Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor swam, blurring the already indistinct edges of reality. Amelia gripped the worn vinyl of the waiting room chair, knuckles bone white. A nurse had just informed her of the mix-up; her chart, it seemed, belonged to someone else. Her own medical history, the details of her life, were now scattered amongst the files of a stranger. She felt a profound disconnect, as if she were viewing her life through a frosted pane of glass.

A wave of nausea crashed over her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, battling the rising tide. The scent of antiseptic, usually a comforting smell, now felt alien, suffocating. She fumbled for her water bottle, her hand trembling as she brought it to her lips.

"Excuse me," she croaked, her voice barely a whisper, to the passing doctor. "Could you… could you tell me where the bathroom is?" Her usual brisk tone was gone, replaced by a tremor that seemed to vibrate through her entire frame.