Wait. What?
I didn’t answer immediately.
The driver had the air conditioning turned too high, and every turn brought the dizziness back. The ER doctor said the worst of the vertigo was probably dehydration after a stomach virus. I was supposed to rest, drink fluids, and call my primary doctor Monday if I wasn’t improving.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing life-threatening.
But I had spent seven hours beneath fluorescent lights, vomiting into a plastic basin and trying not to fall whenever I stood.
Caleb knew that.
At 11:40 that morning, he had texted:
Still here. I’ll get you as soon as they discharge you.
At 12:26:
Mom keeps asking when we’re leaving. Don’t worry about it.
At 1:18:
They’re really taking forever.
Then, at 2:07, right after the nurse handed me my discharge papers:
I’m sorry. If I don’t leave now I’ll miss dinner tonight. You’re cleared to go home, so can you grab an Uber? I already headed north.
I called him immediately.
