by K A Moll
Diego ran for the bathroom trashcan, holding it for her while she vomited.
“Thanks,” Coby panted as she wiped her mouth. “So cold,” she whimpered as her teeth began to chatter.
“You stay put,” Diego directed, “I’ll help you.”
He covered her with a blanket, tucking it tightly around her neck.
“Thanks,” she repeated with another moan, “I owe ya.”
“No,” Diego responded with a gentle smile, “you don’t” He touched the back of his hand to her forehead. “You lay still,” he added, “I’ll be right back.”
Coby rolled back to her side, bringing her knees high, allowing her body to crumple onto itself.
***
Coy crimped the corner of her page. “On my way,” she called out, laying her journal on the table next to the sofa, pleased that Coby had come around more quickly than she’d expected. It was good that they’d be able to talk through her most recent bout of jealousy tonight. She untucked her legs, stood, and tied her robe. “Coming,” she responded after another series of demanding knocks. She looked through the peek hole before opening the door. “Why Diego,” she said with a lift in her voice, “what a surprise.” Coby must’ve pointed out her room. “Come in,” she added as she pulled back on the knob. “Can I get you something to drink? I have fruit juice or sparkling water.”
“Neither,” Diego responded with a shake of his head. “I can’t stay,” he continued, “I have to get back to Coby.” He drew his eyebrows together. “She’s sick, amiga, and I need you to come.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Coy asked, already crossing the room for her slippers.
“I don’t know,” Diego answered, “she’s just sick, really sick; that’s all. You need to come now!”
“I’m coming,” Coy responded. “Just let me grab my bag,” she called out from her closet. “What are her symptoms?”
“Bad belly pain,” Diego responded. “She’s got a fever too, and she’s throwing up.”
“Okay,” Coy said, calming. “So it’s most likely a virus of some kind.” She set her medical bag on a chair to check its contents.
“If so,” Diego said, “it’s one hell of a nasty one.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Because I’ve never seen so much blood pour out of someone.”
Coy sucked in a breath. “Blood?” she asked. Her heartbeat raced, the organ nearly exploding as she awaited his response.
“Sí,” Diego answered, “that’s pretty much all she’s throwing up.” He stepped toward the door. “Come on, amiga,” he urged with pleading eyes, “I left her alone.”
“I’m ready,” Coy said, “let’s go.”
***
Diego stepped aside, allowing Coy to enter first.
Coy made her way to the bed, soundlessly monitoring for a minute, before backing off. “Let’s let her sleep while I check out what she’s been vomiting,” she whispered.
Diego nodded. “I’ll get it for you,” he whispered back.
Coy studied the specimen with a frown and a sigh. “I assume she’s been drinking,” she commented.
“Maybe,” Diego responded, “I’m not sure about tonight.”
Coy glanced to the trash container by the door, her face tightening as she counted the cans laying around it. “She has,” she muttered, “and quite a lot.” She filled her lungs, exhaling slowly. “Okay, let’s have you step out while I take a look at her.”
“Sí, I’ll wait outside the door,” Diego responded. “You holler if you need something.”
“I will,” Coy said. She met his gaze with a nod and a reassuring smile. “But I think we’ll be fine.”
Chapter Thirteen
Coy fought nausea as she moved to Coby’s bedside. She took a breath and let it go. It’s fine, she told herself. Coby’s breathing was steady; her color wasn’t the best, but okay; and she was sleeping peacefully. There was nothing to suggest that her condition was life threatening; nothing at all. With what appeared to be a recent bout of binge drinking, she was most likely dealing with a case of acute pancreatitis, and she knew it. She knew it, but her brain wouldn’t stop playing out all the worst-case scenarios. You’re just working yourself up into a lather, she told herself. She took a long breath and exhaled slowly. Since Fergie’s death, she had avoided emergency medicine at all cost. She flashed back to that night, wondering if Fergie’s last words would ever fade from her mind. Shake it off and focus, she told herself. This is not an emergency. Your patient has symptoms, but she’s not dying tonight. She rolled her shoulders and her neck. Just do a physical like you do every single day, and you’ll be fine. She closed her eyes and willed her breathing to slow. “Hey there, Bears fan,” she cooed. She bent down to gently kiss Coby’s forehead, guessing her temperature to be near 102°, not life threatening but concerning. A lock of hair fell into her face and she tucked it behind her ear.
