Chapter Sixteen
Rude Awakenings
Kennedy
A dull ache greeted me the next morning. When I opened my eyes, the sunlight trickling through my bedroom window instantly made a pounding start behind my left eye.
I groaned and pulled the covers over my head.
It was nice and cozy, just what I needed to help me drift off to sleep and wake up in better shape.
A solid, patient knock began against my bedroom door. The kind that got louder with each connection and promised not to go away unless I responded.
I didn’t mean to bark, but every knock caused the pain to climb to another level.
“Leave me alone!” I roared, only to end on a whine.
The door flew open and heavy steps halted a few paces into the room.
“Honey, are you okay?” Dad asked.
I moaned, unable to lift my throbbing head from the pillow.
My mouth began to water, and the room tilted and spun. There was no time for warning, it was all I could do to heft myself over the edge of the bed before the body-wrecking nausea and gagging began.
Migraines.
I hated them, and yet, I had suffered them since middle school.
“Oh, okay. Alright. Uhm…” I could have sworn I heard him softly curse, as he wildly looked around the room.
It was as adorable as it was heartbreaking. When things went to shit, he still looked for Mom. She was his rock, and the source of all wisdom where their children’s health matters were concerned.
“Wh–? What do you need me to do, Kenny?”
I gripped the sheet, my eyes clenched shut while I shook.
“Is there medicine? Where is the medicine?”
I tried to shake my head, and it was my undoing.
Thankfully, there was nothing in my belly to bring up. My body, however, slid right off the edge of the bed. Dad crudely pinned me between his hip and the mattress and held my hair out of the way.
“Hospital,” I meekly managed, while clinging to him.
He helped me into a seated position. It seemed impossible, and I was more than aware I’d broken a nail gripping at the sheet.
“Alright, let go and I’ll get you down the stairs.” He attempted to negotiate, but I felt like I’d fall off the face of the earth if I loosened my grip on that damn linen.
All I could do was groan while everything spun, and eventually went black.
I awoke to the distant sound of a soft, but persistent beep that sounded every five seconds or so. In the fog, I felt my mother’s soft, warm palm against my own while my father and brother whispered in the distance.
“What is this? Why don’t she have medication? Your mom used to bring her up here every other month for this shit. I– I don’t understand. If you know your patient has a debilitating condition, why wouldn’t you send medication home with her?
“She usually caught it before she had to be here. Mom would just take her to an urgent care place.”
“Yeah, but still. Why does she even need to do that? Why make her seek an emergency room or urgent care every time it comes on? Why don’t they prescribe her something?”
My father’s voice slowly grew more solid. The hand in mine suddenly had weight, and realness.
My eyes flew open as reality and my perception of it harshly collided.
My mother was gone.
I blinked, bringing Roach into focus, just as my brother answered my father, “Because of us, Dad. They won’t prescribe her narcotics or migraine medication because she’s your daughter, and my sister.”
“Where am I?” the question flew out of my mouth, even though the answer was obvious.
“You’re okay,” Dad reassured, dropping his conversation so he could rush to my side.
His heavy hand brushed the hair from my face and simultaneously led my head back to the pillow.
“You just rest.” He nodded, encouraging his suggestion.
I yawned, suddenly feeling like I’d had the best nap ever.
“I’m fine. They’ll be in to remove this in a minute.” I studied the near empty bag that was hanging near my bed and the line that carried its fluid into my vein.
Paxton was right, I’d done this song and dance a time or two. I couldn’t say if the part about not prescribing was accurate, but the bit about urgent care was spot on.
As long as I was able to walk, I could drag my ass into the urgent care waiting room, and they’d take care of me .Once I was heaving and unable to open my eyes, though, it usually meant an emergency room trip.
A faint tap sounded at the door.
“Come in,” I mumbled, tucking the cover around my bare left lower leg.
A fresh-faced physician with an eager smile and metal-framed glasses stepped into the room.
“Hello. Kennedy, you’re awake. That’s great. How are you feeling? On a scale of one to–”
“Zero,” I cut him off, knowing the pain scale all too well.”
“If it starts at one, how can you be a zero?” Paxton teased.
“I’m fine. Really. The pain is gone.”
“What about the other symptoms?” the physician asked, pressing the bridge of his glasses until they returned to their intended location on his face.
“What other symptoms?” I glanced from Paxton to my dad.
“You were unconscious when you arrived,” the doctor pointed out.
I gave a slow nod, not having truly thought about it.
“I suppose I was. It was probably the pain. I was spinning and–”
“Spinning?”
“Maybe if she were prescribed the right medication for her condition she wouldn’t have to end up in the hospital spinning or unconscious,” Dad grumped.
I nodded again, flashing an apologetic grin to the doctor. “Yeah, dizzy. Thankfully I didn’t eat much last night, so my belly was empty, or I’d have probably made a mess.”
“I see. Have you ever been told you’re diabetic?” he asked, not seeming to be bothered one bit by dad’s disposition.
“What?” I laughed, raising my hand to wave away the idea, “I was an athlete in high school, and I don’t eat a lot of sweets.”
I wasn’t exactly part of any team now, but I wasn’t sedentary. I got enough exercise to maintain a healthy weight.
“Some patients have episodes of low blood sugars, it causes them to have vision problems, shakiness, and are usually found to be, as we always say, cold and clammy. And yes, they lose consciousness sometimes if it gets too low.”
“Are you thinking that is what happened to her?” Dad spoke up.
“I’m certain of it. Her lab results said as much.”
“My mother was diabetic like that,” Roach quietly offered, before looking to the physician, “What was Kennedy’s blood sugar level?
“Your… blood sugar, as the young lady put it, was forty-eight upon admission.”
“What is it supposed to be?” Paxton asked for me.
The doctor bobbled his head, “Ninety to one hundred and twenty is textbook ideal, but some patients run a little under and are completely asymptomatic. I would wager you’re one of those patients.
You’re likely completely unaware, and just fine, unless you skip meals or exert yourself more than normal.
A day at an amusement park, touring a college, sometimes simple things can cause us to burn through more calories and sugar than we might on a typical day. ”
Everyone nodded like it made perfect sense.
“Right.” I reluctantly agreed, even if I thought he was wrong.
“The last test we took after initiating the IV showed that you were up to one hundred and five. So, you’re within normal range now, and without complaints of pain or discomfort.
I’d like you to return for more blood work in one week, and follow up with your primary care physician within one to three days, as well.
If you have any of the symptoms I mentioned earlier, I want you to eat a snack.
If it does not improve promptly, I want you to return to the hospital or an urgent care center.
Don’t worry, all the symptoms and instructions will be listed on the discharge papers.
I’ll send a nurse in to disconnect your IV and we’ll get you out of here. Does that sound like a plan, Kennedy?”
“Yes,” I latched on before anyone could redirect the man.
I felt fine, and I needed answers that weren’t going to be found in that room.
Like, what the hell was Kingston Crowe doing in my backyard last night, for starters? Maybe if I hadn’t spent half the night wondering, I might not have woken up with a migraine!