Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
TATUM
Idon’t remember ever getting my blood drawn.
Vaccinations, yes, but those are different.
They’re not… They’re not taking blood from you with a measly little shot.
I never went to the doctor as a kid; it wasn’t until I moved to a foster home that I finally got a physical and caught up on all the vaccines a kid my age was supposed to have.
If my mom took me to the doctor, they’d know I was abused, so I just… never went.
I still don’t know how she managed to get by as long as she did like that. But then again, it just goes to show how much people really don’t care when it comes to children. Too many things get overlooked, things that could save a kid from a childhood like mine.
Shaking my head, I rid those thoughts as I sit up straighter next to Maeve in one of the little blue chairs against the wall in the room, waiting for the nurse to come back in with everything she needs to take the blood samples.
The hair on my neck pricks at the reminder, and my chest feels tight with the nervous anticipation of what’s to come. My knee bounces because I can’t keep still, not like this.
“I don’t think I’m good with needles.” I swallow thickly.
“You don’t think so?” Maeve asks, her eyebrows raising as she swings her head to the side to look at me. “You don’t know?”
“I’ve never had my blood drawn before.”
“What about shots?” she offers. “I’m sure you’ve had those.”
I nod. “It’s been a while.”
Even my hands are clammy now; I can feel the slight sheen of sweat building on them, so I hurriedly swipe them down my pants. Before I can repeat the process over again, Maeve reaches over and takes my hand in hers, giving me a gentle squeeze.
“I’m right here, Clark,” she reassures me. “I’ll be here the whole time.”
That should help, but right now, it doesn’t. For some reason, that makes me a whole lot more anxious. What if I pass out, right here in this room, dead weight on the floor…in front of her? I don’t know if I could ever mentally recover from something like that.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh—
A knock on the door interrupts my panic as the nurse walks into the room, greeting us with a smile and soft words that I don’t hear because my ears are ringing.
I swallow thickly a few times as she sets up a tray, and I feel Maeve sliding her thumb across the back of my hand in encouragement.
Jesus, she probably thinks I’m a child, reacting this way.
“Tate,” Maeve whispers in my ear, and I look over at her, blinking expectantly with a small hum.
“I asked if you were ready,” the nurse says softly, sitting in her swivel chair directly in front of us now.
When did she get there?
Clearing my throat, I nod unsteadily. “Y-yes.”
“Have you had bloodwork done before?”
“No,” I mumble. “I don’t think so. At least, I don’t think I have. I-I don’t remember.”
She inspects my arm for a moment, I suspect trying to find a viable vein, before she gives me a warm smile. “That’s okay. If you feel lightheaded at any point, just let me know. Okay?”
“Okay.”
My heart rate spikes as she ties the rubber tourniquet around my upper arm, so tight that I feel my pulse reverberating through my fingers.
Oh, God. The smell of the alcohol swab has my stomach rolling, and I can already tell this is going to be a nightmare.
Am I lightheaded? Would she stop before she starts if I say I am?
Stop.
Suck it up.
I look at a spec on the white wall across the room as she inserts the needle, trying not to hold my breath at the pressure and the slight stinging pain.
Don’t think about it.
Focus on the spec.
But it’s hard to focus on the spec when all I can feel is the nauseating pull of my blood into the vials. Why is that so strong? I must have my thoughts written all over my face, because Maeve reaches behind me to rub my back with her other hand.
“Doing okay?” the nurse asks.
“Yeah,” I rasp.
The nurse glances up at me as she removes the last vial, putting a piece of gauze where the needle is going into my arm before she carefully pulls it out. The back of my neck is warm, and so are my ears. Crap, maybe I’m not okay.
“You’re looking a little pale,” she says, standing to gather her supplies, “so I want you to stay seated until the doctor comes in to talk to you. Okay? Deep breaths.”
“Okay, yeah.” I nod, sitting back in my chair and resting my head on the wall.
As the nurse finishes compiling everything before she leaves the room, I focus on taking slow, controlled breaths. My head feels light, too light, and my ears are ringing just a bit, except this time, it’s because I’m fighting passing out.
“Well,” I rasp, “this is embarrassing.”
Maeve snickers, wrapping her arms around my left one and hugging it tight as she perches her chin on my shoulder. “It’s not embarrassing, Clark. You can’t help how your body reacts to needles.”
“Embarrassing,” I mutter quieter this time, which earns me another laugh.
“I don’t recommend ever getting a tattoo.”
My head drops from where it was leaning against the wall to gape teasingly down at her, and this only makes her laugh more. Her cheeks are tinted pink as she hides her smile, the corners of her eyes crinkled as she peeks up at me.
“Are you making fun of me?” I ask, raising a brow.
She shakes her head, but her giggling gives her away.
“Maeve—”
Another set of knocks on the door interrupts us, pulling my eyes up from the playful, narrowed look I was giving Maeve to see Dr. Hammond entering the room.
“Good morning,” he greets us, clipboard in hand, as he casually leans against the counter on the other side of the room. “Feeling better?”
Maeve clears her throat to cover another laugh, and I fight the urge to poke her in the ribs.
I nod. “Yeah, much better.”
Jesus Christ.
“Good, good,” Dr. Hammond says before looking over the papers on the clipboard in his hands. “Okay, so I know we already discussed how long the bloodwork will take to come back. It shouldn’t be any more than a week with the rush I put in for it.”
“Right,” I agree.
“Now, if the bloodwork comes back positive, meaning we’re clear to move forward with the transplant surgery, this could be a long, grueling process. I want you to understand that.”
The lightheadedness is gone, but only because my blood is running cold in my veins at the news. Is this going to set me back? With classes, with my degree… Will this be another thing my mother manages to ruin for me?
I clear my throat. “O-okay, and what does that mean?”
“It means you’ll want to plan to stick around for a while. After the surgery, we’ll need you here for two weeks. For your hospital stay, and for a follow-up appointment to make sure there’s no post-op complications.”
“T-two weeks?” I repeat.
“Only to make sure you’re recovering the way you should. If you leave and a complication were to arise, you could end up in the emergency room. We want to make sure you’re healing nicely after a surgery such as this one.”
I swallow the thick wad in my throat, nodding, because I don’t know what else to say. My brain is whirling with all the what-ifs.
“This is only if your bloodwork comes back as a match, of course.”
“Okay,” I rasp.
Dr. Hammond is saying his goodbyes before he leaves the room, but my mind is already a million miles away, unable to hear him. There’s too many things going on. My heartbeat. The ringing in my ears. The sound of the door closing behind him as he leaves.
“What am I going to do about classes for two weeks?” I whisper, barely audible, once we’re alone again. “Maybe more than that, depending on how this goes.”
“You can get a doctor’s note, something, you’ll be fine,” Maeve murmurs, placing her hands on my shoulders and giving them a squeeze. “Don’t worry about that part, okay?”
“But what if it pushes me back?” I ask, peering over at her. “What if I can’t graduate on time? Or worse…”
Her hands slide from my shoulders to my cheeks, cradling my face in her palms as she gives me a knowing look.
“And you have to go,” I rasp, frowning at her, realizing for the first time that I’ll be all by myself. Two weeks alone to sit with this. There’s nothing I would hate more.
“I know,” she says softly, “but we can talk. FaceTime. Text. I promise you.”
I nod, over and over again. I’d never ask her to stay, and I wouldn’t want her to because I know she’d get behind after two weeks. Her career is important to her, and that’s important to me. The predicament just…sucks, is all.
But when it comes to anything dealing with my mother, when has it not sucked?