Fragile Gray Cells

# Fragile Gray Cells #### A short Twine story by David Keyworth "Heh. You know me, always having to be selfish." Jukes gave a flirty flick of his hands into the air as he faded into the row of police cars. He was admittedly a bit cliche as lead characters go in his fantasy-mystery series, "Police Dimension", but I had to admit, I always liked that about him. [[Toss a Cheez-It into my mouth]]

I miss. Sometimes I didn't have a great read on the show's writing. Like, Jukes calling himself "Selfish". He had just let himself be abducted by the Organites to bust the case. He was making a sacrifice. What was "selfish" about that? The credits were rolling, with a prompt to continue to the next episode. [[Click OK on the remote]]

As the Police Dimension theme played, I thought briefly about going to bed, but that would probably be a waste of time. My roommate, Harry, would be bringing his girlfriend back here to pick up her car, and they'd more than likely stop in to say hi. I didn't feel like being woken up by them clumsily trying to keep quiet; and they'd likely be coming home sometime soon. [[Take a sip of orange juice]]

There was something that felt inherently messy about orange juice as a choice of late-night beverage, but given the state of my bedroom, that's probably pretty fitting for a girl like me. At least it wasn't beer. The coffee table had gotten to be a bit of a mess through the day, the total surface storage area of an apartment like ours being a bit limited. I picked myself up and placed a hand on the edge of the table, having to lean far past a bag of chips and Harry's laptop to reach it. At this angle, I start to realize I've tipped a bit far and my balancing hand isn't in a great position. ~~Delicately lift the glass from its position without disturbing anything~~ [[Try to balance myself on something else on the table]]

I jam my other hand onto the rim of the OJ glass to steady myself. It supports my weight about as well as you'd expect. [[Wait. Shit. No.]]

I hear and feel a loud glass crashing sound and feel myself falling, first to the messy coffee table, then to the floor. A few things have happened at once, so I take a quick moment first to exhale at my idiocy before taking stock. The OJ gushed out onto anything it can touch on the table. It's mostly old junk mail and paper plates, but- Oh, crap. Harry's laptop. [[Grab a paper towel]]

For all the directions for that glass to spill, it had to get on that laptop. I want to curse bad luck, but I know it's more likely me being an idiot. I reach out for the paper towels on the coffee table. The earlier I can soak up part of that laptop's keyboard, the more likely it'll be saved, and the less likely he'll be kicking me out. But I should probably pick myself up off the floor first. [[Don't get up off the floor]]

I can't tell why this would happen now - maybe as a stroke of self-pity or just plain tiredness, but I find myself unwilling to move my lazy butt off where I fell. I'm pretty sure I banged my head somewhere, so I'd still like to just sit here on the floor and avoid too much motion for a moment. But somehow, I can sense a kind of death timer on that laptop (and my lease) so I have to make some sort of effort to clean it. I reach my arm up around the table's lip and finally tip the roll of paper towels off the edge and into reach. This'll probably be easier when I get off the floor. [[Rub the roll of towels against the laptop from the ground]]

This is the simplest approach that comes to mind. It's a little awkward, but I don't really have time to pick myself up off the floor. That OJ is soaking into the keys. On the TV, Jukes is now speaking some foreign or fantasy language. I've lost the context of this episode's case, so I'll have to re-watch this to make sense of it. [[Get distracted by the TV]]

My main concern should probably be getting up off the floor, so Harry can come home to just a trashed laptop, and not a trashed roommate. But right now, TV is a lot simpler. God I'm lazy. I'm definitely confused as to where this episode went now, since Jukes is now speaking to his partner in that same language. The show tends to be about cross-dimensional happenings, so this kind of weirdness wouldn't be SO far out of league. I hear footsteps in the hall, and Harry's voice. Ah crap. Time to get up - Now or never. [[Never]]

I'm not sure where this laziness got instilled to me, but I figure my apology won't sound any more sincere standing than laying on my face. That's not a great excuse. Maybe I kind of just find my position a bit hilarious. We'll laugh about this later. I hear chuckling and banter as Harry and his girlfriend - whose name I forget - enter. [[Mutter "Hi"]]

