#isaaccoll

But the uncomfortable silence that currently filled the office was worse. At that moment, there were at least a thousand things Conor would've rather been doing. First of all, he wanted to call his sisters, to let them know he would be staying over again. Second of all, he wanted to shower. After spending the last day in the EMU with a bunch of five-year-olds and old people, Conor was ready to run a few miles and listen to loud music and eat a couple meal’s worth of food. Anything but sit here quietly, tapping his foot. His scalp still itched where the electrodes had been settled, and he scratched at it as the lady in front of him kept talking.

"...and since your preliminary results are indicating that you’ll probably need the surgery, Dr. Guerra suggested that you stay here while they finish running the EEG, just in case they need anything else, and that you'll probably be going in sometime tomorrow."

The flaking adhesive in his hair rasped under his fingernail, reminiscent of the way the woman's acrylic claws scratched along the close-set type in the file in front of her. Conor's file.

He was no stranger to doctors and tests. There were papers in that folder that were ten, eleven years old, but the most recent ones were filled with more complicated words and longer notes that spiderwebbed around the print. Until six months ago, Conor hadn’t had a major seizure since those first pages were printed out. But now here he was, with a wristband pinching at his skin and a major surgery looming over him. He wasn’t keen on spending another night in a hospital wing -- let alone a week recovering from having half a dozen scalpels poking at his head -- but if that's what it took to get him back to normal, then it would be worth it. Even if it meant splitting his brain in half.

But the lady with the horn-rimmed glasses was staring at him expectantly, and Conor hastily scanned his memory for a question that he was meant to answer.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure."

The faint sound of her fingernail tracing the paper paused, and he was faced with the distinctly uncomfortable feeling of disapproval radiating towards him.

“I asked if you had any questions, Conor.” Oh.

He guessed she wouldn’t be able to answer any questions about the operation (she was just a glorified secretary, after all), but he couldn’t think of much else that seemed important or relevant to ask.

“No, I -- actually, uh, will I still be in the unit?” He had spent the last twenty-four hours in a wing reserved especially for epileptic observation, and it had been about as exciting as sorting socks. But without the subsequent satisfaction of having sorted socks.

“No, you’ll be in the pediatric wing for the night. If you end up having an extended stay, that’s where you’ll be post-op.”

“Right.” Her lips pressed together, highlighting the frown lines at the corners of her mouth.

“Anything else?” Did she have her lunch break after this, he wondered, or did she just hate her job? Conor shook his head. “Good.” The door behind him opened quietly, admitting a nurse with pale yellow scrubs and a round, cheerful face that just made the woman behind the desk look even more dour in comparison. “Lydia, this is Conor.” Lydia smiled, shifting her clipboard so she could extend her hand to him.

“I’ll be getting you set up in your room, Conor.” He rose to shake her hand, standing a few inches taller than either of the adults in the room. And just like that, he had shouldered his bag -- which didn’t contain nearly enough to last a week, now that he thought about it. He would have to ask Siannon to bring him more clothes when she came -- and then he was following the nurse out of the office to join the stream of people flowing through the hallway.  “So, I heard you were stuck in the monitoring unit last night. How was that?” Conor shrugged, sidestepping a small child who was toddling alongside his mother.

“Boring.” He had caught up on a couple of TV shows, but Netflix could only entertain him for so long. He was much too ADHD for movie marathons. Lydia laughed at that, which was a welcome change.

“Well, I hope you’ll find your new room more interesting.” She gestured for him to take a left, and the kept walking down a second hallway, lined with doors on either side. Some had pictures and posters hung up in the windows. Some were dark. Some were cracked open the slightest bit, just enough for Conor to pick up on the low rise and fall of voices inside and, in one case, a rerun of the The Walking Dead episode that he had seen yesterday. But the door they stopped in front of was shut tight. “You’ll be rooming with another patient for the time being. He’s more of a quiet kid, so play nice, okay?”

“Nice? I am the definition of nice!”

“Then I’m sure you two will get on just fine.” Lydia smiled again and knocked twice on the door before turning the knob to poke her head in.

I shall do both. AT ONCE.