Page 13 of Wild

Noah's eyes go wide.

"Before a fainting episode, you'll usually get warning signs — dizziness, a feeling of warmth or flushing, cold sweats, nausea, blurred or tunnel vision, ringing in your ears, paleness, weakness in your legs, or the sense that you're about to fall," the doctor explains.

Mia has dropped her gaze to her legs, feeling a chill run through her as the doctor describes several of the symptoms she's noticed every time she's felt unwell.

"Sometimes you don't actually faint, but the weakness is significant and it drains you until you end up on the ground," the doctor continues.

"She was really disoriented when she came to, and scared," Noah says. "Is that normal?"

"Yes — disorientation is very common, and the fear is a physical response some people can't avoid. You wake up not remembering what happened, surrounded by people you don't know, in a place you can't place. It makes sense to be scared. You may also feel exhausted, sweaty, and like you just want to stay lying down. The good news is that it isn't serious. It's a commoncondition, but it's not a disease in itself, and it doesn't point to a cardiac or neurological problem."

"And the bad news?" Mia asks.

"The bad news is that in your case, the condition is made worse by everything going on around you. You're a performer, very well known, in the middle of a tour. That means chronic stress, poor nutrition if it's not managed, not enough sleep, dehydration — all of these amplify your condition. If nothing changes, the episodes will keep happening, and over time they'll probably get worse. The problem isn't the fainting itself, Mia — the problem is fainting at the edge of a stage with a two-meter drop, falling on a light rig, or hitting your head on something nearby."

Noah's skin prickles.

"Last night you got lucky, but next time you could seriously hurt yourself."

Mia nods, slowly.

"So what am I supposed to do?" she asks, feeling her neck go stiff.

"In the short term — constant medical supervision while you're on tour. I don't mean a doctor you can call if you feel sick; I mean someone who's close by and can act immediately. Someone who can recognize your symptoms as they develop without you having to explain yourself, because sometimes you won't even know you're having them. It needs to be someone who keeps track of your hydration, your sleep, and your meals — and who has the authority to call it when your condition requires it."

Noah feels like he's the one about to pass out.

"If your schedule allows — and I assume it doesn't — the ideal would be to take a two-month break so you can rest. If that's off the table, the best option is a doctor who travels with you around the clock."

Noah lets out a breath through his nose.

"Her schedule doesn't allow for a break right now — I can guarantee you that," the assistant says, frustrated.

"I figured."

"You said 'short term,'" Mia says. "What about long term?"

"There are medication options we can consider if things don't improve with lifestyle changes, but in your case — your age and the nature of your condition — the first step is changing habits: better nutrition, hydration, and sleep, like I mentioned. If we can stabilize things that way, you won't need anything else."

Mia nods, glancing sideways at her friend as Hassan stands.

"A nurse will come take out your IV shortly. I'll get your discharge paperwork ready so you can go — but take this seriously, Mia."

The doctor and the resident leave, and for a few seconds the only sound in the room is the murmur drifting in from the hallway.

"So — I'm fine," Mia announces suddenly.

"What?" Noah asks, moving closer to her.

"You heard the doctor. It's not serious."

"Did you hear the same thing I did, or were you too busy undressing that resident with your eyes?" Noah says, exasperated.

Mia's smile tilts, and she shakes her head.

"I heard every word. He said it's not serious — if I eat a little, stay hydrated, all that, it's under control."

"Right. Until you crack your skull on the floor next time."