My pathetic greeting manifests as a grunt with my cheek against the floor. I steady myself for the oncoming shame. ## "DARA!!" Aaand here it comes. [[Make a joke about my dumb accident]]

I pull my face up enough to offer a self-deprecating joke about my accident, but find there's a gooey substance almost gluing my head to the carpet. Ahhh, that's blood, isn't it. I must have hit my head somewhere during the fall, and failed to notice the cut. At worst, I have a mild headache, but it's probably bleeding a lot worse than it looks. Aside from staining the carpet (yet another problem on par with the laptop), I think I need to assure them that "Roommate face-down in a small pool of blood" is not what it looks like. Harry and his girlfriend have slid to the floor in front of my vision. Her face is wide, surveying the mess I've made in their absence, shrieking "Oh my god", while Harry stares at me agape. He's started cursing to himself in his native language (which one was that...?), which I know means I've fucked up. [[Offer an explanation]]

I take a deep breath. I also realize I'm still rubbing the towel roll against the laptop, and decide now that my kindness has been witnessed I can put my arm down now. "Hi, Harry. So, I ended up spilling some of my orange juice on your laptop and was just trying to mop it up. I'm really sorry. I seriously didn't realize that I had cut my head too, so we can just bandage that as well. How was your date?" My explanation delivers perfectly, ending on a sweet note that should dissolve the panic in the room. Compounding my misfortune, it seems it didn't reach them. They're still shrieking and saying my name. "DARA!! DARA!!" Yes, I'm trying to respond to you! I finally process that while I was talking, some retarded girl elsewhere in the building is moaning to herself. (I shouldn't say "retarded", but I'm honestly a bit peeved she would pick a moment like now to make this difficult on me.) [[Try again]]

"Harry! Listen! It's okay! This isn't nearly so bad as it looks! I can replace the-" AGAIN with the moaning. Will that bitch in the other apartment just shut up for a sec?? It's getting worse. The girlfriend has her phone out, and is clearly dialling 911. Oh, come on...you don't need to call the cops on me!! I'll handle this! [[Next|Next1]]

With a lurch, I realize I'm being rolled onto my back. Harry's probably gotten sick of telling me to get up, and I can't blame him. I could probably defuse some of the yelling (//"Oh my god!! Dara! Oh my god!!"//) by leaping to my feet and saying "Surprise!" Yet the noise levels are making my head hurt enough that I just want to stay lying down. Any of my reassurances seem to get lost in the yelling though. I'm beginning to get complacent with the fact that I'll have to wait until their energy is gone before I get up and respond. [[Next|Next2]]

What's confusing is that Harry is still speaking in his native dialect. Why can't I ever remember him talking that way? He's not speaking to his girlfriend either - his eyes are right on me. Actually, now that I take in his face - he's not exactly furious. It reads more like...what, exactly? "Pity"? His eyebrows are pinned upwards like meerkats, and I feel scrutinized getting eye contact from above like this. Ugh...pity is almost worse. How badly have I fucked up that he's more focused on my patheticness than the state of our apartment? [[Blink]]

I close my eyes, and open them. Man, Harry moves *fast*. He's finally started moving stuff from the coffee table (which I'm now surprised he didn't do earlier?). I didn't see where his girlfriend went though. Okay...now seems like as good a time as any to get up. [[Get up]]

I swerve my elbows into position for the herculean task. That's when I notice a very familiar red and blue disco lighting coming in through the window. Ah, crap. Ironically, for all the time I've been occupying on the ground, I now realize it might actually be a good idea to stay down when the cops come in. I might be bleeding from the head, but it should be a lot clearer I'm not a violent intruder if I'm lying down pacified. I really hope I don't get arrested though. Hell...is any of this really necessary? All I did was spill some OJ, and hit my head... With my head on the ground, I can hear the approaching heavy boots much more clearly. [[Surrender to the cops]]

I remain in my motionless, submissive position. Don't tase me, bro. Two officers in clean white shirts sweep into the room and kneel down by me. Somehow, the cops are already perfectly primed as to the "threat" they're coming for. Yup; that annoying, bleeding girl on the ground who destroyed my innocent laptop? Get her out of here, officer. What sort of baffles me is the blue latex gloves they're wearing as they poke and prod at me. Um...they're not CSI, are they? I'm not dead, guys!! (I let out a small chuckle upon realizing that Police Dimension is still playing. Harry never bothered to turn it off. I wonder what opinion the cops have on a show like this.) One of the cops is speaking to me, and shining a flashlight in my eyes to force my attention. OK, I get it, I get it... [[Come along quietly]]

