by Mary Ramsey
“Please don’t say that. You’ve been nothing but a friend.”
“And I will always be your friend.” London took out her phone and proceeded to take a selfie of her kissing my hand. I smiled, throwing the peace sign.
She started to compose a post out loud, “My bro Dakota developed a lung infection …” She turned to me. “Oh, wait—how private is this?”
“Go ahead,” I said trying to keep a brave face. My career looked dead as it was—letting the world see me this way, showing the reality of having CF, was a gamble.
“Dakota is … fighting for his life,” she went on. “Please keep him your prayers.” After posting, London leaned close, allowing me to watch as she refreshed her screen over and over. There was an immediate outpouring of compassion.
“Delete the fucking picture,” Jen said from across the room.
“No, I’m not deleting it. Sean’s fans deserve the opportunity to show their love and support.” London got up and walked over to Shauna, who was standing wide-eyed in the doorway. “Maybe Shauna would like to hold her daddy.”
Jen grabbed London’s wrist. “Do not touch my daughter.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I am done with you pushing your way in and making decisions about what Shauna should or should not do. I am her mom. I’m also Sean’s wife. Throwing your cash at him does not make him your property.”
“I never said—”
“So why can’t you butt the hell out? He’s in this state because you made him think he had to be some kind of superhero. He is sick. It sucks, but it is what it is, and you making him think he’s invincible helps nobody.”
“Why are you being such a bitch?” London yanked her hand back. “You need to be the wife he deserves.”
Jen picked up Shauna and left the room, Shauna screaming at me over her shoulder.
London returned to my side, looking stunned. “Dakota, what happened?”
I had to choke back tears as Shauna was hauled out of sight. “She thinks I dedicated my career to you. I didn’t know she was so upset. The past few months have been amazing, I thought we were happy.” Tears were flowing all on their own. Cam was right, I’d screwed up bad.
“Maybe things will get better when I get you home.”
She sat with me for a while, neither of us saying much. The silence was eventually broken when Dr. Emilio knocked on the door. He looked tired, but his face lit up when he saw London turning in her seat. “You made it! Good to see you, sweetheart.”
“I couldn’t not come.” She hugged him. “So, what’s going on?”
“The poor kid had a stroke.”
“Hey!” I growled, “I’m awake, you know!”
He went on to explain to London the unfortunate nature of my condition.
From what I could understand, my brain was fried. Like a laptop that fell victim to a power surge, my brain’s connections to my nerves were all screwed up. I was lucky I could even open my eyes; the fact I was speaking was a medical miracle.
Long story short: I royally fucked up.
Eight
Dr. Emilio stayed for the next four days, playing mediator between Jen and London until there was news of Dr. Elise Chan’s private plane touching down at the airport to escort me back to L.A. I was loaded in an ambulance to meet the plane. The rest of the group took a taxi.
Once we were airborne, Dr. Chan walked me through the prognosis. It wasn’t good.
I looked over at Shauna, playing at the far end of the jet, and still couldn’t make the news about the stroke stick in my head.
“Sean?” Dr. Chan pressed, squeezing my hand.
“Can you at least make me comfortable?”
“Of course. I have stronger pain medicine for the flight home, and once we get back to the States, we can work on regaining your strength.”
“Thanks.” I was surprised at her professionalism. We hadn’t parted on good terms.
Throughout the flight, Dr. Chan sat between Jen and London, keeping them apart, but also keeping them both informed. London was the one who seemed interested in my wellbeing, but Jen was the one legally required to make decisions on my behalf, should I become unable. “Due to the advanced state of Sean’s condition, I’m inclined to recommend hospice care,” Dr. Chan told Jen.
“I’d like to take him home.”
“It’s a lot to manage,” Dr. Chan said gently.
“He has other family members,” London pointed out. “His sister is a medical school student, and her boyfriend’s a former paramedic. I could fly Sean’s mother in, if necessary.”
