“Elaine,” my mother said suddenly with fear replacing certainty.
I reached for the table but my fingers slipped across the polished wood surface. My legs lost strength while the room spun faster around me.
The final thing I heard before darkness swallowed everything was Miles shouting with urgent panic. “Call emergency services immediately because she cannot breathe.”
When consciousness returned, bright hospital lights hovered above me while a steady monitor beeped beside the bed. My throat burned painfully and an intravenous line tugged against my arm when I tried to move. Miles sat beside the bed leaning forward with tense shoulders while staring at the floor. When he noticed my eyes open he straightened instantly with visible relief.
“You scared everyone,” he said quietly while squeezing my hand gently.
“What happened exactly,” I whispered because my throat still felt raw.
“You had severe anaphylaxis,” Miles explained with careful seriousness. “Paramedics used two epinephrine injections during the ambulance ride because your airway kept tightening.”
Two injections sounded terrifyingly close to disaster.