I decide now is probably a safe moment to get up. They've seen that I'm a victim here as much as anyone. I start to raise my head, but then, one of the officers touches my forehead and pushes it back down. Uh...do you want me out of here, or not? There's a lot of police lingo flying around. I think they're talking to Harry as well, but the distraction of the flashing sirens is making it hard to pay attention. One of the officers is making a dramatic move of putting gauze onto the bleeding on my head (which, again, is not an enormous problem, but ok...) [[There's still some noise. I have to lift the skychair as soon as possible|skychair]]

Shoot - I forgot I need to-... wait...what?...what's a "skychair"...? I know I'm forgetting something, but my thoughts are interrupted as I hear metal rattling from the floor. One of the cops has left and returned with a folding stretcher. Oh, shoot! They still think I can't get up! I took so long, they think I'm seriously hurt, and I'm going to get a ride to the hospital. Now, if ever, I really need to set the record straight. It would be incredibly humiliating to end up at the hospital purely because I was too lazy to stand up. [[Force myself to my feet]]

Pushing past the gloved hand of the cop kneeling over me, I force myself to a sitting position. "Guys, I'm sorry, there's no need for this - I'm okay. I know how this looks-" A stream of apologies and reassurances blurts from my mouth, but I'm starting to panic as I realize I no longer have control of the situation; multiple people are forcing me back down already, and then lifting me onto the stretcher. I don't need an ambulance. I don't need to go to the hospital - hell, I could drive myself if needed - but I'm running out of energy to fight everyone's forceful concerns. Fine. It feels like it would be rude to make a waste of a 911 call. Somehow I'll make Harry pay the ambulance bill...those things are crazy. [[Rest]]

The bedding on the stretcher is pretty soft - strange that's the first thing I notice. I think TV and movies have primed me for the idea of getting into the ambulance, and waking up in the hospital; but reality reminds me it's a gruelling process. The driver ends up taking longer than I expect chatting with someone before heading off. From there, we're stuck in traffic multiple times on the way to the hospital. I'm surprised to see the cops are still riding- Oh. Durr. They're not cops at all, are they? They don't have guns or badges, but it's really the bluish gloves that should have tipped me off. My frazzled brain can't really remember the right word for them; Mobile doctors? Paramedics? [[Next|Ambulance2]]

I guess one small comfort of this experience is that I was overreacting when I expected to be arrested. I'm still trying to piece together why I thought that. What I can't get is why I'm still not quite able to interpret what the doctors are saying. It's partly just medical lingo; apparently some combination of the irritatingly bright sirens and the headache from that blow on the table has settled me into a sort of daze. I feel tired, but sleep doesn't seem to be coming to me. It's a long and boring ride with no one to talk to. [[Next|Hospital]]

The hospital transfer is a long and gruelling process. Multiple times I'm moved from one cot to another, one room to another, with more conversation happening than actual attempts at medicine. Multiple times I'm left alone in the middle of a hallway, wondering if anyone would notice if I were to just get up and leave. I kind of scoff realizing that if anything were seriously wrong with me and the clock was ticking, I'd probably be long dead before they even decide to start any kind of treatment. Maybe I've had too much respect for hospitals. That TV mental image, of a patient being frantically rushed from a car crash to a surgery room while being given an oxygen mask and needles now seems pretty far from the dismal truth; sitting around in a bed hoping the doctors still remember you, not unlike waiting for a coffee refill at a restaurant. Finally, after some valiant patience, a doctor arrives to talk with me. "Hi. Dara, right? How are you feeling?" [["I'm fine. Look - this is a misunderstanding."|Doctor1]]

After being ignored for the past half hour, I actually expect him to interrupt me or cut me off. However, since he's quiet, I take a deep breath and continue. "I think my roommate thought things were worse than they were, which is why he called the co-...called an ambulance. I really just need some sleep, honestly." "You're feeling well, then? No nausea? Headaches? Pains?" "I mean - I do have a headache, and my temple kind of stings - but that's really nothing I need the emergency room for." "OK. Well, Dara, do you have an idea of why we brought you in today?" [["Again, this is a misunderstanding..."|Doctor2]]

