Call Me Jane Page 8

  “Clipboard lady,” I greeted her, my throat dry and scratchy. How long had I been out?

  “Actually, the name’s Janet,” the lady informed me with a slight smile, getting up and coming closer to me so I got a better look at her. “It’s nice to meet you, Jane,” she added, cordially.

  “Dammit! Janet!” I wheezed, with a small smirk, remembering a joke that had Tommy in stitches while watching a movie.

  Janet rolled her eyes, apparently having heard the joke before.

  “Jane,” Janet said, refocusing her attention on me. “You passed out during testing. You’re in the hospital.”

  I had figured as much, but it was nice that Janet was here, before the authorities would get involved and I’d get shipped back to my windowless room in the middle of nowhere.

  “How long before they ship me back to be locked away?” I asked Janet bluntly.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, sounding confused.

  “I’m in the hospital. I can’t afford any of this!” I wheezed, angry at having to explain something that should have been obvious. “I’m guessing you’ve matched me to a missing-persons report by now and it’s only a matter of time before I have to go back to… them,” I finished, dejectedly.

  “Jane,” Janet said in a horrified tone. “The foundation is covering your medical costs. We haven’t notified the police, yet, because of what you told Dolores, the receptionist. We wanted to get more information before we made any further decisions. We won’t send you back to the people that left those marks on your back if we can help it.”

  I think it was then that I started crying. I was at a loss for words, but I managed to at least say, “Thank you.”

  “Now, you just stay there,” Janet commanded. “You’ve been sleeping for a long time and the doctors wanted to know when you woke up. I’m going to go get a doctor, but I’ll be right back. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I told her, nodding weakly.

  I must have closed my eyes because my next memory is of a doctor shining a bright light in my eyes, making me wince and turn my head away.

  “Sorry about that,” the man told me, not looking the least bit sorry. “You weren’t responding to other stimuli. Janet tells me you woke up and were speaking to her. Do you remember that?”

  “I do,” I told him, still wheezing. “Could I please get some water or something?”

  “Absolutely,” the man informed me. He turned to another man that was holding a cup with a plastic spoon in it.

  “Let’s start you off with some ice chips and see how you handle it, okay?” the man told me, offering me a spoonful of ice. I accepted the ice into my mouth and let them melt a bit, the cool water feeling heavenly to my parched throat.

  “How long have I been asleep?” I asked the room in general.

  “Over two days,” Janet informed me, sounding worried.

  That… threw me for a loop! I’ve never slept that long before! I wouldn’t have even been allowed to sleep that long!

  “You were suffering from severe malnutrition and dehydration,” the man with the light told me. “We’ve got hydration under control and made headway with the malnutrition, but you’re not out of the woods, yet,” he warned.

  “It’s been a while since I ate,” I agreed.

  “Can you tell me what happened right before you passed out?” the man asked.

  I looked to Janet, unsure of how much to tell them.

  “It’s okay, Jane. You can tell them,” she informed me, looking nervous.

  “Sorry, but what’s your name?” I asked the man instead.

  The man looked surprised for a moment before turning red in embarrassment. “Where are my manners? My name is Doctor Dennis Dennison.”

  “Okay, Doctor Dennison,” I answered, trying not to make fun of his name. “I was taking the Magus foundation challenge. During the test, I guess I overexerted myself. I woke up here.”

  “What did the test involve?” the doctor asked.

  “Psychic powers,” I answered with a straight face.

  The doctor arched an eyebrow and turned to Janet, as if wondering whether he should admit me to the loony bin.

  “It’s true,” Janet affirmed. “She was performing a trick we were unable to determine the nature of. We were taking EEG readings when she passed out. We didn’t think the test would be so strenuous to her.”

  “Some objects offer less resistance than others,” I told Janet, knowing the doctor wouldn’t understand. I reached for the little paper cup the other man was holding, but my arm felt weaker than it ever had before. It was a strain just to lift it.

  The other man saw this, then fed me some more ice, like he did this every day, which I’m guessing he basically did…

  “What do you mean resistance?” the doctor asked.

  “It’s not important,” Janet informed the doctor. “Will she be okay?”

  The doctor eyed Janet skeptically for a long time before answering her with another question. “Where are Jane’s parents?”

  “Out of the question!” I nearly shrieked, panicking a little, the beeping beside me getting faster.

  “We understand that Jane might be in danger with her guardians,” Janet informed the doctor. “She told one of our people that her parents believed her to be possessed by the devil. I thought that might explain the scars on her back.”

  I nodded at Janet, affirming everything she said.

  “The foundation feels responsible for her well-being at this point,” Janet continued. “This is why they have agreed to cover all medical costs.”

  “Even so,” the doctor said, a touch of anger coming into his voice. “I cannot divulge protected information to one that is not a legal guardian of a minor.”

  “Will you tell me, at least?” I asked the doctor.

  “Of course I can tell you, but since you’re underage, you cannot give consent to any medical procedure.

  “Does a procedure need to be done?” I asked, getting really nervous.

  “Not as such,” the doctor hedged. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “Then please tell me what’s going on,” I demanded.