Coby’s eyes opened as slits but widened as she oriented to her surroundings. “Hey, Packer Backer,” she slurred, trying to hide any sign of discomfort.
Coy gently lifted Coby’s wrist as she checked her watch.
Coby gulped a breath, stiffening.
“You’re okay,” Coy reassured gently, “just taking your pulse.” She tilted her head and her eyes narrowed. “A bit fast,” she commented. “Can you show me where you hurt?”
“I don’t hurt,” Coby responded as beads of sweat appeared on her upper lip and forehead.
“I think maybe you do,” Coy countered. She brushed her cheek with the back of her hand, noting that her skin was clammy to the touch.
Coby moved away. “I’m fine,” she insisted wide-eyed.
Coy’s mind raced, searching for answers. Pain was a piece of what she was observing, but not all of it. “Okay,” she continued, “how about you let me check you out to be sure?”
Coby’s nostrils flared. “No,” she barked.
Coy held her gaze, kindly. “Hey there, you’re okay,” she reassured, “I won’t do anything to hurt you. I just want to be sure you’re alright.”
“I’m fine,” Coby repeated, shifting her position to get up. She swallowed multiple times and then lowered back down. “Trashcan,” she blurted out with a gag.
Coy grabbed the can and held it for her. She stroked through her hair as she vomited, and handed her a wet cloth when she was done.
“Thanks,” Coby said as she wiped her mouth. In the next instant, she groaned, clamping her abdomen.
“You’re welcome,” Coy responded. She took an easy breath and let it go. “How about you lay back and let me palpate your abdomen?” She gave Coby a gentle nudge toward her pillow.
Coby resisted, shaking her head violently, and saying, “No.”
“I won’t hurt you, baby,” Coy promised. “I’ll just lift your shirt up a little bit, unzip your jeans, and check you out.”
Coby glared. “I said no,” she barked.
Coy pinched her brow and lips. “Come on now,” she urged firmly, “you’re vomiting blood and you’ve got severe pain in your abdomen.” She reached to touch her. “You need to let me see what you’ve got going on.”
“I said no,” Coby groaned. Her hand snapped out to grip Coy’s wrist as she moved to touch her.
“Let go,” Coy demanded as their gazes locked.
“Then keep your hands off of me,” Coby snapped. “You don’t need to worry; I’ll see someone if I need to in the morning.”
Coy’s eyes teemed with tears and she struggled to catch her breath.
Coby’s eyes moistened in response.
“Fine,” Coy choked, spinning toward the door, “I’m done.”
***
“Wait, don’t go,” Coby called out. “I’m not mad or anything.”
“Good for you,” Coy responded as she yanked the knob.
“Hey, amiga,” Diego greeted with a cock of his head. “What’s wrong? ... How’s Coby? … Where you going?”
/> “Stay with her,” Coy choked, “I’ll send someone to see to her shortly.”
“What’s wrong?” Diego asked with a touch to her arm. “Why are you crying?”
Coy shook her head. “Just stay, okay?” she sobbed.
“Sí,” Diego responded, “I’ll stay with her.”
Coy could feel his eyes on her back as she ran down the hall.
***
Coy’s chest ached, and her breath was crouching in her lungs like a burdensome weight as she opened her door. She cupped her palm across her mouth, determined to make the call before she gave in to the wave of emotion that hovered just below the surface. Imposing on her boss for the second time in one day wasn’t ideal, but she knew he’d come out to check on Coby without asking for a reason. Her phone rang before she had the chance to dial. She stared off, knowing that the call would be from Coby. Leaving her felt like tossing a match into a box of priceless heirlooms, but she’d done what she had to do. She never should’ve allowed herself to entertain the possibility of more anyway. So much for Antarctica being the place to steer clear of the pain and drama of relationships. She slipped her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, not to answer, but to confirm what she already knew. When she realized the call was from Alabama, at three in the morning, her tears broke free, and she swiped the screen. “Mama,” she cried, “it’s daddy, isn’t it?”
