Jared awakened on a bed, a white bandage obscuring his left eye. He peeled it off; a nurse's jaw dropped, and she rushed over to him. His breath hitched; fingers flew to his face, pressing, probing, as if he could erase the pain.
"You need to keep your bandages on! You're still healing!" She scolded. Set the medical kit on the bedside table, opened it and found a bandage.
"Where am I?" Jared weakly replied.
"You're in a hospital," she replied coldly, pressing the new bandage firmly over his left eye.
"Why can't I see from my left eye? Is this temporary?" Jared's voice trembled.
"No. There's nothing the doctors can do to restore your vision." She said flatly, while discarding the old bandage in the trash can nearby.
Jared cried, "What am I supposed to do? My mom needs me-"
"You're going to have to live with it. You've vistor hopefully they can cheer you up."
The relentless throb in his head ached almost as much as the heartbreak of no vision in his eye. The white walls around him seemed to spin him around as he grabbed the glass of water on the bedside table.
Pat entered and pushed the green curtains surrounding the bed.
"Pat? I barely know, other than you bought a painting from me."
"I've found you just outside of my hotel. I'd called the ambulance. They've brought you to the hospital." Pat explained.
"I can't afford to stay at the hospital. My mother needs me. I need to go home and take care of her-"
"You're too sick to look after her. I can send one of my missionaries over. They can help her. I need your address." He retrieved a notebook and pen from his duffel bag, settling into a plastic chair beside the hospital bed.
"My mother and I live on 129 Mill Street."
Pat jotted down his address. Relief washed over Jared; his mother was looked after, even as the weight of his helplessness pressed down on him.