  “Okay,” the doctor finally agreed, “but I want everyone else out of the room!”

  Janet looked at me, apparently asking for permission. I gave her a slight nod and she left the room wringing her hands a little.

  When it was just me and the doctor, he informed me that I had nearly died.

  “You are suffering from anemia,” he informed me. “It was evident from your difficulty in breathing as well as your complexion. We tried to give you a blood transfusion of O-negative, since we didn’t know your blood-type, but you had a severe allergic reaction, which is extremely rare. We stabilized you, then ran your blood through every test we could think of and consulted a hematologist.”

  “Hematologist?” I asked, not recognizing the word.

  “A doctor that specializes in blood,” he informed me. “According to her, your blood is the rarest of the rare. I’ll let her know you’re awake after I leave. She’s been wanting to meet you. It would have been better if we had known about your blood-type beforehand…”

  “I didn’t know about it,” I told him, feeling defensive. “I’ve never been in a hospital before. Not since after I was released as a baby.”

  That got his attention! “Do you know why not?” he asked, sounding grave.

  “I think they were ashamed of me,” I informed him in a level voice. “They kept me hidden, secret.”

  “I think I begin to see…” the doctor said, sound like he was beginning to agree with the way Janet and the foundation had handled things so far.

  “What can you tell me about my blood?” I asked him.

  “It would be better if I let Doctor Drake explain it to you,” Doctor Dennison told me. “I can, however, tell you that you are severely underweight. Before you leave, I want to see you eat at least five big meals, whether you want to or not.”

  “I’d love to,” I informed him, n
ot liking the accusing tone he was using. “My diet has not been my choice. Before coming to Florida, my diet was either oatmeal or vegetables. If I was lucky I got orange juice or milk.”

  The doctor looked rightfully ashamed and apologized. “Sorry, I thought you were starving yourself to… nevermind,” he trailed off. I guess he thought that no matter what he said, he would only dig himself deeper into the hole he had made by assuming.

  “Add that to the reasons I don’t want to go back,” I told him, my voice going cold.

  “Right,” he said, quietly. “I’ll call Doctor Drake to have her explain about your… condition.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” I told him, not wanting to sound ungrateful. “It sounds like you saved my life.”

  “It was a team effort,” he said quickly, sounding like it was more automatic than thought-out as he made his exit, ushering the other man back in.

  I munched on ice chips for a while, feeling better as each mouthful melted down my throat.

  “Thank you,” I told the man, sincerely.

  “No problem,” the man waved off. “You just focus on getting better. That includes getting some food in you! That glucose drip is only temporary, you know!”

  “I didn’t know,” I told him, my voice sounding more normal, “but I look forward to the food!”

  “Glad to hear it!” the man said, sounding relieved. I guess he thought I was starving myself, too! “Now, do you have any food allergies?”

  “Not that I know of,” I told him.

  “Well that makes my job easier, then,” he told me, smiling a little. “I’ll go get you something and we’ll see how serious you are!”

  “You’d better include a large portion of protein in that,” a tall blonde lady with wavy hair told him, stepping into the room, her shoes clacking against the hard floor.

  “I’m Doctor Vanessa Drake,” she told me, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “Hello, Doctor. I’m Jane,” I answered by way of greeting.

  “Yes, the mysterious Jane!” she said exuberantly. “Comes out of nowhere with the rarest blood-type known to man and so frail I dare not take any extra samples!”

  “I’m sorry?” I said, not really knowing what to say.

  She shook her head and waved me off, telling me, “It’s not your fault. If your parents or guardians or whoever has been feeding you all your life were here, I’d blame them in a heartbeat for not consulting anyone in the medical field!”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, more than ready to blame Jack and Billi for all my woes.

  “When was the last time you had any meat?” she asked me bluntly.

  “Um…” I hesitated, trying to remember exactly how long it has been. “Maybe the day before I went to the foundation… It was a bacon double cheeseburger…” I told her in a reverential tone, drooling a little.

  “And before then?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

  “Never…” I admitted, feeling a little embarrassed.

  “Never? Never!” she exclaimed, her tone somewhere between shock and horror as she looked to the ceiling. “Let me guess,” she said, turning back to me. “All your life you’ve found yourself fighting for breath. Walking long distances is almost a non-starter for you. You tire easily and I’ll bet you all but inhaled that burger you had.”

  I was nodding at everything she was saying, my eyes growing wider and wondering if she was psychic, too!

  “Thought so!” she cheered. “That’s because you have Omicron-type anemia.”

  “Omi…” I started, trying to understand what she was saying.

  “Omicron,” she finished for me, saying the word slowly. “It’s called Omicron-type anemia because it is the result of having Omicron-type blood.”

  “So, my blood-type causes my anemia?” I asked, trying to keep up with her.

  She seemed to see my confusion at the impromptu vocabulary lesson as she answered, “Anemia is having less blood than you should. Omicron-type anemia comes from the fact that Omicron blood is more difficult for the body to manufacture, especially,” she added, sounding angry, “when your guardians don’t feed you meat!” By now she was almost growling and sounded like she wanted to punch the ones responsible!

