This Is Me Trying // Taylor Swift

Holly

My head jerks up from the edge of Mom's hospital bed when a nurse walks in. We spent almost six hours sitting on plastic chairs in the waiting room before she was finally evaluated by a doctor. They admitted her because she'd been severely dizzy, to the point she was unable to walk on her own.

"Good morning. Time for vitals," the nurse says. Shift change must have happened because I don't recognize her.

The woman, probably in her early thirties with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, checks all of mom's vitals and monitors. I rub the sleep from my eyes and stretch. I look at the time, seeing that I must have been out of it for a couple of hours. It's already time for breakfast. We've been here all night. The last nurse on shift took mercy on me and let me stay with Mom even though it wasn't visiting hours.

"Is she doing better?" My voice cracks, from emotion or exhaustion I'm not sure. I glance at Mom, still sleeping thankfully, but looking very weak even so.

"Her vitals are stable. The doctor should be in with more information soon."

I nod. It's all I can do. I'm lost. I'm alone. There's no one I can rely on to help me through this. I might work in the healthcare field, but I don't have much medical training. I don't know how to navigate the steps involved.

I don't even know how I'm going to pay for all of this.

Instead of continuing this train of thought, I rise and use the restroom. The woman in the other bed is quiet, has been all night. But I hear moaning down the hall as I stand next to the door. It's not much different from being at work, where I should be right now. I called in last night when I realized this would be a long haul. Just as I sit back down next to Mom, another person enters. An older woman with an iPad and a sympathetic face.

"Good morning. I'm Wilma. I'll be helping you with documents for billing, today."

Great.

"Okay," I say. "Just to let you know, she doesn't have insurance. I have my own, but I wasn't allowed to add her."

"We'll get started and see where it leads us." Another sympathetic tilt of her head. I feel like I'm a little, lost kid with the way she's looking at me.

"If needed we can call in a social worker to help her apply for state aid. How old is your mother?"

"Forty-seven."

"She wouldn't qualify based on her age but, depending on her diagnosis we might be able to get some coverage."

I swallow the nerves, not wanting to go down the 'what if' road my brain is trying to take me. I need Jackson. I need help.

Wilma helps me with the documentation and forms before assuring me she'll have a social worker come talk to me later this afternoon. She must not think we're going home anytime soon.

Exhaustion pulls at me. I attempt to get comfortable in the chair next to her bed and close my eyes for a bit but that's when Mom wakes up.

"When did you come back?" Her voice shakes as she asks, eyes half closed.

"I never left."

"You should go home and rest."

"Later. After we speak to the doctor."

"I'll be fine. They'll probably kick my old bones outta here before lunch."

I say nothing. I'm worried we're in for the long haul but, I don't want to give her anything more to stress over. She's not real talkative and still sleepy so I end up stepping into the hallway to try calling Jackson. I need to hear his voice. But the call goes to voicemail. Maybe he's driving already. I put it out of mind and return to my spot near Mom, staying quiet until the doctor finally shows up.

The doctor is older, a tall, dark-skinned man with kind eyes. When he walks in, I'm nervous about what I'm about to hear but he stands next to Mom's bed with a gentle smile that puts me at ease.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Sharma. I've looked over your mother's results and I think I have a tentative diagnosis."

I sit up a bit straighter wondering what I might hear next. He looks at my mother, directing his next words to her.

"Your symptoms could indicate a number of issues. Fatigue, swollen lymph nodes, dizziness. Separately they could be inconsequential, a simple virus or situational vertigo. But you've reported that you've been dealing with these types of issues for years. That's the first hint that something more serious is going on."

I swallow. Mom looks more alert, ready to hear what the doctor is about to say.

"Looking through your history, the brief bit that we have on record and what you told the attending physician, we ran a few tests to determine if it was infectious, degenerative or genetic. Some of those tests will take time to get full results for, but based on the initial information we can rule those out."

I look at Mom. She's listening attentively. The entire room if filled with anticipation, as though the atmosphere is aware the moment to come will be pivotal.

"I'm of the opinion that you've been suffering the symptoms of myalgic encephalomyelitis."

I blink. "What's that?"

Dr. Sharma looks over at me. "It's more commonly referred to as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Over the years more has been discovered about its causes and treatments, but as of now there is no cure. We treat symptoms and attempt to allow patients as normal a life as possible." The doctor looks down at the file in his hands. "Based on your history, this has been something you've had for many years without much treatment. I'd like to refer you to a specialist in this area who'd be able to develop a comprehensive treatment plan."

"We can't afford a specialist." I feel the panic rise. I can't even fathom how we'd pay for a special doctor. I don't even know what to do about the bill we are currently racking up.

Dr. Sharma nods. "I understand. We have some connections here at the hospital that can help you navigate those waters." He steps closer to Mom then pats her clasped hands with a gentle touch before speaking.

"I'll be back in a while to talk with you more about some possible at home relief you can implement before starting your discharge papers." The doctor shakes my hand before turning to leave the room.

"Well, that was unexpected." Mom pulls the blankets up a little higher.