“Oh, Coy Annabelle,” Marigold sobbed. “I wish you were here.” It was forever before she uttered her next words. “He got up to go to the bathroom like he always does,” she went on, “but he didn’t make it.” She broke down again. “I heard a thud,” she cried, “and it was him.”
“I’m afraid to ask,” Coy choked, “if—.”
“I’m not sure,” Marigold squeaked. “The ambulance isn’t here yet.”
“So, you’re still at home,” Coy said, struggling to pull herself together. “Is the dispatcher on the other line?”
“No,” Marigold responded, “I hung up with him so that I could call you.” There was another pause for tears. “I thought you’d know better what to do.”
Coy sucked in a breath. “So, you’re with him then?” she asked.
“Yes,” Marigold whimpered, “I’m right here.” There was a shifting of position. “I’m right here,” she cooed, “aren’t I baby.”
Coy swallowed hard, desperate to focus. “Is the door unlocked so that the paramedics can get in?” she continued.
“Yes,” Marigold responded, “I only left him for a second to do it.”
“That’s good,” Coy whispered with a deep breath. “I want you to initiate FaceTime,” she directed, “and turn the camera so that I can see him.”
“I should’ve already done that,” Marigold answered. “I’m so rattled, I just didn’t think of it.”
“It’s okay, Mama,” Coy assured, “just do it quickly so that I can see what we’re dealing with.” She clicked through what she could assess from a distance as she waited for the image that she didn’t want to see. “Oh, dear God,” she choked almost inaudibly. With her next breath, she took charge of the situation. “Okay, Mama,” she said, “I need you to listen to me and do exactly what I say as quickly as you can.”
“Oh God,” Marigold whimpered, “I can tell by your voice that we’re gonna lose him.”
“Stop talking like that,” Coy said firmly. “You don’t know that he can’t hear you.”
“Okay, just tell me what to do,” Marigold said.
“You remember when I taught you CPR?” Coy asked.
Marigold nodded, saying, “But I thought you weren’t supposed to do it if someone was breathing.”
“But he’s not,” Coy said, “at least not normally. Listen. Do you hear it? His breathing sounds more like raspy snoring. That’s his body attempting to breathe after a cardiac arrest.”
“Oh, no,” Marigold cried, “we’re gonna lose him.”
“Stay with me, Mama,” Coy directed. “CPR will help him, but you need to start fast.” She gulped in a breath as her mom got into position. “That’s right,” she said, “tip his head back and lift his chin...See, you do remember...Now place one hand on top of the other...right there, in the middle of his chest...Now, push hard and fast.”
“One-hundred per minute, right?” Marigold asked, becoming more focused.
“That’s right, Mama,” Coy answered. “We’ll count together...Okay, pinch his nose and deliver two rescue breaths...And now we’re back to chest compressions.” She sobbed softly at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
“We’ll take over, ma’am,” the paramedic said as he assumed Marigold’s position.
Marigold turned the camera around. Without words, they peered into one another’s eyes and sobbed together. “I have to go now,” she said, “because they want to talk to me.”
“I’ll be on my way as soon as I can catch a flight out,” Coy responded. “Call me when you know something.”
“I will,” Marigold promised.
“I love you,” Coy choked. “Tell daddy I love him too, okay?”
Marigold touched Coy’s image with her fingertip. “We love you too. Be safe.”
“I will,” Coy promised. “I’ll see you soon.” As an afterthought, she asked if she’d called her brother to tell him.
“I will,” Marigold said with a slow shake of her head, “if I can get through.”
***
Coy adjusted the speaker volume so that she could move about the room.
