“Dad,” he said, and there was no mistaking the strain in his voice. It was tight, clipped, threaded through with pain. “I’m at Mercy General’s ER.”
I was already standing before he got to the next sentence.
“The doctor is refusing to treat me,” he said. “He says I’m faking my symptoms for drugs. I’ve been here for two hours. Dad, something’s really wrong. It hurts so bad I can barely stand.”
My keys were in my hand before I consciously remembered reaching for them. “Tell me exactly what you’re feeling.”
He took a shaky breath, and I could hear the effort it cost him. “It started around midnight. Sharp pain in my lower right abdomen. It’s gotten worse every hour. I’m nauseous. I threw up twice. I have a fever. I tried to explain all of it, but the doctor just kept asking about my drug history and looking at me like I’m some junkie.”