Chapter 87. Voice

The hospital had the odor of antiseptic and sleepless nights. It was a crisp clean scent that filled everywhere.

The thin hospital gown I was wearing did nothing to chase the cold away as I was propped up on a mountain of stiff white pillows. Whenever I moved my weight on the crinkly paper sheet covering the bed, the plastic paper band around my wrist dug into my skin causing constant irritation.

It made me feel like I had a label that identified me as broken. The linoleum between my bed and the door was a frantic little path where Mom had been pacing earlier.

With her phone pressed to her ear she was speaking to my doctor in that urgent hushed voice that always made my skin itch from nervousness. She spoke in the same tone when she was discussing Dad or when the bills weren’t paid on time.

“Just a check-up,” she insisted but I knew better. This was not how long checkups used to take. They didn’t include a lot of needles, blood vials or the somber cautious wa