“Okay,” Lauren said. So they had a name for it, and she’d take medicine and it would clear up.
She looked at Josh. His face was gray. Nope. Gonna ignore your face, babe. “What’s the plan, then?”
There was a pause. Another fucking pause, and suddenly, Lauren was shaking. She couldn’t look at Josh, because . . . because . . .
“Now, don’t panic,” Dr. Bennett said. “What happens with this disease”—disease? That sounded horrible!—“is that your lungs create a fibrous tissue. Scarring. We don’t know why. Some people who work with asbestos or fine particulates get it. Yours is called idiopathic, because we don’t know why you have it.” She paused, looking at both of them in turn to make sure they were following. My husband is a genius, lady, Lauren wanted to say. You don’t need to slow down for him.
On the other hand, Lauren was having some trouble hearing. There was a persistent, high-pitched buzz in her ears. Defense mechanism, probably, to block out—
“The problem is, the scarring takes up room in your lungs. That’s why you’ve had problems breathing.”
“I really haven’t! I mean, just a little. Once in a while.”
Kwana nodded. “Right. And it’s great that we caught it early. There are some very good medications that can slow this thing down.”
“Great!”
“And oxygen to help you when you’re short of breath.”
“Wait. What? I don’t need to be on oxygen? I mean, I fainted one time! Twice! But one time after a long hike and not enough hydration, and the other time, because . . . because . . .” Her voice had the hint of hysteria in it, and she let it trail off.
“Well,” Kwana said gently, “there will probably be times down the road when you will need it, and it’ll make you feel significantly better. A lot less tired.”
“But I’m fine. I mean, I really feel quite . . . quite good.” She looked at Josh. He didn’t look at her. He wasn’t blinking. Just staring at Dr. Bennett.
Oh . . . shit. He shut down like this when big things happened. He just got really, really quiet. Like when his favorite professor had died a few months before they got married. He didn’t talk, he didn’t cry, he just went into this . . . nothingness. When she’d called his mom to ask if he was okay, she said he’d done the same thing when her father had died when Josh was twenty.
But they had died. She wasn’t about to do that. Whatever was wrong with her, she’d handle. Joshua Park would not have a sick wife. She wouldn’t put him in that position.
“Okay,” she said, sounding more like herself. Good. Good. “So the meds, maybe oxygen in the future . . . anything else?”
There was another pause. “We’ll get into respiratory therapy to maximize your lung function.”
“Got it. Sure. And how long does this last?” No answer. “I mean, when will I be back to my old self?”
Kwana—Dr. Bennett—didn’t answer for a second.
“What is the cure, Kwana?” Lauren asked loudly.
Josh turned to look at her, finally. Finally. “There is no cure,” he said quietly.
The words took a few seconds to land.
“What?” Lauren shouted. Then, freakishly, she laughed. “Well, that’s not helpful.” She looked at both her doctor and her husband, then swallowed. “Seriously?”
“There’s no cure at the moment, no,” Dr. Bennett said. Lauren didn’t want to call her Kwana anymore. Nope! They weren’t going to be friends.
So if there was no cure, then that meant . . . well, it meant she’d have to deal with this the rest of her life.
Huh.
“I don’t want you to panic,” Dr. Bennett said. “This is a serious illness, but you’re only twenty-six, Lauren. We honestly have no prediction for how well you’ll do. Okay? You’re very healthy otherwise. Let’s not envision the worst just yet. I’m starting you on a medication called Ofev, which is very effective in slowing the fibers and scar tissue. A lot of patients swear by a combination of Chinese herbs, so I want you to try that as well. I’ve got all the information here.”
“Okay,” Lauren said, slightly reassured. “Great. Um . . . what’s my long-term prognosis?”
“I don’t want to jump the gun here.”
“Tell me anyway,” she said.
Kwana looked at Josh, who gave a small nod. “Well, our last line of defense is a lung transplant.”
“Would I be okay then?”
“We’ll cross that bridge if we have to, okay?”
Lauren looked at Josh.
Skin still gray. Jaw locked. Infrequent blinking. Oh, no. No, no. No thank you.
Josh knew a lot about medicine. A lot.
“Am I . . . am I going to get better?” she whispered.
Dr. Bennett leaned forward, folding her hands together. “Lauren, I’m very sorry, but as your husband said, there is no cure for this. There are some promising treatments on the horizon, but right now, I have to be honest with you. With IPF, the fibers keep growing until breathing becomes impossible. A lung transplant would be the final step. Otherwise, it’s a terminal disease.”
The world stopped. No sound, no smells, nothing. Just complete stillness.
Terminal. Final.
Terminal?
Lauren swallowed. Her eyes felt huge and cold. “So . . . I’m going to die?”
“We’re not sure what your trajectory is going to be. There are only a handful of known cases in people so young.”
“Can you answer the question? Am I going to die from this?” That loud voice, so rude.
Kwana didn’t take offense. “We can’t make any predictions. Especially in your case, since you’re not even thirty.”
“No predictions except that I’ll die?” she squeaked.
“She will not die from this,” Josh said, his voice hoarse and fierce, and for a second, hope leaped in Lauren’s heart. She was married to a certified genius who just happened to make medical devices. He would figure this out in a matter of weeks, Kwana.
“This is a lot to process,” Dr. Bennett said. “I recommend that you stay off Google and just read the literature in this packet.”
“Why?” Lauren’s voice was hard and loud.
“Because you should get your information from experts in the field,” she said, handing over a folder. “Trust me.”