At some point—minutes or hours later, I genuinely couldn't tell—the burning transformed into nausea so much that I couldn't think past it.
They gave me a basin but there was nothing in my stomach to bring up, just bile and stomach acid that burned my throat on the way out as I coughed forcing it out, as I held on tight to the basin, trying to get my bearing.
"Almost done," Frank said, and I wanted to tell him that "almost" was a meaningless word when you were in this much misery. Almost could be thirty seconds or thirty minutes and both felt too long to me.
"Think about something good," one of the nurses suggested, trying to help as I glanced at her.
"Think about a happy memory, something that makes you feel safe."
I tried. I reached for memories of my family, of this morning's good
