The ventilator blew, like Jo Ellen scoffing out a breath.
“I mean it,” Maggie continued. “Of course, we’re all feeling guilty. Eli’s a wreck, second-guessing every word, every safety check, every moment on the day you…the day this happened.”
She closed her eyes against tears she so rarely shed. Not Maggie. Jo? Oh, yes, she’d bawl like a baby over a commercial. Maggie only let herself cry at the end ofGone with the Wind. And only because Rhett was a stubborn fool.
“But nobody is blaming you, Jo, and I don’t want you to be hard on yourself for loving your plants so much. You don’t get to come back to me and apologize. That’s forbidden.”
She leaned in closer.
“Butpleasecome back. We have so much to do together. We just found each other again! After all those years?—”
Then the door opened, and a brisk, all-business nurse hustled in. “I’m sorry, your visiting time is up.”
Maggie stared at her, wishing she had some authority in this place, but knowing she had none.
“We’re starting a critical procedure,” she continued when Maggie didn’t move.
“What is it?” Maggie asked.
“The doctor will talk to your family in the lounge in a few minutes. She’ll explain everything, but I have to prepare her, so…” She angled her head toward the door. “If you don’t mind.”
Oh, she did mind. Very much. But Maggie nodded and pushed up, bending over to kiss Jo Ellen on the forehead.
“I love you, Thumbnail.”
With that, she stepped outside and walked to the family lounge that the Lawsons and Wylies had taken over. Kate andTessa were on the small orange couch, both on their phones. Eli rose from the chair when Maggie entered, reaching to give her a hug.
“We’re waiting for Dr. Halpern,” he said, referring to the neurologist they’d been assigned on Monday.
Maggie nodded. “I heard. Can I be here when she comes?” She directed the question to the ladies who were, technically, the “family” that was allowed in here.
“Of course,” Kate said, putting her phone down and standing. “She might as well be your sister, Maggie,” she said.
Maggie wasn’t much of a hugger, but when Kate stepped forward for a spontaneous embrace, Maggie gave in and held her, noticing how thin she felt. Poor thing probably hadn’t had a bite to eat for days.
As they composed themselves, the door opened and Dr. Marcia Halpern came in, carrying an iPad.
She was a small, efficient woman in her late forties, wearing navy scrubs and a stethoscope draped around her neck. She sat down in the empty chair and gestured for all of them to do the same, a move that surprised and impressed Maggie, since most of the doctors had rushed through everything since they got here.
She seemed calmly in control.
“I want to explain the process to you,” she said after greeting them, “and answer any questions before we start bringing her out of the coma.” She cleared her throat and glanced at each of them in turn. “We’re going to begin the sedation wean in about thirty minutes. That means we slowly reduce the propofol drip over several hours. Her body will start clearing the medication and we will keep her under constant surveillance for a change in her vitals.”
“Can the vent come out?” Eli asked.
“The breathing tube stays in until she can demonstrate adequate respiratory effort on her own and protect her own airway,” the doctor replied. “That could be sooner or later. I’ll make the call.”
She waited a beat for questions, but they were all quiet.
“Her numbers are where we want them to be,” she continued. “The ICP has held in the goal range for forty-eight hours. The follow-up CT this morning showed no new bleeding and good resolution of the midline shift. Her surgeon did beautiful work. These are the things we want to see at this stage.”
“So, she’s out of the woods?” Tessa asked. “We just need to get her out of a medically induced coma?”
Dr. Halpern pinned steady gray eyes on Tessa. “She is definitely not out of the woods. We don’t know what will happen when the sedation clears. With subdural hematomas of this size, we see a range. Some patients wake up and are themselves—the same person they were before, perhaps slower for a few weeks, perhaps fatigued for months, but recognizable. Some wake up with deficits like language issues, memory issues, weakness on one side, changes in personality, which may or may not resolve over time.”
Maggie shifted, trying to imagine that version of Jo, who couldn’t take long walks or do Wordle. But it wouldn’t matter. It would still be Jo Ellen.
“Some patients wake up in a state we call minimally conscious—they’re tracking, they’re technically conscious, but they’re not really there.”
