They tell him they'll release him around 7 pm. He has not vomited in four hours. His ketones barely register pink on the little urine test strip. His blood sugar is lower than it's been in weeks. Both his father and Nick look relieved. Eight hours in the emergency room watching someone sleep is a long time.
He and Nick chat about their song selection for regionals as he tries to change into his own clothes. He manages the jeans all right, but it's impossible to get out of the hospital gown and into his own clothes still connected to the IV. He leans back against the propped-up head of his cot and waits.
He feels so weak, and so undignified, unable to dress himself. He prays Nick will not tell anyone about what has happened. He doubts he will ever be able to look his roommate in the eyes again, in the same way. He wonders if he can keep up his protective wall against the world, now that someone other than his fathers or his doctors has seen him like this: worse than helpless.
The doctor, whose name is fuzzy now, comes in for her final exam. She lets his father stay. She checks his heart and his lungs again, then unhooks the IV.
She looks him in the eyes, and hands him a card. "If you think you're going to do this again," she says quietly and knowingly, "will you call them, first?"
He looks at her questioningly, but accepts the card. He doesn't know how she's seen through him, and he doesn't want to ask.
Once the doctor leaves, he pulls off his hospital gown, and pulls on his own shirt, slowly. He uses his nails to get purchase on the IV tape. He rips it out with practice. Unfortunately, his arm is harrier than his stomach, and the tape hurts more coming out. He can already see a bruise forming under the skin as he holds paper towel to his bleeding elbow.
Discharge papers in hand, his father leads him out to the curb. Nick waits with him, while his father goes to pull around the car. He tries to remain standing, but he's still so tired. He thinks about sinking into one of the wheelchairs in the ER entrance, but he has his pride. He leans against the wall and breathes through his nose, waiting for his father to arrive with the car.
He climbs into the back seat of the BMW, and slumps against the window. He buckles his seatbelt independently this time, and waits for his father to start the engine. Instead, John Smythe turns to his son, and asks gently, "What did Dr. Blake mean, 'do this again'?"
He shrugs and lies convincingly. "She made a mistake, what happened was out of my control, Dad."