“I’m so sorry,” Doc Harmon said, “I hope everything turns out okay.” Both knew that the majority of cardiac arrest survivors had some degree of brain injury. “It sounds like you were right on top of getting him what he needed.” He paused in response to sobbing. “You did all you could do.” Both also knew that the time between a patient collapsing and the start of CPR could make a difference in overall prognosis. “Oh my gosh,” he blurted out, “what was I thinking? We may be able to get you out of here tonight.”
“Tonight?” Coy clarified. “I thought the next flight out was day after tomorrow.”
“It was,” Doc Harmon responded, “but the patient from this afternoon requires surgical intervention. We just got her loaded onto the airplane. You can catch a ride with her to Christchurch if you hurry.”
“Oh my God, a medevac,” Coy exclaimed. “I’ll be there in minutes,” she assured.
“I need to go so that it doesn’t take off without you,” Doc Harmon said.
“Go,” Coy responded. She dressed and loaded her suitcases by the handful. As she boarded the flight, she thanked him for everything—for seeing to Coby; for being a great boss, albeit short-term; and for getting her out of there quickly.
Chapter Fourteen
“Just a minute,” Coby called out, pushing back the covers. Her head spun, but only a little, and her pain had dulled to an ache. She sat for a moment before moving to answer.
“Hi Coby,” Doc Harmon greeted.
“Oh no,” Coby said, shaking her head, as she held the door open for him to step in.
“Coy asked me to stop by to check on you,” he continued. “You mind if I do that?”
Coby sighed and shook her head. “I told her I was fine,” she said, hoping that she didn’t look too rough around the edges.
After a poke and a prod, he suspected that she might have an acute case of pancreatitis. “I’d like to admit you for observation and check your blood for pancreatic enzymes,” the doc said.
Before he finished, Coby was shaking her head again. “No, I’ll be fine right here,” she said. “And you don’t need to check for anything because I already know that’s what it is.” She met his eye. “I’ve been ‘round this tree before. I know painkillers are all you can do for me.”
“If it is pancreatitis,” Doc Harmon responded, “that’s correct.”
“It is,” Coby said. She knew from experience that if she didn’t drink, her symptoms would ease over the n
ext few days. In fact, they already had.
“No admission, no painkillers,” Doc Harmon said firmly.
“I don’t care about that,” Coby responded, “I don’t want ‘em anyway.” The truth was, she did, but not enough to be admitted. As she reflected on what a nightmare that would be, she remembered Coy’s words as she left. Fine, she’d choked through tears; I’m done. With that, Coby bid the good doctor a quick farewell and dialed her number.
It rang and rang and rang. After fifteen minutes, she dialed again and left a voice mail. “Call me, okay?” she requested. An agonizing hour passed before her next effort and subsequent message. “Come on, Coy. I’m sorry,” she choked. “Please call me, okay?” When she dialed Diego, Maria answered saying that he’d left without his cell. She dialed Coy again, left another voice mail, and checked the clock—one—two—four—five-thirty—six—six-thirty. She should be up by now, she thought. She got dressed, walked down the hall, and knocked. No answer. She knocked again, harder this time, and the door squeaked open. She gulped in a breath. Dear God, where had she gone?
***
It was a trip with minimal layovers, but in Coy’s mind it took much longer to get home than it had to get there—McMurdo to Christchurch—Christchurch to Aukland—Auckland to Houston—Houston to Pensacola—Pensacola to Magnolia Springs. What in the world had she been thinking, going to the friggin’ bottom of the world? What, when she knew, or at least strongly suspected, that her daddy was seriously ill? And yet, had she not gone, she would never have gotten to know—fallen in love with—and lost—Coby. Her tears trickled onward, as they had since she’d peered through the clouds for her last glimpse of Antarctica. With a final sniffle, she buzzed for entrance onto the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit. As she made her way around the familiar circle, she couldn’t help but think about her third and fourth-year clinical rotations. It was an odd feeling, being the family member. She paused soundlessly at her daddy’s door, needing a moment to regain composure, and swallowing hard when her mama looked up.