I opened up the food delivery app, only to find that everything near the hospital was closed at this hour. The few places still taking orders weren’t offering anything Zelene could eat.
With no better option, my mother-in-law stood up and said, “I’ll go get her some chicken noodle soup.”
I glanced at my father-in-law, who was staying behind with me. I nodded—so long as I wasn’t left alone with Zelene, she wouldn’t get another chance to make up lies about me.
Just three minutes to 2:10 a.m., Zelene suddenly started crying again, saying the back of her hand hurt. When we checked, we saw the IV needle had slipped. Her hand was swollen, bruised into a purplish lump. I quickly pulled the needle out.
My father-in-law got up to find a doctor, but I stopped him. “You can just press the call button.”
I hit the button by the bed, but no nurse came.
That’s when the clock struck 2:10 a.m., and Zelene began wailing in agony, gasping like she was about to pass out.
My father-in-law’s heart broke at the sight. “I’ll go get a nurse!”
He turned to leave, but I blocked him again. “Dad, it’s just a slipped needle. She’ll be fine in a minute.”