Chapter 5
Mia is sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, her blue gown half untied and her back exposed.
She's barely slept; she's tried plenty of times, but she kept tossing and turning, and at best she'd drift into a half-asleep state that gave her no real rest, though at least it kept her from thinking.
She's watching Noah, who's reclined in the visitor's chair, turned to one side, his face pressed against the back cushion and his eyes closed, but Mia knows he isn't asleep because his brow is slightly furrowed, like something's keeping him from relaxing.
The singer sighs, because she knows that something is her — her assistant only has her, and she only has him.
She checks the time on her phone and sighs. It's almost eight in the morning and she's desperate for the doctor to come and discharge her so she can get out of there.
"I know you're awake," Mia murmurs, stretching her leg to nudge Noah's knee with her bare foot.
Her friend's chest swells as he inhales, then deflates on the exhale.
"I'm resting my eyes," Noah says.
He hasn't slept much either, because he could hear Mia constantly shifting and it kept him on edge in case she was feeling worse.
"I'm bored, Noah — can't you go find the doctor so we can get out of here already?"
Noah opens one eye, slowly, then sits up enough to open the other.
"Don't be difficult," he says, annoyed. "You heard the nurse: for someone with symptoms like yours, they keep you in the ER overnight, and they gave you an actual room because of who you are — be grateful and don't ask for more than you need."
She frowns and kicks him again.
"I'm not being ungrateful, but this place is a drag. I want to go back to the hotel and sleep. That's not asking too much."
"I don't think they'll be long — they probably want to get rid of you as soon as possible. Besides, Jude must've left clear instructions," Noah guesses, rolling his eyes. "He had to put security in the hallway and at your door. That costs money, and you know how tight he is."
Mia laughs.
"Want me to run down to the cafeteria and grab you some breakfast?"
"Not hungry right now, maybe later," Mia says.
"Not even juice? You haven't eaten anything since before the show," he reminds her, worried.
"I've got this — I'll survive," she says, pointing to the IV line still in her arm.
Noah huffs and runs his hands through his hair to comb it.
"Maybe you should step into the bathroom and look in the mirror," Mia suggests with a lopsided smile.
Her friend hesitates, because the truth is he usually couldn't care less about the state of his hair — the messier it is, the better it goes over with guys and most girls — but he goes anyway to wash his face and use the bathroom.
When he closes the door, Mia turns toward the window, through which there isn't much to see — just an enormous building across the way with rows of identical windows that she finds even more boring than her own room.
She picks up her phone to check her feeds and finds thousands of messages of support — along with others demanding the concert be rescheduled and several asking for refunds — and sets it back down, thinking Jude must be doing twice the work trying to manage all of this.
The room door opens just as Noah steps out of the bathroom.
Hassan comes in — the same doctor who treated her when she arrived — with a resident.
Mia is about to ask him how long his shift runs, but she notices that under his white coat he's wearing a different suit than the night before and he looks fresh, so he probably left after his evening shift and is just starting the morning one now.
"Good morning," he says. "How did you sleep, Mia?"
"Pretty well."
"Come on, Mia," Noah cuts in, annoyed. "We're talking about your health, so don't lie to him."
She smooths her short hair and thinks she desperately needs a shower.
"Okay, fine — I didn't sleep much, but I wasn't feeling bad or anything. It's just this place. It creeps me out."
Hassan smiles, and so does the resident. Mia looks at her and decides she's cute — maybe she could've been a good candidate for the night after the concert, except she spent it here instead of having sex.
The doctor comes closer and checks her pulse, leaving a chart on the bed. Mia stays still, watching him and waiting.
"All right, let's go over your results," Hassan says.
He sits at the foot of the bed, turned toward Mia, while Noah fixes all his attention on him.
"Your bloodwork looks good — your electrolytes are a little low, but nothing alarming. EKG shows no irregularities, twenty-four-hour Holter monitor—"
"Doctor," Mia interrupts. "I don't want to be rude, but we're not following any of this. Can you skip that part and just get to the point?"
The man clears his throat and gives her a patient smile, because he gets it — she's not the first patient to ask him that.