"Again, this is a misunderstanding..." I sigh and resume my given explanation. "I hit my head and it bled for a while. I stayed lying down after that, and when my roommate came home, he freaked out about it and called an ambulance. I just...I don't need it. I'm tired and my head hurts, but beyond that I'm not sick or anything." "Okay...Dara, do you remember your roommate or the EMTs talking to you before you were brought here?" EMTs! That's the term I was thinking of... "Yes - I do!! I tried telling both of them everything I said to you, but they were just ignoring me!! Harry was so goddamn panicky he wasn't even speaking English." The doctor continues his patient gaze, but something in his expression has shifted. [[Next|Doctor3]]

"Listen; if it's okay, Dara, we'd like to keep you under observation here for a while. We're just getting a room ready and then the nurse will bring you over. Does that sound good?" Huh?...Did he hear anything I said? "Um...do I have to?" "Well, it is my medical recommendation. I hope that's all right with you." He seemed to be very clever about avoiding a direct "No", but I can't deny he's persuasive. After reluctantly accepting, I wondered if this was just a ploy to drive up my bill. [[Take the free ride to an inpatient room|observation]]

I would end up waiting what felt like a good hour before getting another conversation with the doctor. A few times I got worried over whether anyone remembered I was still around, or if anyone would notice if I snuck out to go home (probably a bad idea). Finally, I hear a curtain brought back and the same doctor as before is smiling attentatively at me. From the windows I can tell it's gotten very late, and I start to wonder if it's really this guy's preference to keep me around at this time of night. Maybe this is normal for him. "Hi again, Dara. Still just the headache? Any changes?" "No. Again..." "Right. Don't really feel you need this. I understand." Finally, he gets it. "I'm Doctor Gilfreid, by the way. I may come back to check on you in a little while, but just making sure there's nothing you need." "Will I be able to get home soon? This has been a hell of a night..." "I don't want to force you to stay, but first I should be clear on why I had wanted you to stick around. The cut on your head is a little nasty, but you're right it's not normally something we would put you in a room for." [[Next|observation2]]

"Dara, I asked you earlier if you remembered talking with the EMTs. You said that you tried to explain the situation to them. I'm sorry to say this to you, but our report from the EMTs said that you were impossible to understand." "I-...yes! There was some retarded-...uh...some girl with brain damage in another apartment that kept yelling over me. No one heard me." "Dara, that's not what I mean. In fact it's interesting you heard that voice. Nobody else in the room heard shouting from another apartment. I think that you were not able to directly associate what you were hearing to your own voice." My own-...w-...what the fuck?? Is this guy an idiot?? [[Next|observation3]]

"Okay, no, hold on..." I interrupt him, before realizing I don't even know where to start. "My own voice"? I hadn't been drinking, had I? Was I just so tired they couldn't understand me? But I *remember* talking to them normally!! And not that long ago! Doctor Gilfried steps into the silence. "I don't mind letting you ask anything you need to, but would you mind if I finish first? I may answer some of your questions. I know this might be distressing to hear, but your accounts of the situation differ from what your roommate, Harry, or the EMTs saw. He attempted to talk to you, but couldn't get a coherent response. They got concerned when they saw you were awake but wouldn't answer them." [["Our "accounts" differ...?"|observation4]]

The hell? Why would my roommate be lying to the cop-...to the doctors about me? Is this some sort of ploy to...are they trying to get me labelled crazy and taken out of the apartment?!? What the FUCK, Harry?? Maybe he realized that 911 was too much and started making things up to justify his call. I know I've already broken his laptop today, but now I feel like he has a lot to answer for. I know I'm not the most "together" person, but being driven to the hospital and given these sympathetic looks like I'm crazy is fucking humiliating. Where the CHRIST did this come from? I've gotten so lost in my own anger I missed what the doctor was saying. "I-..sorry, can you repeat...I wasn't-..." "Sure. You said to me earlier that your roomate `wasn't even speaking English`, correct?" [["Yeah..."|observation5]]

