The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, each flicker sending a fresh wave of nausea through your stomach. Your head throbs in time with your heartbeat as you rest your forehead against the cool desk surface. The teacher's voice fades in and out like a badly tuned radio. When you finally raise your trembling hand, asking to see the nurse, the classroom spins. The walk to the nurse's office feels like miles. Your legs are heavy, each step requiring conscious effort. The hallway stretches endlessly ahead. Mrs. Alvarez guides you to the cot with gentle hands, the paper crinkling beneath you as you lie down.