“No, I can take care of him,” Jen insisted, looking out the window.
Her tone made London go quiet.
Upon landing I was taken directly to the UCLA intensive care ward, to my own room. I took a nap while I was wheeled to the room like Pharaoh about to be entombed for all eternity. I had spiked another fever.
A touch on my shoulder woke me. I pulled my eyes open to find myself in a room with Sara leaning over me.
I turned my head and smiled. Then I saw Johnny. And Remy.
“Hey, Sean,” Remy said as he slid up by Sara, looping his arm around her waist. “I’ll be happy to help out, so Jen won’t be overwhelmed.”
“Like hell you will,” I said. “What the fuck are you?”
He stepped off. “Chill, man. I’m a human being, same as you.”
“I’m not sleeping with my sister.”
“Johnny and Sara have accepted me into their relationship.”
I glanced at Johnny, whose face suggested otherwise. “I can’t wrap my head around this—get out! I want you out of my room and out of my condo.”
Sara looked at me with a mixture of sadness and anger. “It’s not your condo.”
Remy folded his arms. “Sean, do you even want to understand?”
“No,” I snapped. But quite honestly, I did. I couldn’t figure out how Johnny was allowing this guy to sleaze his way into their space.
“It’s simple. Diego broke my heart. After Suzanna’s cancer diagnosis, she started writing to him. Writing led to them, talking on the phone, and next thing I know, he’s visiting her.”
“Yeah. I know.” I could summon an ounce of compassion for that part. In all fairness, Remy had been good for Diego.
“Then, one day out of the blue, I caught him packing his suitcase. Suzanna wasn’t scheduled to be paroled for another month, but he’d testified at her parole hearing. He had known for weeks that she was getting released early, and he didn’t tell me.” Remy exhaled hard, staring up at the ceiling as he bit his lip. Sara stroked his back in a way that gave me the creeps. “He handed me a letter. He’d been planning on walking out without even saying goodbye.”
“I get it. You’re hurting. But you don’t need to be in her goddamn bed.”
“We’re not having sex,” Remy said, his voice not rising in the slightest. “We’re co-habituating, balancing each other’s energy.”
“Really? How long before you stick your chakra in my sister’s solar plexus?” I shook my head, annoyed I couldn’t think straight. “That came out stupid, but you know what I mean.”
“I would never, I swear,” Remy said, moving closer. “I just need someone to lean on.”
“Go to a fucking bar and lean on someone who’s not your cousin’s fiancé!”
“Fuck you, Sean,” Sara cried as she left with Remy.
They’d been gone a full minute before Johnny managed to crank up a smile. “Thanks for that. I know Remy’s not going to leave, but thanks for trying.”
“Oh, he is. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but by the time I get discharged, that fucker will be out of the condo.”
Johnny sighed. “Not if Sara has anything to do with it. You saw the picture—Suzanna’s rubbing her victory in Sara’s face after everything Sara did to try and get him out of that hellhole of a relationship. Remy and your sister are united by their anger. That’s a tough bond to break.”
“Is D
iego actually happy?” I asked. “Do you think Suzanna’s changed?”
“Hell if I know,” he said with a shrug. “Like you said, it’s his choice to make.”
The next day I was set up for some kind of physical therapy along with monitoring my brain activity. There were electrodes stuck to my head in such a way they disappeared into my long hair. I was holding a stress ball, squeezing it while attempting to lift my wrist, a task which was difficult since all my body wanted was to sleep. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I felt like there was something stabbing me in the kidneys, and it’s difficult to sleep when you have an invisible force clawing out your internal organs.
Johnny visited my room at eight in the morning. My fever was still abnormally high, but there was no change to the course of treatment. “What the fuck?” Johnny said as he looked at my chart.
“Dr. Chan says my body is tired of fighting.”
“Oh, hell no, this is some bureaucratic bullshit.”
