Panicking now, I look down at myself.
I’m covered by a thin blue blanket, but my arms and legs are where there should be. Slender plastic tubes are stuck in both arms and the back of my right hand. The tubes lead up to bags of clear liquid hanging from a silver pole beside the bed. Next to the pole is the heart rate monitor causing all the beeping.
A young doctor in a white jacket sweeps into the room, followed by a big male nurse in blue scrubs. He must’ve been who my mother ordered to call the doctor. Chelsea moves aside to make room for the doctor at the edge of the bed but doesn’t let go of my hand.
“Hello, Shay. I’m Dr. Dayan. How are you feeling?”
He has a gentle voice and a gentle smile, and now I’m even more afraid than I was before. My tongue doesn’t want to work, so I stare a
