Chapter 1
The red lights of the ambulance flashed rhythmically,
casting long blood-red shadows against the narrow,
flooded streets of Cedar Rapids.
Inside the emergency vehicle,
the noise of heart monitors and alarms was deafening.
Every breath I attempted to take felt like glass shards sliding down my throat,
searing through my lungs,
and cutting off the vital oxygen I needed to stay conscious.
The paramedic,
whose name tag read Marcus,
kept a firm hand on my neck,
monitoring the erratic pulse that threatened to stop at any second.
"Stay with me,
Emma,"
he commanded,
his voice sharp and authoritative,
cutting through the terrifying fog in my mind.
Behind us,
the double doors had slammed shut,
sealing me away from the kitchen that had almost become my grave.
My mother's harsh words still rang inside my skull,
echoing like a cruel curse,
telling me to stop pretending while my body was collapsing.
Beside Marcus,
the female paramedic,
Sarah,
worked furiously to secure an intravenous line into my arm.
"Oxygen saturation is down to seventy-two percent,"
she reported,
her fingers moving with practiced speed across the medical equipment.
"She's going into acute respiratory failure,"
she added,
looking up with wide,
concerned eyes.
I wanted to ask about my brother Caleb,
I wanted to know if Daniel was coming,
but my vocal cords were frozen,
trapped in a vise of swelling tissue and agony.
The driver slammed on the brakes as we pulled into the trauma bay of Mercy Medical Center.
The back doors burst open to reveal a team of doctors and nurses waiting in the harsh,
fluorescent light of the bay.
"Eighteen-year-old female,"
Marcus shouted as they wheeled my stretcher out into the cold night air,
"severe respiratory distress,
hypotensive,
bradycardic,
and deteriorating rapidly."
A tall doctor with tired eyes stepped forward,
placing his stethoscope against my chest.
His forehead creased into deep lines of alarm almost instantly.
"Decreased breath sounds bilaterally,"
the doctor barked,
guiding the gurney through the double doors into Trauma Room Two.
"Prepare for immediate intubation,"
he ordered,
his voice rising above the chaotic chatter of the trauma bay.
Nurses rushed around my bed like ghosts in blue scrubs,
attaching sensors to my chest,
hooking up bags of saline,
and prepping shiny metal instruments on a stainless steel tray.
I watched the ceiling lights flash past one by one,
each panel growing darker and dimmer as my vision faded.
I caught a glimpse of my mother running through the sliding doors of the waiting room,
her face pale,
her expensive designer purse clutched tightly against her coat.
Uncle Ray was right behind her,
his hands jammed deep into his pockets,
looking more annoyed by the inconvenience than worried for my life.
"Get them out of the hallway,"
the lead physician ordered without looking back.
A nurse drew a heavy blue curtain,
cutting off my view of the only family I had ever known.
"Administering propofol,"
a voice murmured near my head.
The cold liquid coursed through my veins,
and a heavy,
suffocating darkness finally pulled me under,
away from the pain,
May you like
away from the noise,
and away from the mother who thought I was lying.