"What you're describing is common with what we see with TBI victims. They often have trouble recognizing speech patterns, and some number of them have described it as though they're `hearing another language`. So, your experience, while not common, and certainly concerning, is not at all unique." I'm hearing some fascinating jargon about victims of some disease I've never heard of, but I don't know how to convince him that's not what happened to me. Right now it's my word against Harry's. "Doc, would it be possible for me to convince you that this whole affair- that my roommate is just...I'm not sure. Overreacting, playing a prank, or something?" His eyes don't totally dismiss the idea. Yes - progress! "Do you think he's the sort of person that would do something like that?" [[Next|observation6]]

"I dunno! I mean...we've known each other a year or so, but never associated so much as roommates. For all I know, he hates my guts." "Well, there was another woman present when you collapsed. The EMTs didn't get a statement from her, but she also seemed to have the same interpretation of events." Harry's girlfriend. If she's somehow in on this, or just willing to go along with him, I'm gonna feel really trapped... "I didn't "collapse", okay?" I spout. "I...lost my balance and fell, and then just didn't get up right away!" "Can I ask why you didn't get up?" [[Explain|observation7]]

"It was late, and my head hurt, and I felt really lazy! It wasn't this-...TBD or, whatever you called it. I was laying down just to...get my bearings." "Okay. But you're aware that your roommate, the woman he was with, and the EMTs all attempted to ask you if you could get up, and you weren't able to answer them. Do you remember that?" "...I mean, that's not how I remember it. I *tried* to get up when the cops-...the EMTs came. They wouldn't let me." "Okay." "You don't believe me." "I do. Do you remember them saying anything to you?" "No...I was...distracted. The sirens, and the TV-" [[Realize...|realize]]

Wait. They were speaking another language on TV. How-... That's a weird coincidence. [[Right?|observation8]]

When Doctor Gilfreid resumes speaking, I feel a little relieved not to be distracted by my own thoughts. "I do have good news for you, though. Currently, you seem to be coherent and calm; considering you've been through a lot. And, we're going to make sure your head injury turns out all right. But still, I feel it would be best if we run some tests on you to make sure there's no lasting damage. Have you ever had an MRI scan before?" "Uh...no. But I don't think-" "If nothing else, just think of it as some peace of mind. It won't hurt at all, at most patients describe it as just being a bit weird and kind of noisy. Is that okay?" "I guess..." I'm still pretty certain that whatever hazy state I was in tonight may have just been the result of some bad food or something. I'm not *seriously* hurt - but being able to flash a clean MRI scan at home tomorrow might stop Harry, or worse, my parents, from obsessing over me. [[Get the MRI scan||MRI]]

The machine is just as he described it and as I've seen in movies. It's gotten pretty late though, so at this point my headache has resurged from a combination of stress, tiredness, and the cut on my temple; and laying flat inside of a giant white tube isn't my idea of a good time right now. I'm looking forward to getting some rest, even if it's not in my bed at home. I'm still worried about how no matter what I say, everyone is treating the situation so "seriously". What will satisfy them? Should I just say "Thank you, I felt so weird but I'm all better now" or something? [["..."|MRI2]]

I mean, obviously there's nothing really *wrong* with me. [[Sleep|nightmare]]

I feel surprisingly rested; normally around this time I would be cursing the light from the windows and wanting an extra 5 minutes. I'm holding onto some memories of a nightmare - the type where the weirdest things seem to make perfect sense - but it's already too far gone to even write down. No wonder I'd have nightmares after a night like that. I get out my phone to habitually check on messages, but the battery has died. I guess "battery health" wouldn't quite fit in the hospital's tagline. I can hear voices from outside the curtain around my bed. Actually, I think it's Harry - and Joline! At this point, my desire to strangle him is superseded by the need to converse with a friendly face. I knew with my oldest friend from the city in the room, I wouldn't devolve into arguing with Harry, which I think would be better for now. [[Move the curtain|day2harry]]

We're almost there, Had to scream across the car's back with traps everywhere. Not too daisy, but ultimately it's not so bad. I've had worse. It's been a long time since eggs rose out of the common way. I'm paying attention to the best of us, but I know I'm forgetting about something. Everything's too close together! I'm having trouble controlling the movements. [[Decompress, with more slow|day2start]]

