I wheeled my metal IV pole out into the corridor to escape the quiet of Room 314.
The linoleum floor was cool beneath my bare feet, and the distant hum of the ice machine near the central desk was the only sound in the hallway.
Sarah, the floor nurse with the quiet tread, met me near the central desk and reached for my arm to wrap the black velcro blood pressure cuff.
“You are pushing yourself too fast, Clara,” Sarah said, watching the pump on her rolling cart.
“I need to clear my head,” I said, keeping my fingers moving in a steady five-beat tap on the steel pole.
The machine hissed, releasing the pressure as the digital display settled on one hundred and thirty-four over eighty-eight.
“Your baseline is much lower than this,” Sarah said, her eyes narrowing as she noted the numbers on her tablet.
“The boys will need formula when we get home,” I said, thinking of the hospital pharmacy invoice I had seen on the desk. “St. David’s charges thirty-eight dollars for a single box of the newborn blend.”
