A Reason to Exist

Chapter 63

They took me to the hospital in one of the ambulances. I was rushed through to a room, where a doctor asked me a series of questions. I cried and gulped and sobbed and my breath became so corrupted I thought I was going to die.

He gave me two pills to swallow with a cup of water. As he was leaving the room, he said to the nurse, 'you'll have to make her calm down.'

The nurse was kinder. She taught me strategies to get my breathing back under control. She had a unicycle tattoo on her wrist, a delicate silver cross on a chain and an Irish accent.

'Are you from Ireland?' I asked once I'd calmed down.

'Yes,' she said. 'Now, see if you can rest for a wee bit.'

I lay back on the pillow, pulling the hospital-issue blanket up to my chin and closed my eyes, low definition thoughts channelling through my mind. I saw Tucker's face on replay, the way he hesitated when I mouthed the words 'I love you.' My declaration of love threw him off kilter. He was meant to be made of rubber. He was meant to bounce back. But instead his head is full of blood, his body is broken, his being twisted. My pain and anxiety was unbearable. I opened my eyes and saw that no one was with me. I got up from the bed and went into the corridor.

'Tucker King,' I said to the nurse at the desk. She looked confused. 'I have to see Tucker King.'

'We'll get the doctor for you soon,' she said.

'No, he had an accident. He was in the other ambulance. He's had a terrible accident.'

'Let me look at your file.' She pulled something up on the computer screen. 'We can't let you go anywhere. We need to contact one of your parents.'

Jesus, Tate's musical. 'What's the time?'

'Six o'clock.'

I'm in so much trouble.

'What's your mother's number?'

'Can I call my dad?'

'Sure.'

I told her the number to dial. 'Can I speak to him first?' I asked, holding my hand out for the phone.

'Dad, it's Macy. Tucker's had a terrible accident. I'm at the hospital. It's terrible.'

'Oh my god, what happened to him?'

'He fell. It was high. There was so much blood. From his head.' I was losing my breath again. 'They won't let me see him until they've spoken to a parent. I had a panic attack. Tell them I'm okay. Tell them I have to find out what is happening to Tucker. You have to tell them. I can't stay here not knowing. Tell them dad.'

'Have you called your mum?'

'No. Please call her. She's at Tate's concert. I'm supposed to be there. I'm at the Alfred Hospital. Dad, you have to tell them I'm okay. I'm passing the phone back to the nurse. Tell them.'

I handed the phone back. I watched as the nurse, early twenties, brown hair and large glasses nodded and listened. 'She was brought in by an ambulance,' she told my dad. 'Macy had a severe panic attack. We had to medicate her. I need to make her wait until the doctor makes his rounds.' I looked for the exit door. I wondered if I was locked in. I wondered if this was the psyche ward. Because that was how I felt right then – full-blown crazy.

'You or her mother need to come in,' the nurse said. 'There's paperwork we have to do. And she'll probably need you.' Oh my god. What does that mean? She hung up the phone. She looked as me kindly, but firmly. 'I'm sorry. You need to go back to your room. You're a minor, so I can't sign you out without a parent's consent. There's forms they have to fill in. It's hospital procedure. I can't do anything. You have to wait.'

I returned to my hospital room. It was my holding cell. The door, prison bars, the hydraulic bed, a bed of nails, the chair, an electric chair, the tray table, medieval stocks. My thoughts, ten armed conflicts, a failed uprising, a hopeless revolution, an oppressed civilisation. I was stuck in this holding cell with no news of the outside world. All I kept thinking about was how I mouthed the words 'I love you' and Tucker did a double take. I distracted him. He hesitated. He lost his focus. Love is a catastrophe. I knew it.

The panic began to simmer again. When mum and dad arrived a nurse was encouraging me to take small sips of water to calm down. I wondered if I was having a mental breakdown.

I saw my parents' faces as I hadn't seen them in over four years – together. My mum and dad were in the same room and no one was saying a nasty word. I cried so long and so hard, augmenting an authentic reaction. 'You're both here,' I cried, 'You're both here.' They're love for me is greater than their hate for each other. 'I love you both so much. You're both here.' Mum stepped forward and took me gently by the back of the head and I leant into her stomach and cried. 'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I'm so sorry.'

The nurse backed out of the room. Dad squatted down beside me. 'What are you sorry for, darling? This wasn't your fault.'

'I didn't tell mum where I was going. And I distracted Tucker. He was looking at me. He smiled. He lost his focus because I was there. I shouldn't have been there. I shouldn't have even been there.' I cried so hard, my chest felt as though it was about to burst. 'I have to know what's happening to him. Can you get me out of here? We have to go.'

My parents talked to the doctor in hushed voices. I heard him say something about seeing a psychiatrist and that I might need ongoing treatment and medication. Mum started up about her preference for natural medicine, but even she realised it wasn't the time or the place for this conversation. Instead, they rushed through the paperwork and hurried me out of there, an accordion fear playing an endlessly dismal tune in my heart.