"Harry...!" "Dara. Hi there. Are you doing okay?" His reaction is strangely muted and polite - the last I had seen him was his panicked expression as I got carted off to the hospital. Somehow the change in mood strikes me as suspicious. "I'm all right. Just woke up...So, when did you get to the hospital? Is it still early?" I said to Harry, sitting up in the bed. "We...got here a while back. Figured it wouldn't hurt to take a day off since you don't have family in the area." His words sound more like pity than concern, but maybe that's my own paranoia. [[Next|day2harry2]]

He glances at his watch. "It's actually almost noon. Do you know if they'll be getting you something for lunch?" "Honestly, I'd like to just be leaving and getting lunch at Steve-O if we could. Hopefully the MRI results are finished?" Joline, who'd been strangely quiet, interjects. "Dara - you're feeling okay now, right? 1 + 1 is..." I sigh at her nonsensical math comment. "I only need TWO things to feel okay now; coffee and lunch. Too much of this hospital might kill me." "You do seem a bit more...well, composed this time." ...hang on. [[Next|day2joline]]

Joline wasn't there the night I fell on the table. She never saw anything I might have done back then to give a bad impression. So what does "this time" mean? Harry seems to have noticed my puzzled expression. "So, Dara-...This is not the first time we've woken you up and greeted you. Like I said, we came here earlier in the day...and you were awake. But you weren't making sense." I look to Joline. If there's ever a time to throw up her hands and go "Fooled you!" it would be now. Her downturned face is starting to scare me. Is this even real? I was awake, and don't even remember it? "We decided to just let you rest. We tried to talk to you again a few times, but...only now do we actually think you're understanding us." The question is forming on my tongue, but I'm afraid to say it for fear I won't like the answer. [["What sort of things did I say...?"||day2joline2]]

Joline waves her hand around dismissively, giving me a smile. "It was just some weird stuff, nothing-" Harry interjects. It's hard to tell if he's impatient, or just tensely concerned. "You kept asking us where the Janway was, and you got really upset about it. You said that I 'always tie you down' because I'm a 'boot-licker.'" Huh? ... ... [[...|day2joline3]]

My mind is waiting for Joline to deny this; for some rational explanation. I wasn't drunk, and even if I was...what does that even mean? My media library centers on the paranormal. Every show, every movie, has that moment where the plucky main character is confronted with something beyond their understanding, but has to pluck up and accept it. That phase of denial, that they're dreaming or just seeing things - I hate that. I think those characters are being hysterical idiots. And yet, that's me right now - in reverse. Harry shifts his seating position uncomfortably, and continues. "We haven't been able to gather much; you were able to give them visitation consent earlier, but the doctor privacy...whatever...means they can't directly tell us anything. But, well...as long as you're conscious now, I think we should get this out of the way." Joline reaches down to her bag, and produces a few pieces of paper. [[Next|consentform]]

Joline hands me the pages. They're marked "Consent for Surrogate Decision-Maker" "We need to call over a nurse to act as a notary, but basically, we would need you to sign this. It would mean if your brain-...if you start to lapse and start acting weird, we can still help you out." I blink over the documents. Something tells me they're pretty heavy stuff - I definitely shouldn't be signing anything under pressure. "No, look; hold on. I'm glad you guys came here to support me. I still don't totally get what's going on, but I can try to handle this on my own. I'll talk to the doctors about what's the right treatment. I know you guys are okay, but I don't want to just hand all my rights off-" Harry lets out a forceful sigh that almost audibly sounds like he's saying: Okay. ENOUGH of this bullshit. "Dara. I don't think you understand." [[Next|consentform2]]

Harry sounds a lot more agitated. He looks angry, but I'm now realizing on looking at him he hasn't had a whole lot of sleep. "You can still make all the medical decisions you want to. These rules only - ONLY take effect when you're in urgent need of treatment. It's for when the doctors need a decision, and all *you* can give them is flailing mouth noises." "Harry!!" Joline butts in, the condescension too much for her. "You don't have to-" "I really think I do, Joline. Dara, I honestly don't know how long you're going to stay lucid in front of me. If you conk out right now like you did before, and the doctors want a decision for treatment, by default they're going to go to your closest family." Family? My mom. FUCK. [[Next|consentform3]]

