Dia pressed the palms of her hands together tightly, not so much to suppress their faint tremble as to give herself the illusion of being somehow more compact; more 'held together'. Something like that.
"There's -" she started, and her words felt dry and heavy and too big for her mouth. She tried again. "There's - there are - a lot of things have happened, lately." She resisted the urge to shut her eyes against the yellow-white glare of the light, too bright for such a small room. The brief laugh that breaks from her throat is high and unexpected. "First Graeme and then - and then my brother; it feels like everyone's dead or dying or going to die." She knows the doctor will ask her to elaborate, but she'd rather give the information up in fragments. Little steps; small victories. That's the best she can hope for.