I've been sitting on the floor in a bathroom stall for over forty minutes, still breathing heavily, and still vomiting. What the Hell is wrong with me? I rest my head on my arm that is resting on the toilet seat, and I hear the bathroom door open. Great, just great.
"Amelia, are you okay?" it's Meredith. The last person I want to see right now, I'm still so embarrassed by what happened in the O.R., I literally don't want to see any of those faces again.
"I'm fine, thanks, you can go," I say, trying to be as nice as possible but realizing I just sound like a complete bitch.
"Open the door," she says. I figured it'd be rude to just say no, but I don't know what else to say, so I slowly move my arm up from under my head and twist the lock to the stall door, then lean back down on my arm. Meredith is standing tall, and looks down at me and instantly the face she makes when one of her kids gets hurt comes on to play. She squats by the door, knowing the stall is too small for both of us.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" her face lights up a little, knowing it would make herself feel better if she did anything to help me.
"You can help me find a new job at a different hospital where I don't have to see Dr. Wilson or those taunting faces in the gallery ever again," I say with a light chuckle but immediately realizing that she didn't find that funny.
"Amelia, it's not that big of a deal, people get sick in O.R.s all the time," I hold up a hand to stop her, position my face back over the toilet, vomit, wipe my mouth with toilet paper, then look back at her.
"Sorry. Continue," I say blandly. She hands me my bottle of water that was near my feet.
"Anyways, they'll all forget about it tomorrow, they'll find something else to talk about. Promise," she says, hoping she helped but in reality didn't do anything helpful.
"Thanks," I say, only trying to make her feel better about herself for trying to help me.
"Are you going to get sick again? I'll drive you home, and you can go to bed. I called in sick for you today and tomorrow," she says and I sigh. I hate missing work for silly reasons. But, knowing that I might be contagious I didn't want to put my patients at risk.
"Yeah, okay," I say while I stand up slowly. My head immediately shoots strong pains all over it, and I shut my eyes closed tightly.
"You alright?" Meredith asks.
"Just a headache." She helps me walk out of the bathroom and successfully walks me to her car without me throwing up again. Once home, she gives me soup, crackers, and puts a movie on for me as if I'm Zola and couldn't do it for myself. I appreciate it though, no one ever took care of me like this when I actually was Zola's age. I don't know what I would do without Meredith.