Panic has me looking around the room, as if they would just be sitting somewhere. It's most likely that someone took my jewelry off when I was brought in.
My gaze falls upon the various wires and tubes tethering me to the bed. A thin IV line snakes its way into the crook of my elbow, delivering fluids and medication. A catheter bag hangs from the side of the bed, freeing me from any need for the bathroom.
All great, until I need to get up and look for something. Son of a bitch.
There's a wheeled table for meals, but all it has is some paperwork that seems to be welcoming me to the hospital. Does anyone even read those things?
Panic is well on its way to blowing its top inside of my head and setting off a full-scale anxiety attack. My eyes dart from the nightstand to the small closet, but there's no sign of my jewelry anywhere.
I keep trying to fiddle with a ring that is no longer on my finger, and it's driving me crazy.