“My back hurts. I tried to tell my nurse, but she brushed it off as inflammation.”
Johnny reached beneath my ribs, putting even pressure on a spot near my spine, and I made a noise like a dying animal.
“Yeah, that would be the spot.”
“How long has this pain been here?”
“Since around midnight.”
Johnny lowered my blanket, allowing me to see the catheter bag hanging close to the floor. The contents were dark with faint swirls of red.
I went cold. “Johnny, do you see what I see?”
Johnny hit the button for the nurse. An old white woman with hair pulled into a short ponytail entered, looking bored.
“Is he complaining to you about his side pain?”
“He’s pissing blood.”
“That’s a symptom of organ failure, I’m afraid.”
Johnny ground his teeth. “Sean has had every cystic fibrosis symptom known to man. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that he might also have a kidney infection. His body’s too weak to fight a battle on multiple fronts, so if you can treat this, do.”
“So … you’re a doctor?”
“I’m a licensed paramedic.”
“Be that as it may, Dr. Chan put me in charge of his care.”
I had to laugh at that. “What care?”
“As a Christian woman,” she went on dryly, “I’m not inclined to give into every—”
“You think my friend’s a pill junkie?” Johnny shook his head.
“I am aware of the reputation and character Mr. Foster has presented in the media, and his notes show how irresponsible and freewheeling Sean’s been with his own medical care.”
“So, he’s a junkie and a drama queen?”
The nurse gave him a flinty smile. “What exactly do you want, sweetie?”
“I want a CT scan and a blood panel.”
“I’ll put in a call to Dr. Chan.”
“You do that. I’ll be making a call as well.” Johnny pulled out his phone.
The nurse laughed. “A call to your lawyer?”
“Sean’s mother.”
She stared, eyes wide. Blinked. Retreated, at a rapid pace.
I smiled as Johnny filled my mother in, guiding her toward the angle that they were refusing to treat me because I was already disabled and into palliative care stage. The nurse’s own prejudices were really a moot point: she was taking instructions from Dr. Chan.
Mom was a force to be reckoned with. Her journalistic career had really taken off over the last four years, and she’d written more articles about me than all of my shoots and commercials combined, along with doing some high-profile campaigning for cystic fibrosis awareness. She wanted the world to know I was her baby, and if anyone mistreated me there would be hell to pay. Her reach could be both awful and awesome; the fast food shoot in Korea that turned me away without even an audition had led to a product boycott. After just a minute, Johnny pocketed his cell with a grin.
It took Dr. Chan less than an hour to make it to my room. “I had my receptionist clear my next few appointments. Explain, now,” she said to Johnny.
Johnny touched the area, making me flinch. “Sorry, bud. But you needed to see that, Dr. Chan. This is local. If Sean had organ failure, there would be pain everywhere.”
Dr. Chan did her own examination and took my chart from the end of the bed, scribbling on it, not looking either of us in the eye. I figured she’d already had that conversation with my mom.
The scan and blood panels revealed bacterial cysts, and I was started on a fresh round of antibiotics.
As the medications were taking hold, Johnny told me about the morning he proposed to Sara. Within hours I was regaining strength; the pain in my kidneys, while still present, was no longer all-consuming. I could tell Johnny was feeling happier too, and his face lit up as Lita Love tapped on the door.
“Are you going to let us in or not?” she called, her voice loud even through the glass barrier.
“Us?” I craned to look behind Lita, seeing a shorter girl I’d never met before.
“Hey,” Johnny said as he opened the door for his boss.
Lita and her friend pushed past. “Sean, long time no see.” Her smile filled my heart with light. “This is my sister Claudia.”
Claudia was cute. She had short pink hair and a wrapped tattoo on her thigh, peeking out from her tutu-like skirt. “Hi.”
Lita dragged in a large portfolio bag and put it inside the door, then came over to pat my shoulder. “You’re looking strong.”
