He pulled up in front of the ER doors, got out and carried her inside. “My wife has pulmonary fibrosis, and it looks like she has pneumonia. She’s a patient of Dr. Bennett’s, and she needs a bed. Now.”
They listened to him. She was a frequent flier here, after all.
Then she was in a bed, and there were a lot of people around her, and they were saying the too-familiar words—sats down, temperature up, heart rate too fast.
“Lauren? We’re going to intubate you, hon,” said Carol, one of her favorite nurses.
Lauren looked at Josh, his face tight with fear, held up her hand with the thumb, forefinger and pinkie sticking up. I love you in sign language. Then she made the L sign and put it against her forehead. Loser. Their little joke. Her arm flopped back on the bed.
He managed a smile. “I love you, too, loser.” One of the nurses gave him a sharp look, and Lauren smiled. There was the pinch of a needle, and then she was floating on the darkness.
Later, Jen was also there.
“Fight it, sis,” she whispered, her eyes wet.
Lauren nodded, squeezed Jen’s hand, fell back into the nothingness of sedation. Was she dying? The pneumonia was different this time, heavier, bigger.
The next time she woke up, there was her mom, white-faced, hair messy. Sarah, murmuring something, smelling nice. More sleeping. Stephanie, smiling encouragingly. “You’re doing fine, sweetheart,” she said. “Rest.”
And always, Josh, calm, steady, there every time she opened her eyes. She knew time was passing because of the stubble on his face. Oh, Josh. She loved him so much. She wanted to know how sick she was, but she couldn’t talk, so she just raised her eyebrows and looked at him.
He didn’t move for a minute, then gave a small nod. “It’s pretty bad, honey.”
She pressed her hands together to make a heart, and he smiled, but tears were in his eyes. Then sleep pulled her again, down, down, into the soft, comforting blackness.
Later, she was asleep but not as much. Floating. Something large and heavy was on her chest, and even with the ventilator pushing air into her, she could tell it wasn’t enough. She was so tired. Even though she’d been asleep, she was exhausted.
Was this it? Was she really dying this time? She wanted Pebbles, her sweet little companion through all this. She wanted to see the kids, but she didn’t want them to be scared or . . . and then she was back in the nothingness.
Awake again. Josh in a different shirt. Time had passed, then. She just wanted to look at him, drink him in. Jen was crying, so unlike her. Lauren raised her middle finger, and smiled around the tube, and everyone laughed. Josh kissed her hand, and oh, that smile, those eyes, his beautiful face.
Yes. She was fairly sure she was dying. Panic flashed, but the nothingness sucked her down again.
Sleep, wake for a few minutes, sleep, smile, squeeze Josh’s hand, sleep. She dreamed of Hawaii, swimming in the impossibly blue waters off the Nāpali Coast. She was in their honeymoon house and heard the roosters. She dreamed of holding Octavia as a newborn, and woke up to feel the baby snuggled against her, the smell of her head so welcome in the midst of the sharp and sour smells of the hospital. She stroked her niece’s cheek and was asleep again, dreaming of Octavia as a teenager, her hair so dark and beautiful, and Octavia was talking about a dance and what to wear. Sebastian was kissing her cheek and playing with her hand, in real life or in the dream. She felt a tug. Real life, then. She opened her eyes to smile at him and touch his cheek. Her arm felt as heavy as lead.
She dreamed of him as an adult, driving her to the Cape house, which was different in the dream, but the same. Pebbles was in the back of the car, and Josh was waiting for her on the deck, smiling, wearing that awful Western shirt from the Hope Center reopening. Then she was at Sarah’s wedding and forgot she was maid of honor and was trying to put on makeup as she stood on the altar. Josh washed her face with a warm cloth, and fixed things. These were all the things she’d miss, she realized. The washcloth felt so real.
She opened her eyes. Josh was washing her face. She smiled at him, oh, God, her chest hurt so much, everything hurt, her head, her skin, her bones, but seeing him felt so good. So . . . safe.
She smiled and then the darkness pulled her deeper, and it was good, it was easier there, the enveloping blackness.
She wasn’t getting better. She was getting worse.
Death sat close by. Dad? Are you here? She fell asleep before she could wait for an answer.
Awake again. Josh. Jen. Mom. Ben and Sumi. Then sleep.
The next time she woke, Dr. Bennett was there on one side, Josh on the other, stroking her hand, a blue shirt this time. “Hi, honey,” he said, and she loved his soft, deep voice so much. “We need to . . . talk.” His face spasmed with grief.
Shit. Her heart thudded painfully. She tried to squeeze his hand, and he squeezed back. Don’t be scared. Don’t be scared. Don’t let him know you’re scared.
“Lauren? Lauren, hey.” Dr. Bennett took her hand, too, which was totally not encouraging. “We lightened your sedation so we could talk. Can you hear me?”
Lauren nodded. Dr. Bennett pushed the button on the bed and raised her to more of a sitting position. God. Her chest burned and hurt, jerking with the effort to breathe, fighting the respirator. She tried to let it breathe for her, since she obviously was doing a crap job. She looked at the monitor. O2 sat 70 percent, heart rate 115, blood pressure 185/121. Her head was killing her. She looked at her hands, and the fingernails looked faintly . . . blue.
Not good. Not good at all.
Her whole body was so heavy, as if she’d been pumped full of iron.
Dr. Bennett—Kwana, she’d asked to be called way back when—sat next to her on the bed.
“Lauren,” Dr. Bennett said, her eyes kind . . . and wet. She gripped Lauren’s other hand. “The news is not good, honey. Your arterial blood gas is morbidly low. The X-rays show your lungs are filled with fluid, and your sats are way down, even with the ventilator.” She waited a beat, making sure Lauren was hearing all this.
She was, unfortunately. Even though she’d known it was coming, the realization was a physical blow. She couldn’t look at Joshua.
“You’ve been on antibiotics, but we’re not getting anywhere in clearing the pneumonia. Your lung function is . . . quite low.”
She nodded. Squeezed Josh’s hand. Her chest was working hard, even with the ventilator in, and it hurt.
“Your organs are shutting down,” Dr. Bennett said, “and we can’t . . . we’re out of options.”
Lauren closed her eyes. Out of options.
This was it. She was dying. Her beautiful, happy life was ending. She’d known it would, but now that it was here . . . shit.