She barely has time to help me climb into bed and put the blood-pressure cuff around my arm when I hear my mom’s voice.
“Which room is she in? Is she conscious? How bad is it?”
Hunter gives me an encouraging nod when I glance his way, as if he somehow knows I need to bolster my strength to deal with my mom’s panic on top of my own.
“She’s right in here, Mrs. Karlsson.”
Mom rushes through the door and then bursts into tears when she sees me sitting up in bed.
“We are getting her checked in right now,” Winny preempts my mom’s questions, “but I will let you know what her vitals are as I take them.”
The blood-pressure cuff tightens on my arm as Winny slips a pulse oximeter onto my pointer finger on my other hand and then swipes a thermometer across my forehead and down the side of my face to my jaw.
“She has a fever of 102.3.” Winny’s voice is matter-of-fact, but that number is like a rock dropping into a still lake; we can only pray the ripples don’t spread too far. “Her O2 sats are 94, so that’s pretty good. Pulse is 110.” The cuff releases, and she reports what we can all clearly see. “BP is 135 over 76.”
“How soon will she be hooked up to telemetry? Did you hear any arrhythmias when you listened?”
“I haven’t had a chance to listen yet,” Winny explains with far more patience than I would have been able to muster.
Mom’s panic is understandable after last year ... and the last few days. Leave it to me to have the worst possible timing to try to fight off an infection.
“I’m about to do that right now, as soon as I enter these in for Dr. Thorup.” She stands at the computer, quickly typing in my vitals, then does exactly as she promised, coming over to press her cool stethoscope to my chest, then my back. “Take a deep breath and hold it. And again. And again ...” Upper left, upper right, lower left, lower right.
My mom stands beside the bed, wringing her hands in front of her, still wearing the same clothes she’s had on for the last two days. I don’t want to think about the bakery, the doors locked, the lights off yet again. Or even worse, Farmor lying in the ICU alone, fighting for her life without either of us there.
“Her lungs sound clear. Heart sounds are normal,” Winny reports. “We’ll get her hooked up, though, to make sure, and Dr. Thorup will be in soon to go over what we need to do for treatment.”
Winny draws some blood, then takes swabs of my nose and throat before she leaves, making it even harder to swallow than before, but they need to check for strep throat and the flu.
Once the door shuts, I’m left alone with the beeping of my monitors, my mom still standing beside my bed, and Hunter hovering near the sink, next to the door.
Mom reaches over and swipes the hair back from my forehead, scowling when she feels how hot I am. “I knew I should have taken you in this morning.”
“I wasn’t this sick this morning. They would have sent me home.”
She shakes her head, concern and guilt on her face.
“I promise she seemed fine all morning. It wasn’t until she woke up from her nap this afternoon that she was worse.” Hunter’s arms are crossed, his biceps protruding beneath the short sleeves of his black T-shirt. I’m not sure if my mouth is dry because of the fever and dehydration or how good he looks in that shirt and jeans, leaning against the wall, his feet crossed at the ankles. He seems nonchalant at first glance, but I see the tightness at the corners of his mouth, though I don’t know if it’s from worry for me or his hatred of hospitals.
“Are you sure you didn’t have a fever before now?” Mom asks.
“Yes, Mom. I’m sure.” I close my eyes and lie back against the thin, pathetic excuse of comfort the hospital calls pillows.
“Good idea. You should rest while we wait.” Mom runs her fingers through my hair again, something I loved as a child.
There’s a tightness in my lungs that isn’t only from whatever sickness I’m fighting. My all-too-familiar companion is making itself known:fear. Strangling me, drowning me.
I’m afraid of dying—of course. But I’m evenmoreafraid of making my mom gothroughmy death. She’s already faced enough, losing my dad and her father-in-law in one year. And with Farmor in the hospital, on the brink of dying now, too ... I can’t bear to be the cause of more pain and loss for her. And my brothers ... What would it do to them?
“Hunter, I can’t thank you enough for helping Livvy so much today. I really appreciate it—more than you know.”
“Of course,” he replies.
“We’ve inconvenienced you a lot,” my mom continues. “If you’d rather leave than hang out in a hospital room, I think we’d both understand.”
My eyes fly open and meet his across the room. My lungs feel as though a vise has tightened around them, squeezing the air out of me; the monitor on the screen marks the jump in my heart rate. My mom’s eyes flicker to the monitor and widen a bit before bouncing between the two of us.
“I told Liv I’d stay,” Hunter finally says, quiet but firm. “As long as it’s not a problem, I’ll wait and make sure she’s okay.”
