Page 1 of The Back Forty
Chapter 1 – Dani
“They said you need to quit your job.”
“W-what?” The word tumbles out as I snap out of whatever drug-induced haze I’ve been lost in. I jolt upright, and the IV in my arm nearly yanks free with the movement. The sharp tug makes me wince and tears sting the corners of my eyes as I try to figure out where I am and who's talking.
Blinking hard, I rub my face and try to focus until my older sister, Catalina, comes into view. Her dark brown hair is slicked back into that impossibly tight bun she always wears tucked under a maroon surgical cap. Her forest green scrubs are pressed and spotless as she sits stiffly at the end of my hospital bed like she's afraid to touch me. All cold, cutting, business. Not a shred of warmth in her tone or demeanor.
She stands abruptly and wipes her hands on her pants as though she needs to keep them busy.
“Oh, good. You’re awake now. I thought that might get you back.”
“What’s going on?” My voice comes out hoarse and raw from dehydration.
“Doctor Orion said you had a small stroke.”
“A… a what?” The disbelief cracks my voice because the words that she's saying aren't making any sense.
I lurch upright again and this time the IV tape tears at my skin harder, earning a hiss of pain and a flop backward onto the bed. I hate these things.
Catalina’s face changes just for a second, and I catch something that might almost be pity in her eyes. Not that she’d ever admit it. Catalina doesn’t do pity, or emotions for that matter. You don't get to when you're the oldest daughter of the family and a high performing surgeon.
“Stress-induced, they said. Your blood pressure is through the roof.” She reaches up like she’s going to rake her fingers through her hair, then seems to remember the cap and lets her hand fall limply and awkwardly to her side.
We’d never been all that close. Well, that’s not entirely true. When we were younger, we’d been inseparable. But as we got older, the emotional and physical gap widened. Catalina left for medical school in another state and practically disappeared into her studies for eight years while I stayed back in California where we grew up. She only recently moved back to our hometown after landing some fancy position as a cardiothoracic surgeon at the hospital that I must be sitting in. The distance between us now feels so much bigger than our six year age gap. Our careers and circles are different, but our priorities remain the same: Work as hard as possible to make our immigrant parents proud.
“Look, Daniela,” she says carefully, as though testing the words before they leave her mouth, “you need to find a way to calm the fuck down before you kill yourself.”
“Calm down...” I whisper the words because, coming from her—a self-professed workaholic who doesn’t know what a vacation is and probably considers sleeping eight hours at night a personal failure—that’s fuckingrich.“I’m not quitting my job,” I blurt out quickly, panic rising in my chest. The monitors start beeping loudly which only makes my anxiety rise.
She shrugs like the conversation is done. “Fine. But you’ll regret it when you’re dead. Oh wait, you'll be unable to since you'll be six feet under. And just like that, she spins on her heel and walks out of the room, leaving me gaping at the closed door part in shock and part confused.
My thoughts spiral.What am I going to do? How did I let this happen? What will our parents think when they find out?
The answers don't come, but the guilt does. Heavy and suffocating, it presses down, whispering things I don’t want to hear. I shove the thoughts away the only way I know how by blaming myself. That’s always been my default because I'm sure it's some personal failure that has me hooked up to an IV at my sister's hospital right now.
A few minutes into my spiral, the door creaks open and Doctor Orion steps in. He’s older, maybe late sixties with kind eyes and a steady presence that somehow makes me feel even smaller in my hospital gown. Catalina has mentioned him before, usually in passing at holidays when she updates our parents on all the miraculous, lifesaving things she’s doing. I think she said he was the best in the hospital.
And now I can’t help but wonder if she pulled strings to get him assigned to me.
It would be just like her, slice me open with the news that I’m dying in that clinical, emotionless voice of hers, then turn around and make sure I get the best possible care.
Because, apparently, she still secretly gives a damn.
I decide to find and thank her when I get out of here.
“Good evening, Daniela, I’m Doctor Orion,” he says with a soft smile.
"Dani's fine. Hi Doctor Orion." It's the nickname that everyone uses for me affectionately, except Catalina or my parents when they're mad.
He pulls up a chair and takes a seat next to my bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Pretty good,” I lie because I feel like shit. I have a raging migraine, probably from caffeine withdrawals, and the IV port is tugging at my skin painfully.
His smile twitches like he knows better. “I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better. Now, I’m sure Catalina already told you what happened, but do you have any questions for me?”
“Um… I don’t know why I’m here. The last thing I remember is giving a presentation at the downtown San Jose conference building, and then… nothing.”
He nods, hands clasped in his lap in front of him. “Yes. Unfortunately, you suffered a stroke during that presentation. It’s becoming more common in young professionals with high-stress careers. Your blood pressure was dangerously elevated when you came to see us. It's lucky that the ambulance was called in time.”
