“Cally, do you know this woman?” asked the older woman I’d followed on the elevator.

“Yes, Vera,” said Cally.

“Oh, she knows me,” I said to Vera. “She knows me all too well.”

“Please lower your voice,” said Vera.

“Where the fuck is my daughter, huh?” I said to Cally. “Answer me!”

“You’re upsetting her,” said Vera. “Please calm down.”

“Tell me, Cally.”

She didn’t answer. Her mouth was open. She looked like she was choking. “I don’t know,” she stammered. “I . . . don’t have her, Ruth, I’m sorry . . .” She cried, “I don’t know where she is . . . I don’t. . . .” She trailed off and leaned back. She looked like she might faint.

I stepped back from her bed. She looked so weak. There was a yellow stain on her face and a cup with a straw next to her pillow. Monitors and IVs. Her hair was slicked back. I wondered who those two people were. What had happened here?

“Are you all right?” I asked. Vera was at Cally’s side, stroking her arm. The young man returned and joined Vera.

“CODE GRAY, CODE GRAY, Level Three,” said a voice from the ceiling. Next thing I knew, a handful of men and women entered the room and escorted me out.

I cooperated. No one needed to get hurt. Nothing to get upset about. “What happened to her?” I asked the security people as they guided me down the hall.

“Here we go, ma’am.” They shoveled me into the elevator.

As the doors closed, I saw an unknown woman walking by with a baby. Was that my baby? Was I crazy?

“This way, ma’am,” my escorts said as the doors opened. They brought me down to the visitor desk on the first floor. We stopped while they had a chat with the clerk. She looked at me. Then other people looked at me. Like I was a criminal.

“I need to see my husband and our family, please.”

“Ma’am, I’m going to ask you to have a seat over here.” They pointed to the seating area just inside the sliding entry doors. Two henchmen accompanied me: one was tall and the other was short and burly. We sat down, and as outrageously as they were behaving, I sensed that it was in my best interests to play the game. I stayed as calm and polite as an usher in church.

Eventually, I said, “I’m fine now. And I want to apologize for my behavior back there. I was worked up, but I’m much better.”

“That’s good,” said the short security guard. “But we’re going to need you to stay away from the third floor for the rest of the day.”

“I will. I will,” I said, not necessarily meaning it. “But would it be possible—I mean, my son is in the ICU with my husband.”

“Hang on. Stay right here.”