“It’s all thanks to Johnny. He’s a good guy and soon to be family.” I slugged his arm. “Why don’t you tell them the story of how you proposed to my sister?”
Johnny told them about how he’d originally wanted to propose at a temple in Japan, but after that raging argument about her putting her schedule before everything, they wound up having a shots tournament. He’d woken up with a horrific hangover and a chest tattoo.
“What tattoo?” Claudia asked.
I cackled. “Show them.”
“Sean, are you really going to make me do this?”
“Laughter is the best medicine,” I replied. It literally was. My oxygen was normalizing, as was my blood pressure.
Johnny quietly took off his shirt, showing a raw addition to his chest. “Property of Sara Foster-DeSilvia,” it said.
Lita was laughing so hard she had to sit down.
“Promise me you’ll give her a better ring when you actually tie the knot,” I said.
“Only if you promise me you’ll walk her down the aisle.”
“Walk? That might be aiming a little high?”
My nurse came back in, frowning. “Your friends are being far too disruptive.”
Lita went to the door. “We came here to give Sean a gift, and then we’ll leave.”
“Keep it down. He’s not the only patient who needs rest.”
Lita flipped off the nurse as she stomped away, and then started to remove a painting from the portfolio bag. The image was of a tarot card, the wheel of fate. It was a category so open that every one of the artists in the shop could add their own spin. The images ranged from the Virgin Mary to Japanese temples to flowers: images of peace and hope.
“A little color for your room.”
I grinned. I could look at that painting for hours. “Thanks. Really appreciate it.”
Lita glanced back at the transparent glass door; Jen was arriving with Shauna. “We better go before your wife catches hell from nurse Ratched.”
Jen entered without so much as a “hello” and took a seat at the opposite side of the room.
“Where have you been?” Johnny asked.
Jen shrugged. “Shauna and I slept until noon.”
“Daddy!” Shauna ran over, reaching up her arms.
“Hey, baby girl!” Johnny swept her up into his arms. “I can’t put you in your daddy’s bed just yet because his side is hurting.”
“Come on, man.” I genuinely missed Shauna’s hugs. “Ju
st for a minute.”
“Try not to hit your daddy’s PICC line,” Johnny said as he gently placed her in my arms.
Just that one cuddle made the world of difference.
With proper treatment, I began to make progress.
In time, the fevers had all but vanished, the feeding tube was removed, the drainage port closed. But Jen was still distant. I tried to pretend it didn’t bother me.
She couldn’t stay mad forever, right?
Nine
In June, on my shared twenty-second birthday, Mom surprised me in my hospital room. My body was stronger. I could sit up and move my hands, even if I couldn’t yet get into my wheelchair on my own. She burst into the room, looking surprisingly casual in a white floral sundress. “Sean, I’ve missed you so much!”
I hugged her, happier than I’d been in a while. “Is there any reason why you don’t look like you’re on your way to an arraignment?”
“Because I’m not. And today is a day of joy.” She cupped my face. “My little angel’s going home soon!”
I smiled wide, but it faded just as fast as I watched Remy file in with Sara and Johnny. Jen hadn’t visited in a couple days.
“Happy birthday, Sara.” Remy handed her an object wrapped in purple paper.
“Thanks,” she said with a smile as she tore into the gift.
Johnny pulled up a chair in front of Sara, laying his hand on hers before she got the gift open. “What do you say we go to Vegas this weekend? Just the two of us?”
“Sure, we can leave on Saturday after my classes, drive through the desert, sleep in the van, then have the whole day Sunday.”
“No worries,” Remy said. “I can go out, hit up a club.”
No one fucking asked you. “You could,” I muttered, “Or you could get to work on moving out.”
I was released that Friday. Johnny was hesitant about leaving Jen alone with me, so he convinced my mom to stay at the condo. “Just until we get back, in case Jen has a breakdown.”
As Mom frowned, I turned to face the TV, trying to hide how much Jen’s detachment bothered me.