Meanwhile, Remi’s choking gasps pull my attention up.Is she getting worse?Liam and I exchange a helpless look as Remi wheezes sharply, her breaths coming fast and shallow. Okay, yes, she’s definitely getting worse…
Below me, Briar curses, resorting to dumping out the contents of the bag on the floor, unable to find what she’s looking for.
I feel useless.
Another wheeze, and I can’t stand it anymore. I stride toward Liam, closing the gap between us in seconds. “Can I have her?” I ask, holding out my arms.
Liam doesn’t hesitate, gently transferring Remi over to me. “Aidan was calling an ambulance, I’m going to go check on that.”
“Okay, thank you.” My brother gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before running back outside.
I look back down to find Remi staring up at me with wide eyes full of fear. Her little body is trembling with the effort it’s taking her just tobreathe. I feel so fucking helpless. If she needed me to, I’d burn the whole fucking city down for her, but that’s not what she needs right now.
“Hey, hey,” I say as gently as I can, running my fingers through her hair, like I did for her mother that day in the dance studio. This isn’t a panic attack—something is really,reallywrong—but that look of fear in Remi’s eyes softens, even as that horrifying wheeze intensifies, rattling now into her chest.
“Briar?” I call, unable to hide the fear in my voice, while doing my best to keep it from my face, holding Remi’s gaze.
“I got it. It’s here. I have it.” The relief in her voice is palpable, even though I still don’t know whatitis. Briar rushes toward us, and I take a seat on the bed so she can better reach Remi, seeing the little L-shaped plastic device in her hands.
An inhaler.
Right, Briar said Remi has asthma, but I never imagined…
“Okay, Remi-roo, you know what to do.” Briar looks down at Remi, and she nods, a serious look on her face. “Deep breaths in,” Briar instructs, releasing the spray, and Remi inhales just as Briar instructed. “And slow breath out.”
The rattle in Remi’s breathing lessens, but doesn’t go away like I was hoping it would.
“One more time.” Briar nods, and I watch them go through the process again. “Asthma,” Briar explains, and I realize she’s finally answering my question from earlier. “She has asthma.”
Another minute passes with both of us monitoring our daughter’s breathing, but she’s still wheezing, though the color has come back slightly in her lips, and that terrifying rattle is gone. “Shouldn’t that have worked better?” I nod to the inhaler Briar’s holding tightly in her hand.
Briar sighs, “She hascomplicatedasthma.” I take my eyes off Remi long enough to see the pain on Briar’s face, the heavy weariness in her eyes.
Voices float in from the hall, and we both sit up straighter. I’m still holding Remi in my arms when the EMTs step into my bedroom. They made pretty good time, considering the remote location of the cabin. Briar answers questions while two EMTs converge on Remi and me, listening to her breathing and taking her oxygen levels.
“Alright, Dad, I’m going to put this mask on her just like this.” The female EMT slips a small plastic mask around Remi’s face, adjusting it until it fits snug. “Oxygen,” she informs me. “That should help until we get to the hospital.”
Out of the corner of my eye— I feel more than see—Briar’s gaze snap to me at the wordhospital. She’s well-acquainted with my thoughts on the place. I hate the way she looks uneasily between me and the EMT.
“No.” My grip tightens around the little girl in my arms when the male EMT pushes the gurney in our direction, and everyone stiffens when I stand. “I’ll carry her out.”
The ride to the hospital goes by in a blur. After carrying her out to the ambulance, I handed her back over to Briar but climbed in immediately after them, refusing to let either one of them out of my sight for a second.
The albuterol from the inhaler and the oxygen from the EMTs have stabilized Remi, but she’s far too pale and still wheezing. She’s stable, but not out of the woods yet. The local hospital isn’t equipped for the kind of treatment Remi needs, and the decision is made to transport her straight to Boston Children’s.
I listen closely as Briar updates the EMTs with our daughter’s medical history. My body only growing more tense when I learn about thefrequenthospitalizations and themonthlyinjections.
Upon arrival at the hospital, Briar and Remi sit atop a gurney together, disappearing behind a set of double doors. I go to follow but pull up short when I suddenly find a stout, but stern, nurse in my path. I go to circle around her, but she moves with me, holding up her arms.
“Sir, Sir.” The nurse addresses me more sternly the second time when I ignore her, bravely pressing a palm to my chest to hold me back. “It’s family only past this point.”
“That’s my daughter,” I growl, spending extra effort to slide the nurse asgentlyas possible to the side, instead of shoving her like I want to, and proceeding through the damn doors.
The doctor is already in the room by the time I catch up with them, and I slip in as quietly as I can. Remi is still on Briar’s lap, but they’re on a hospital bed now. She sees me looking and gives me a little wave.
I wave back.
“So, have you given any more thought to what we discussed last time?”