"The diagnosis is what Dr. Dooley suspected from the start. Your tests and your clinical picture point to recurrent vasovagal syncope."
"What's that?" Noah asks.
"People who have it," the resident explains, stepping in for the first time after Hassan glances at her, "experience fainting episodes triggered by a sudden reaction in the body.
The nervous system causes blood pressure and heart rate to drop, less blood reaches the brain for a few seconds, and the person loses consciousness. "
Noah's eyes go wide.
"Before a fainting episode, you'll usually get warning signs — dizziness, a feeling of warmth or flushing, cold sweats, nausea, blurred or tunnel vision, ringing in your ears, paleness, weakness in your legs, or the sense that you're about to fall," the doctor explains.
Mia has dropped her gaze to her legs, feeling a chill run through her as the doctor describes several of the symptoms she's noticed every time she's felt unwell.
"Sometimes you don't actually faint, but the weakness is significant and it drains you until you end up on the ground," the doctor continues.
"She was really disoriented when she came to, and scared," Noah says. "Is that normal?"
"Yes — disorientation is very common, and the fear is a physical response some people can't avoid.
You wake up not remembering what happened, surrounded by people you don't know, in a place you can't place.
It makes sense to be scared. You may also feel exhausted, sweaty, and like you just want to stay lying down.
The good news is that it isn't serious. It's a common condition, but it's not a disease in itself, and it doesn't point to a cardiac or neurological problem. "
"And the bad news?" Mia asks.
"The bad news is that in your case, the condition is made worse by everything going on around you.
You're a performer, very well known, in the middle of a tour.
That means chronic stress, poor nutrition if it's not managed, not enough sleep, dehydration — all of these amplify your condition.
If nothing changes, the episodes will keep happening, and over time they'll probably get worse.
The problem isn't the fainting itself, Mia — the problem is fainting at the edge of a stage with a two-meter drop, falling on a light rig, or hitting your head on something nearby. "
Noah's skin prickles.
"Last night you got lucky, but next time you could seriously hurt yourself."
Mia nods, slowly.
"So what am I supposed to do?" she asks, feeling her neck go stiff.
"In the short term — constant medical supervision while you're on tour.
I don't mean a doctor you can call if you feel sick; I mean someone who's close by and can act immediately.
Someone who can recognize your symptoms as they develop without you having to explain yourself, because sometimes you won't even know you're having them.
It needs to be someone who keeps track of your hydration, your sleep, and your meals — and who has the authority to call it when your condition requires it. "
Noah feels like he's the one about to pass out.
"If your schedule allows — and I assume it doesn't — the ideal would be to take a two-month break so you can rest. If that's off the table, the best option is a doctor who travels with you around the clock."
Noah lets out a breath through his nose.
"Her schedule doesn't allow for a break right now — I can guarantee you that," the assistant says, frustrated.
"I figured."
"You said 'short term,'" Mia says. "What about long term?"
"There are medication options we can consider if things don't improve with lifestyle changes, but in your case — your age and the nature of your condition — the first step is changing habits: better nutrition, hydration, and sleep, like I mentioned.
If we can stabilize things that way, you won't need anything else. "
Mia nods, glancing sideways at her friend as Hassan stands.
"A nurse will come take out your IV shortly. I'll get your discharge paperwork ready so you can go — but take this seriously, Mia."
The doctor and the resident leave, and for a few seconds the only sound in the room is the murmur drifting in from the hallway.
"So — I'm fine," Mia announces suddenly.
"What?" Noah asks, moving closer to her.
"You heard the doctor. It's not serious."
"Did you hear the same thing I did, or were you too busy undressing that resident with your eyes?" Noah says, exasperated.
Mia's smile tilts, and she shakes her head.
"I heard every word. He said it's not serious — if I eat a little, stay hydrated, all that, it's under control."
"Right. Until you crack your skull on the floor next time."
"God, Noah," she protests, shuddering just thinking about it.
"Don't 'God, Noah' me." Her friend lifts the hem of his hoodie, showing Danny's name tattooed on his arm. "I lost a friend once, Mia — I don't want to lose another one, so don't do this to me."