나오미 in korea

The doctor looks uncertain.

“Bomiting, tiareya,” he calls across the ER to the nurse standing at reception. She yells something back and he nods vigorously: of course.

“Bad fish,” I offer weakly.

“Yes,” he says. “X-ray and IV. Come here please.”

He takes me by the wrist and leads me to the only unoccupied bed. I unfold gratefully. Muttering, he heads back to reception to ask the nurse something else.

Next door, a heavily pregnant woman, a man with a bandaged arm and a toddler look at me curiously. I wonder who’s the injured one. The boy buries his head in the woman’s arm.

Darren suddenly clutches his water bottle.

“I think I’ll head out for a walk.” He dashes past the curtain.

The doctor returns, frowning after Darren.

“She is alright?” he asks with concern.

“I’m not sure,” I say. “He ate bad fish too.”

The doctor nods and returns to business.

“Please respond with pain,” he says, kneading my belly. As he prods my upper stomach I levitate off the mattress.

“No kidding,” he says, frowning. “The pain here is usual with gastroenteritis.” I am somewhere on the ceiling.

The nurse looms over the bed in a purple uniform topped with pink cardigan. She smiles warmly and jabs her elbow at the doctor.

“English. Top,” she informs me. The doctor blushes. He’s very handsome.

They wheel me to the X-ray room. I can’t understand what they’re telling me, and finally they stop gesturing and just move my limbs like I’m a store mannequin. I’m happy to let them manipulate me. Back in the wheelchair, back to bed.

The nurse can’t find a vein. She clucks and tries my other hand, tapping thoughtfully. The next-door toddler watches with wide eyes, asking her questions at every move. She answers in a patient tone. Yes, I’m looking for a vein. So the girl can have water in her body. Because she can’t drink with her mouth. Because she throws everything up. She pauses to show the boy his own veins, in his wrist. The boy shoves his fist in his mouth and stares at my strange face. I pat my stomach and put on a wrenched expression.

“Bae apoyo,” I tell him solemnly, and he blinks, rubbing his own belly.

I doze on and off as the IV drips into my veins. Darren comes and goes, looking greyer and greyer, then returns triumphant.

“I vomited outside the hospital,” he says with relish. “Five times. A taxi went past.”

“That’s great, baby.”

“All over my jeans and shoes.”

“Wow!”

At 11pm, I’m the one vomiting outside. A taxi goes past as I heave and convulse, crouching on the cold, damp asphalt.

Darren takes my arm and we stagger home.