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Sort of Part II
You know what?  I don't think I can write a part two.  I don't have it in me.  I can, however, give you a general summary of what happened from a more distant point.  So here we go.

Basically, we went into the hospital and they asked me a lot more questions.  I answered them as best I could, and registered for the hospital because I wasn't already.  A major problem was that they needed a parent's permission to treat me.  I couldn't remember which hospital my mother worked in, and I couldn't produce a number for my father.  So, for a time, we were stuck.

Then all I remember is sitting in a small room with all kinds of freaky equipment looming nearby.  Chris sat with me and kept comforting me.  There was a sign that said 'presure' on it.  Dumb sign.  It was on the bathroom, of all things.  I had a blue thing on my arm, and was wearing a gaudy gown with little colorful squares arranged in clumps upon it.  I would match up lines of three in the squares, but the sky blue square was lonely.

Sorry, these details are pointless, but for some funny reason they're just about all I can remember.

At some point a lady named Emily came in and started running some tests.  Also, mum showed up some time.

I had to get my blood taken.  I took it a lot better than usual.  I just kept humming songs, when I couldn't think of a song I made one up, and squeezed Chris's hand until he thought it was going to fall off (as he remarked later).  Emily couldn't find my veins.  Finally she got one in my hand.  I can't type any more about this...I feel dizzy...

Eventually we were all alone again, my mother, Chris, and I.  I laid down for a long time.  No one wanted to play I-Spy with me.  We didn't know what all the things in the room were called.  I wanted to play I-Spy.  Or The Animal Game.  I really did, but no one else wanted to.  Sad pandas.

We gave out hugs, and waited for the test results to come back.  I wondered faintly why I wasn't throwing up or even feeling bad, aside from being horribly shaky and nervous about my punctured hand.  And bored.  I was really really bored.  Here's a lesson folks:  Suicide is boring.  Don't do it.

Eventually there was a coffee expedition.  When whoever went out was out, the test results came back.  There was nothing wrong with me whatsoever.  Confusing?  Yes, but Good.

So I went home...and Chris came too...for a while...and Hannah got back.  I couldn't tell her.  I hid.  They told her.  She took it really badly, but she was okay in the morning.  We gave out lots of hugs...and eventually the day was over.  Chris went home.  I kept the blue arm-thing.  It's on my bedside table.

That's it really.  I honestly couldn't tell you any more than that.  It seems very far away in my head.  It's the first part that is way too memorable for comfort.  So...yea.  That's all...