  I was liking her more and more… Anyone that wants to punch Jack and Billi is A-Okay in my book!

  “So, what makes Omicron blood so different?” I asked, trying to steer the topic away from anything that might send me back to Jack and Billi.

  “Omicron red blood cells are smaller than normal red blood cells,” she started, her voice going softer, less angry. “They’re smaller, but they’re also fatter than normal cells, so they have the same surface area, but they’re packed with slightly more protein and carry a bit more oxygen, per cell, than normal cells do.”

  I was mostly following what she was telling me, but it was difficult. I was tired, and still starving, and I hoped that other man would come back with some food soon.

  “In short,” Doctor Drake said, “You need meat. Consider yourself an obligate carnivore! Fruits, vegetables, and grain are okay, but you should have meat with every meal if you can. And don’t worry about the calories! At this point, calories are your friend!”

  “Thank you, doctor,” I told her, trying to hide the fact that I had tuned her out a little as my mind struggled to stay awake.

  “Speaking of meat,” the man from before said as he came into the room carrying a tray that looked loaded with food. “I made sure to get you some eggs along with a few other easily digestible foods. When you prove your system can handle this, we’ll move you onto more substantial fare.”

  He set the tray on a nearby table and adjusted my bed, tilting my upper half to a more elevated position. He, then, repositioned the table he had set the tray on over to the side of my bed. The table, apparently, was on wheels and he was able to position it so that it was practically in my lap.

  As embarrassing as it was that he practically spoon-fed me, it still did me a world of good and my stomach indicated it was fully onboard with getting more food. The eggs were scrambled and were better than anything Billi had ever fed me, but not as good as that bacon double-cheeseburger. There was also some fruity gelatin concoction, some toast with jam, and a carton of orange juice. By the end of this little meal, I felt full for only the second time in my life, and the nurse, Tony he told me his name was, promised to make sure I got more once my body had had a chance to process this meal.

  With a full belly and the promise of more food, I drifted off to sleep quickly and easily. For quite possibly the first time in my life, I felt safe and secure.

  Of course it couldn’t last…

  Chapter 11

  The Board

  I spent over a week in the hospital. I spent that time eating, sleeping, or… the other end of eating. With every meal I became stronger and my breathing less labored. Hell, by the second meal, I could at least feed myself even if I still needed help getting up to cross the room to relieve myself. The nurses, bless them, were supremely patient and kind to me and worked hard at making sure I understood I should not feel embarrassed by any of this.

  By the time they released me from the hospital, I felt better than I ever had before in my life. Doctor Drake made sure I got a hefty stack of paper that she said explained my super-weird blood. I promised to read them when I got the chance.

  “One more thing,” Doctor Drake commanded, holding up a metal bracelet. “This is a medic-alert bracelet. It’ll warn anybody else treating you not to give you a blood transfusion.” She fastened the bracelet loosely on my left wrist, the warning etched into the metal in black along with a red symbol that looked like an asterisk with a snake wrapped around a pole in the middle.

  “Never take this off,” Doctor Drake warned. “It’ll stop doctors from accidentally killing you, okay?”

  “Okay,” I promised before I was wheeled to the front of the hospital, back in my white t-shirt and black shorts. At least they were clean this time…


  At the front of the hospital, I was met by Janet standing beside a black sedan. When she saw me, she opened the passenger door in invitation. I stood up, thanked the nurse who had been pushing the wheelchair, and got inside the car, more than a little nervous.

  I worried that I had been pushing my luck with the liberties I had been taking inside the hospital, or perhaps the hospital had been scamming the foundation by insisting that I stay longer than I, perhaps, absolutely had to. Either way, I figured they’d blame me and there was little I could do to stop them.

  “You can relax, Jane,” Janet told me, warmly as we made our way out of the hospital complex. “I’m here to bring you to meet with the board.”

  “The board?” I asked, not understanding, much less relaxing.

  “The board of the foundation,” Janet clarified with a small sigh. “They want to meet with you because…” here she paused long enough to make me anxious. “Well, quite frankly, you flummoxed them!”

  “Flummoxed?” I asked, not knowing what the word meant.

  “Most of the people that try to claim the prize,” she explained, “are confidence artists. They use some trick or other or try to beat the system and play us. We are never fooled and can always explain their tricks. Having magicians on the board helps with that…”

  “But?” I prompted, not quite seeing how this related to me, since I wasn’t hiding what I was doing, not really, anyway.

  “But you have them stumped!” she nearly whined. “You refused offers of extra information; you didn’t try to talk up the experimenters, you beat the tricks we tried to throw at you! Worse, you aced the tests we threw at you with total accuracy! You even threw in details you couldn’t possibly have known!”

  “Oh?” I chirped, not sure what to make of all this. Flattery felt strange to me and I didn’t know what to do with it. That strangeness has never gone away and I squirm a little every time I receive any.

  Janet sighed before continuing, “Some on the board have flown out just to discuss this and try to figure out how you did what you did.”

  “They flew out? Just for me?” I asked, kind of shocked.