A lot of girls have a great relationship with their parents growing up. That was at least true for my dad. He wasn't always there for me, but he was trying to do the right thing; and I've gotten more than a few apologies from him for not being a perfect father. But I have done everything I could have to get the hell away from my mom's toxic fucking cloud of influence over the years. She's done everything from threaten former (nice!) boyfriends, tell me I'm going to get fat, or to stop trying at school, to other things I can't even think about without popping an ulcer. Even something as terrible as a medical emergency would be nothing more than a tool for her to wedge her way back into my life, and that scares me even more than the state of my brain right now. I'd be mildly happy if the doctors can get a hold of my dad, but given his track record of presence I know that's not likely, and with his spine, he might cave to my mom in sharing consent. I look back down at the forms, and swallow past the growing lump in my throat. [[Next|consentform4]]

"Dara, I honestly don't know what this must be like for you. I know we don't know each other all that well, but I sure as hell know you don't want your mom involved in this, and honestly? I'm fucking scared that something is wrong with you; AND that no one around you can even help, or have the slightest clue what's going on because of these-...patient rights etcetera. If we're lucky, and this whole thing passes, then that's awesome. The forms basically won't matter. Just, please, Dara. We tried to go over this before when you were still loopy but you just didn't understand. You wouldn't even respond. Now, I really hope you do. Otherwise all I can tell anyone who asks about you is 'Something's up with her head.' " Harry almost seems out of breath. This has been weighing on him. A quick flash of suspicion in my mind wonders again if getting me to sign this is all part of some scheme. I feel like I'm signing away my life. "I, the undersigned, have no idea which way is up, and need a real adult to make medical decisions for me. Sincerely, Princess Dumbfuck." I get along well with Harry, but I still barely know him. A minute ago, I thought he was trying to manipulate me. Now, I'm hardly sure about anything. <span class="bannedChoice">Accept that I cannot currently trust my own brain, and sign the forms</span> [[Continue to whine and protest|consentform5]]

"What I'd really like...is to actually have time to make this decision." I relent. "But, it sounds like you're pressing me into NOT taking that time. Harry, I barely know you at all." Harry shrugs. Now that he's unloaded, he finally looks a bit more empathetic to me. "I get it. I would have liked to pass this onto anyone else you knew better in the area, but it sounds like Joline's the closest, and she had to drive a long way to get here." I'm trying to remind myself I'm not exactly signing away my bank information and human rights to him, but it still sort of feels like it. After generally taking weeks to get through taxes, this feels like a gut-wrenching decision to make in just a few minutes. But I've always tried to prioritize my health over all else; and when I think about it, the stress of this decision is what's eating away more than anything. Maybe then the best solution is to sign the papers - just to get it out of my hands? I'm acutely aware that this exact sense of urgency is exactly what spam letters look for from you. [[Screw it. Sign the papers|signed]]

Harry calls a nurse to the room to observe the signature, and wheels over a small tray table for me to sign on; the pleasantries of everything at a hospital having wheels. I'm not so confident in the fluidity of my signature in my current state, but I'm sure it ranks better than the scribbles of the doctors in the building. I sarcastically envision Harry stealing the contract away with an evil grimace, but realize that was a somewhat naive expectation to begin with. "Thanks, Dara. As long as you're still doing okay, this won't ever come up. Now we at least have a safety net, and it doesn't involve your jackass mom." "Yeah." I sigh. I was ready to relieve myself of the burden of choices, but I guess I realize that only happens if I lose my sanity; something I'm desperate to avoid. Until then, I'll be listening to a lot of medical explanations... [[Next|ending]]

"Hey," chimes in Joline. "I think visiting hours has a little more time left. I did bring a few card games; I wasn't sure we'd be able to play, but maybe now if you're up for it, we could give one a shot." I glance to Harry, deferring the decision (once again). "Sure..." he finally says. "Might be a nice way to make something of today." I realize my feelings of tiredness since waking up are gone. Looking over Joline's card game options, I'm actually feeling better than I was even before I fell over. I'm worried for what'll happen next for me, but it's really just nice to have friends I can rely on. END