“Drey? Come on, sweetie, please open your eyes. You have to open your eyes.”
I did? Okay, that was my mom, and when she asked me to do something, I did it. Or at least tried to. My eyelids felt as if they were glued together.
I began to panic. “I can’t see. Why are my eyelashes stuck together?” I raised my left hand to pry them open, then froze at the tug and sting in my forearm.
“Don’t move, okay? You’re hooked up to an IV. I’ll explain in a minute. Let me wet a washcloth.”
“Mom?” I could hear water running.
“Shh.” She brushed a warm, damp washcloth gently over my eyes. “They didn’t know you’re left-handed. They called to get permission to treat you, and of course I gave it, but I didn’t get here until after they’d inserted the IV into your left arm.”
“Why do I have an IV? Where am
