Then a voice message appeared.
I didn’t play it.
The nurse returned with a doctor less than five minutes later.
He introduced himself again, even though I vaguely remembered seeing him in the emergency department.
My mind had been foggy when I arrived.
He asked permission to discuss my test results.
“Yes.”
He looked at the chart.
“The injuries from the accident are significant but stable. You have two cracked ribs, a fractured wrist, severe bruising across your hip and shoulder, and a concussion.”
I knew most of that.
Then he paused.
“There’s something else.”
I felt my fingers tighten around the phone.
“Your initial blood panel showed abnormalities that are not explained by the accident.”
“What kind?”
“Your potassium was dangerously low. You were dehydrated. And there were traces of a sedating medication in your system.”
I stared at him.
“What medication?”
He gave me the name.
I had never heard it before.
“Is it something the paramedics gave me?”
“No.”
“You?”
“No.”
“Then why was it in my blood?”
“That is what we’re trying to understand.”
My breathing changed.
The nurse noticed and told me to slow down.
The doctor continued carefully.
“The level wasn’t enough to make you unconscious. But it could cause drowsiness, slowed reaction time, dizziness, and poor coordination.”
The accident.
I saw it again.
Rain on the windshield.
Traffic moving slowly.
My hands on the wheel.
Then that strange heaviness behind my eyes.
I remembered blinking hard.
Turning the radio up.
Opening the window because I felt suddenly tired.
Then headlights.
A horn.
Metal folding inward.
I had blamed myself.
I had been blaming myself since I woke up.
“I was driving.”
The doctor nodded.
“Could this have caused the crash?”
“It could have contributed. I can’t say more than that.”
I looked at the nurse.
“My husband knew.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“He told me not to let you test my blood.”
Neither of them answered.
My phone buzzed again.
A text.
Answer me.
Then:
This has already gone too far.
The nurse asked whether she could photograph the messages for my medical record.
I said yes.
A strange calm came over me.
Not relief.
Something harder.
For years, my husband had made me feel irresponsible.
Careless.
Bad with money.
Forgetful.
Too emotional.
Too sensitive.
I suddenly wanted dates.
Facts.
Receipts.
I opened our text history.
I searched the word dizzy.
There were dozens of messages.
Me:
