The Occupant with Apical HCM
Unlike those young strong-bodied athletes
Who may keep running asymptomatically Continue reading →
Caroline could barely hear her own words. (Had she said them?) The oxygen hissed up her nose through the plastic prongs. The pull of the Vicodin lured her toward sleep. Sam didn’t look up from his Spirograph, but Caroline knew that that didn’t mean he hadn’t heard her.
“Bug?” she said again. This time she detected a slight hesitation in the whirring of his pen. The symmetric designs stopped spilling onto his spiral-bound notebook.
“Do you like it?”