“If the colonoscopy came back clear, then what’s wrong with me?”

As told to Rochel Samet

Iwake up to the smell. Strange-smelling air, straight up my nose through a tube. Hospital.

At first, I just blink in the stark white light. Then a blur of voices register. Ma, Ta, the nurse who called me “honey.”

There’s a sudden upsurge in the noise, the faces move, and I see Dr. What’s-his-name, who did the test. He has a deep voice and a stern face, like I’ve done something wrong.

“Well, Liba,” he says, pronouncing it Lie-bah. “Your colonoscopy has come back clear.”

I look at him, trying to process.

Ma takes my hand. “It’s okay, Libby. The test is fine, you’re okay.”

There’s a pit in my stomach, and it’s not just because I haven’t eaten in maybe 40 hours.

I close my eyes. The doctor is still talking, saying something about restricting my diet, trying to find the cause of the trouble. The words float above my head. I can’t concentrate.

“Would you like some juice, honey?” says the nurse, tapping me on my arm right next to the IV needle.

“Yeah. Apple. Thanks.” My voice is thick. I cough hard and immediately, my head aches.

The nurse sticks a straw near my mouth, but keeps a hold on the cup of juice as if I can’t hold it myself. I struggle into a better position and take it from her.

“How are you feeling, Libby?” asks Ma, edging up beside the nurse.

“Uh... okay,” I say, between sips. Actually, I’m starving and woozy and scared I’ll black out. “I just wanna sleep,” I mumble.

“Here?”

I take another breath and nearly gag. The apple juice is too sweet.

“No. Home. Please. Just take me home.”