Rebuilding
“Anita?”
I called out into the house as I hung my jacket on the coat rack.
I
didn’t get a response.
“Anita?”
I called again.
Once
again there was nothing. I figured she was probably up in her room
staring into space again. She had a tendency to not communicate
lately. I trudged up the steps and to my surprise found the door to her
room open. I poked my head through the doorway. The bed was still
made from this morning and her pajama’s still laid on the floor where she had
discarded them earlier.
“Anita?”
I called anyway.
I
expected no response and got none. Where in the world was she? She
didn’t exit that room unless absolutely necessary. The only other place I
could think of was the bathroom. I walked down the main hall to the
bathroom but like Anita’s bedroom it was empty. Now I was getting scared.
“Anita?”
I called out feeling a little urgent.
I
ran to my room to put my purse and belongings away. I was about to search
the rest of the house when I saw a light streaming through the crack from my
bathroom. I froze for an instant. Had I forgotten to turn off the
light? I didn’t think so. I carefully opened the bathroom door.
“Oh
my God,” I gasped my hand flying to my mouth.
“Oh
dear God,” I repeated surveying the horrifying scene in front of me.
My
legs giving out I fell to the ground beside Anita. In her hand was an
empty bottle of my prescription migraine medicine. Around her lay bottles
of painkillers and cough syrups. Each and every container was
empty. She had drunk every last bit of syrup and ate every last pill.
I
started breathing erratically. This was too much. This was just too
much. I shakily reached to her neck. I felt for a pulse.
There was nothing.
“Oh
my God,” I repeated again.
I
stumbled out of the bathroom and reached for the cordless phone, dialing 911.
“Hello,
what is the nature of your emergency?” a female operator answered my call.
“My
friend . . . my friend,” tears streamed down my face.
I
couldn’t do it.
“It’s
all right,” the woman said. “Just calm down. What has happened to
your friend?”
“She,
she . . . ate too many pills,” I finished stupidly.
My
brain was not allowing me to process this enough to make any sense.
“Was
she trying to commit suicide?” the operator asked calmly.
“I
. . . I . . . yes, she was,” I said. “I just came home and found her like
this.”
“Is
she still alive?”
“I
don’t know,” I croaked out, not wanting to believe the worst.
“Where
do you live?” she finally asked.
I
managed to give her my address and she said paramedics were on the way.
They arrived after only a few minutes. All the while I sat on my bed with
my head in my hands. I didn’t want to watch what was going on. I
didn’t want to see it all happen again. The doctors, the stretchers, the
gadgets, the body bag. I swore if they brought out the black body bag I
would just die. But they didn’t. They placed her on a stretcher and
wheeled her out.
Another
paramedic helped me downstairs and into the back of the ambulance. I
wanted to tell them I didn’t want to be there but I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t
think, I could only watch. Just like Brian they hooked Anita up to dozens
of contraptions I couldn’t even begin to describe. The wail of the siren
droned on in my ears as we drove down the
At
one point I started hyperventilating. One of the paramedics had to attach
me to a respirator. I couldn’t take it. My boyfriend was in a coma,
one of my friends was dead and another was on her way there. The trip
seemed to take hours, each excruciating minute seemed to drag on a
millennia. I looked at Anita’s face. It was as pale as a ghost, as
if the life had already left her.
“Don’t
leave me, Nita,” I pleaded silently. “Don’t you dare leave me too.”
Eventually
the ambulance pulled up to the hospital and Anita was rushed into Emergency Bay
1. Dazed, I walked into the all to familiar waiting room and sat
down. After about 10 minutes Kevin and Michaela showed up. I didn’t
know how they had heard but I was happy they were there.
All
of this felt like déjà vu. We had all been through it once with
Brian. Waiting hours upon hours for any word on his condition.
Praying that he would survive. Drinking lots of bad coffee while the
night stretched on. Now we were doing it all over again with Anita.
I didn’t know if I could handle it a second time around.
***
