12. Bed Bath

The next three days in the hospital were a vortex of physical agony, emotional upheaval, and a relentless battle against my own mind. Confined to a hospital bed, every breath was a struggle, each inhale an excruciating reminder of the consequences of my recklessness.

The high-powered steroids coursing through my veins brought with them a storm of agitation and irritability.

I was a prisoner in my own body, tethered not only by the medical equipment but also by the turmoil within me.

Penelope, ever-present, became both my anchor and, unwittingly, the recipient of my steroid-induced outbursts. Each day was a tightrope between gratitude for her unwavering support and an irrational anger that I could neither justify nor control.

"Try to take a deeper breath, Wyatt," Penelope encouraged softly during one of my breathing treatments. The exercises, meant to strengthen my damaged lung, felt more like a form of medieval torture.

"I'm trying, Penny," I snapped, my voice laced with frustr