Lost and Found

For The First Time

Jamie's P.O.V

I walk down the halls of the long white hospital hallway. Mental asylums and hospitals remind me of each other from the inside. They both have people who are incapable and have a problem; mental asylums: mentally, hospitals: physically.

Even now I deviate from the topic that makes me nervous. Even now, as I stand steps away from the hospital room. A hospital room, not my moms, but still close enough to bring the reality of the situation to my mind.

"Hello, I'm here to see Emily Daves." Mrs. Granth replies with confidence. I guess she comes here regularly.

"She is still in critical condition. What is your relation to the patient?" A petite nurse with blonde short hair, that is tied behind her hair in a ponytail replies.

"I work with her, this is my daughter-" she points to Angelina, "and this is Emily's daughter." She points to me.

For a flash of a second the nurse had a flicker of recognition in her eyes when we made eye contact. Strange.

"Oh right this way." The nurse says. And walks at a quick pace directing us down the long white hallway.

"You go up the elevator, 3rd floor, take a left then keep walking until you reach the end of the hallway then take another left. The second door on your right should be room 378. And that's her room. I'm sorry I can't show you there I have to attend to the others."

Mrs. Granth simply replies with a smile, "Its okay, I come here everyday."

The nurse blushes from embarrassment and apologizes.

Before walking away she grabs my shoulder and whispers at a volume only I can hear, "I'm sorry."

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry?

Those simple two words cause my already panicking nerves to start panicking even more. My mind feels like I just had a 5 hour energy. It's alert but mushy.

I follow Mrs. Granth who walks at a hard-to-keep-up with pace. I'm nearly jogging and am glad when I see the elevator. We get on and click 3⃣. Being in this confined elevator causes my nerves to work even more.

The doors open and I see dozens of rooms. Some doors are open and I see almost the same thing in each: a patient lacking hair on their head, on the bed, covered with wires and bags collecting urine and giving oxygen.

I pass others, some with hair, but all are on the bed with wires and bags. A tear falls from my eye, because it's simply heart crushing to see so many people, children and adults, suffering. And this is why I could never go into the medical field. Sure you help people get better but when they come to you they are sick, and I can't look at sick people without tearing up.

We take a right and I see the room. 378.

I don't even have to read the numbers to know it's her room.

I can still smell that perfume, from fifteen years ago. God knows, I remember the weirdest things.

I walk in, and another tear falls.

In front of me lies a woman, who's eyes match mine, but the similarities stop at that.

I'm here healthy, breathing and standing. While my mom's there, bald, strapped to the bed, with wires coming out from everywhere underneath her white and blue patient gown. Next to her lies a plate of untouched food and a half empty bottle of water.

Her chest moves up and down as every breath enters and leaves her body. Our arrival didn't cause any movement to leave my mom'a body. She simply stayed in the position we came to her in. Lying helplessly, but both hands joined together, the way you do in church, when you pray.