"It's an answer to a decade long question, Mom. You've only gotten worse. We should have done something much sooner."

Mom doesn't respond. Instead, she changes the subject. "You should get on home to rest. I'll be fine here. Maybe I can talk them in to letting me go home quick."

Suddenly I'm exhausted. I agree out of sheer desperation and leave the hospital shortly after. I'm disappointed that there's no message from Jackson yet, but if he's driving it might be a while. I'd rather him wait to talk to me when he gets here than get in an accident on the way.

I make it home, drop everything on the coffee table and crash on the couch for a couple of hours. When I get up, back stiff and sore, I take a shower to feel human again. I don't know how Jackson slept on the storage room couch all those weeks without putting his back out. I can hardly stand up straight for ten minutes.

I dry off and put on a cute dress, wanting to feel pretty on the outside to offset how crappy I feel on the inside. I don't want Jackson to come home to me all disheveled and depressed. I dry my hair, put on some makeup and check my reflection.

Sleep definitely helped. I don't know how I'm going to handle everything being thrown at me, but I know Jackson will be by my side.

I wonder if he's back. I decide to try calling him again. I didn't even check my phone when I woke up so maybe he tried to call me back when I was in the shower.

I leave the bathroom and walk down the hallway to the living room, finding the shock of my life when I get there. My father sitting on the couch holding my phone. He looks up when I startle at his presence, pocketing my phone. I bite back the words I wish I could say but know would cause bigger issues.

"All dressed up and nowhere to go," he says. He throws an arm across the back of the couch. "I'd ask where you're going but I know if it ain't work, it can't be anywhere good."

My jaw drops before I can get ahold of myself. I take a breath to school my nerves. "I didn't know you were coming home today, or I'd have planned dinner." I'm careful with my tone and make sure to keep my eyes averted.

He hums then chuckles. It's anything but humorous. "Dinner. You can fix something for me anywhere. Where's your mother? Finally off her ass and getting shit done? Laziest woman I've ever met."

I clench my fists. "Um, I had to take her to the hospital last night. She should be released soon. That's actually where I was going." I reach a hand toward him. "I should check to see if the hospital called me." I don't ask for my phone. I don't tell him I need it. This is a strategy I've worked on over the years. If I give him a reason for my need he's more apt to comply.

He ignores me this time, rising from the couch and crossing to the kitchen.

"Hospital? How the hell are you paying for that? Ain't no medicine to cure lazy." He opens the fridge and starts moving food around.

"They've diagnosed her with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome."

"Bullshit. That's a fucking made up thing to charge her for medicine and shit."

"She's got a real illness. She's had it for years." I answer before I can keep my tone neutral. I know immediately I shouldn't have said any of that. Dad stands from the refrigerator, shoving the door closed and causing me to wince. He turns to face me, a calm yet deadly look on his face. I make the mistake of making eye contact. He steps closer to me, almost nose to nose. I resist the instinct to close my eyes, wanting to see whatever comes at me. Could be a fist, could be a plate. One time it was spaghetti. It took me weeks to get the stain off the wall.

"Are you talking back to me?" His breath is sour. He's hungover, maybe still a little drunk. I chance a look up and see his bloodshot eyes boring into mine.

"Getting sassier as you get older."

I say nothing. I've already pushed it too far. He reaches up, grabbing the back of my head. I'm able to keep from flinching when he does.

"Go get her out of that hospital. Don't come home without her. I'll hang on to your phone until you get back here. I've got a few other things of yours, too."

He releases the back of my head by turning me around and shoving me toward the door. I stumble into the threshold, hitting my cheek against the wood hard enough that I know it will bruise. Seconds later my purse and keys hit the wall next to me. He's never actually hit me with his fists. He prefers throwing things and shoving me into walls.

I grab my purse from the floor, the keys next, and escape out the door. I jump into the car and drive away without thought. I need Jackson but I don't want to him to see me like this. I don't want my dad to know about him. Dad has my phone. If Jackson calls and Dad answers...

One step at a time. I'll check on her at the hospital, then I'll figure out what to do about Jackson.

Dad is back. And yes this is a problem, as you can tell. Mom has a diagnosis, and there's more to that part of the story.  Super bad timing for Jackson to go AWOL but he'll be back in the picture next.

I'm feeling the beats are off with this draft. I'm not following typical romance timelines and I think that's what's making plotting as I go even harder. This chapter required research that I just didn't have time to do until today. I wasn't about to make up an entire syndrome! 

Thank you to @Squirrelsreadbooks  for the music inspiration for the last chapter! (Secrets and Lies by Ruelle was PERFECTION) It is now posted. This chapter we are back to T.S. Holly is just trying in every area of her life. 

https://youtu.be/9bdLTPNrlEg

THANK you for all of your support! If you hadn't heard, Inevitable is one of the stories chosen for the YONDER launch, a new reading app from Wattpad and Webtoon. It's similar to paid stories but I think you get a free chapter unlock every 18 hours. So kind of like a chapter updated every day (?? I think...I'm still not exactly sure how it works). But that's why the cover changed again to match what they used with YONDER.