Always Watching

fleeing. My hands gripped the wheel all the way to the hospital, my knuckles white. I had no awareness of any other cars on the road, or even what route I took to the hospital, my mind filled with terrifying thoughts. Why had Lisa overdosed? Did seeing me send her into a downward spiral? My stomach sickened at the idea.
    When I got to the hospital, I spoke to the doctor, who told me they’d moved Lisa upstairs to Intensive Care. There was no change in her condition. When I found her, she was on one of the beds, a curtain pulled around her, with only an IV and a ventilator keeping her company. Nurses floated around the unit, checking on various patients, speaking in hushed voices, while monitors beeped. Lisa’s eyes were closed, her skin pale. I held her hand in my own, feeling shaky from the adrenaline pumping through my blood. She’s okay. She’s right here. She’s going to be fine. I repeated the mantra over and over, but I still couldn’t make my heart believe the words. How much drugs had she taken? Would she live only to have brain damage?
    I pulled a chair close and sat beside her, studying her hand in mine, the long fingers, the short nails. They were filed, and I wondered at that small bit of vanity. She was taking care of herself, which she didn’t do when she was actively using drugs. Her skin was also clear, no acne. Again, I wondered what had happened to cause her overdose. I studied her sleeping face, the rise and fall of her chest, praying for the first time in a long time to a God I wasn’t sure existed.
    Please don’t take my baby. Give her another chance.
    Two hours later, I was still sitting with Lisa’s hand in my own, when I felt her thumb twitch. Then her eyelids flickered. Was she starting to regain consciousness? Lisa’s eyes shot open. She stared at me, pupils dilated, eyes terrified. She focused on something just over my shoulder, and her heart rate went wild, the monitor beeping rapidly as she yanked her hand away and tried to pull her ventilator out. I stood and grabbed her arm, saying, “Stop, you’ll hurt yourself,” but she thrashed around and pulled her arm free. She managed to rip the IV out, spraying me with fluid. When I finally got a grip on her, she fought harder, making guttural moans through the ventilator. I lost my hold, and she lashed out, her forearm hitting hard across my nose. Then behind me, footsteps.
    Two nurses rushed to Lisa and held down her arms while she moaned and grunted in panic, her eyes rolling back in her head, the whites flashing. I backed away from the bed, my adrenaline still pumping and my blood roaring in my ears as I watched them fight with the madwoman on the bed. My daughter.
    It took them a few minutes to calm Lisa, saying, “You’re in the hospital and you were brought in unconscious. There’s a tube down your throat so you can breathe, but you’re safe. We’ll let you go when you calm down.” She finally stopped fighting and nodded, signaling her understanding. They relaxed their grip. She was still breathing rapidly, but she was also looking around the room with more awareness. The nurses shut off the supportive breathing, then monitored Lisa’s oxygen levels while they asked her to squeeze their hands, or move her eyes in response to a question. They told her that they had to leave the tube in for a little while longer, until they confirmed she could keep breathing on her own.
    A half hour later, the doctor came in with the respiratory technologist, and once they confirmed that Lisa was ready, they removed her breathing tube. The doctor then asked if she was okay with my being there while he talked with her.
    Her gaze flicked to me, and I thought she’d refuse, but she said, “S’okay,” her voice still raspy from the hose.
    He then proceeded to ask some basic questions, and she answered them all fine. But when he asked what drug she’d taken, she looked confused again.
    “I didn’t … I didn’t take anything.”
    The doctor made a note. “What’s the last thing you recall?”
    Her face began to pull and twist as she struggled to remember. “I don’t know … it was earlier in the day. I was at the wharf, then it’s all blank.”
    The doctor said, “We ran a drug screen when you were first admitted, and it didn’t show the usual suspects. But the sudden arousal, aggression, and memory loss all fit with GHB, which isn’t one of the things we generally test for. We’ve seen a few cases of it recently with the