been standing next to her, cracking up. But, given the circumstances, I was glaring at the receptionist, trying to explain that we wouldn’t be carrying all of our medical and social security information on us, on account of it’s generally not something you think to bring when your mom is in the hospital.
“Yeah, cabbie, to the ER, and step on it! Oh, wait, I need to run upstairs and find my entire freaking medical history.” Not something you normally think of.
Eventually, after a couple of the doctors called security to calm Fia down and I explained the situation to the guards, we were allowed to know everything. One of the head surgeons led us to an uncomfortable-looking bench outside of our mom’s room. Sofia was still fuming and refused to sit down, or even look directly at the doctor, for that matter. She crossed her arms and stared down the halogen-lit hallway, shooting him dirty looks every few minutes. I, on the other hand, happily let myself fall onto the bench. The surgeon clasped his hands and looked at my sister and me. I noticed he looked extremely tired.
“Um, girls…your mother…well, I’m not sure if you are aware of her current situation.”
“Oh em gee! Really? And here I thought my sister was yelling because she wanted some popcorn. No way she’d be yelling because we don’t know what’s going on. Oh, not a chance. You’re a genius, doc.” I spat. It was my turn to glare at him.
He looked taken aback. “Yes. Of course. My mistake. Well, from what our doctors have figured out, we know that she is suffering from manic depression. Just a few hours ago, she was found unconscious on a restroom floor in a nearby fast food restaurant. When we examined her, we discovered that she had attempted to commit suicide by overdosing.”