“But my baby’s breathing.”
“She sure is. She’s very lucky. Some babies are born so early they can’t even be held. They have to lie under a heat lamp, and the first thing their mothers can do for them is to very gently wet their mouth with a soft sponge.”
It seemed Paulette’s baby was very lucky indeed. Some of these babies now fighting for their lives in the ICU nursery would never go home with their parents. At least my new niece and her mother would share some time together.
After a while, a second nurse came with a warm bottle for the baby. “Good, the family’s here,” she said. “It’s feeding time.” She handed the bottle to our nurse and then went on to the next baby.
Marie-Thérèse grasped the bottle tightly, and the nurse helped her put it into the baby’s mouth. “What kind of milk is this?” As with most children, Marie-Thérèse’s curiosity knew no bounds.
“Formula,” I said.
“Actually,” the nurse explained, “it’s mother’s milk—most of it a donation from the mothers whose babies are here. They usually express much more than their babies can eat, so they give it to the babies whose mothers are unable to nurse for one reason or another. Mother’s milk is the best thing we can give them; it will help them grow strong faster. Of course, the milk is gathered under very rigid guidelines, so it’s perfectly clean and safe. Because we’ve had so much success with it, our doctors have fought to keep the program in place.”
Like the day before, the baby had problems drinking the milk, but she managed to get some of it down. Marie-Thérèse’s face glowed with happiness, and I also felt proud of the effort the baby put out. She seemed strong and willing to try.
“We’d better put her back now,” the nurse said when she was asleep. “She hasn’t any fat to keep her warm.” She laid the baby in the warm incubator.
Marie-Thérèse stood on the chair to better see the baby. “I’ll be back, Antoinette,” she whispered so softly that I almost didn’t understand the words. “As soon as they let me.” She helped Dolly wave good-bye to the baby.
We made our way back to Paulette’s room, only to find Simone pacing outside.
“Mommy?” Marie-Thérèse walked to the door, but no one was inside.
“What happened?” I asked Simone in a hushed tone.
Her eyes held fear. “Paulette stopped breathin’,” she whispered urgently. “I called the nurse, and they worked on her. She’s breathin’ again, but that’s all they’ll tell me. They’re takin’ her to ICU. I waited here to tell you.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Oh, Ariana, I’m afraid.”
So was I.
Marie-Thérèse had satisfied herself the room was empty and returned to my side. “They’ve taken her to another room,” I said, “to watch over her better.”
“I want to see her.” Marie-Thérèse held her doll tightly in her arms. I wondered if she could feel our fear.
“We will, honey.”
Her lips trembled. “Is she going to die?”
She had asked me that question once two months before, and I had said no. Then I found out about Paulette’s AIDS and understood that she would die. I knew Marie-Thérèse’s parents had explained about the AIDS then, but two months was a long time in the eyes of a child. To her, everything had been all right again. What should I tell her now?
“No,” I found myself saying. “Don’t you worry. She’s going to be fine.”
We made our way to the ICU waiting room, where we talked to several nurses. No one would tell us anything, except that Pierre had been found and was now with Paulette. Simone paced the floor while I called Louise at home. I also called my mother. “I can’t leave until I know,” I said.
“Everything’s fine here. Take as long as you’d like. I’ll call Jean-Marc at work and put him on alert.”
“Thanks.” As I hung up, Giselle, the nurse who had taken care of Paulette before, came into the room. I was relieved to see a familiar face.
“Ariana?” she said.
“What’s going on?”
She put her arm around me and drew me away from Simone and Marie-Thérèse. “Paulette’s dying. Dr. Medard doesn’t think she’ll make it through the night. It’s not a gradual decline like it was last time but a sudden one. It’s time to call your family and say good-bye.”
I felt shock on my face, and tears rolled unbidden down my cheeks even as I fought them back. I had known this day would come, but never had I been prepared for it to come so soon. “No! Not yet.” I stared at Giselle, begging her to take back her words, but she only nodded gently.
“She died once already, but we brought her back. She seems determined to live, but I don’t see how she can hold on. It’s a miracle she’s alive at all. She’s still too weak from having the baby to be able to fight the pneumonia. If it weren’t for the AIDS . . .”
“Not now. Oh, please, dear Lord, not now,” I murmured.
Giselle squeezed my shoulder. “She keeps asking for you.”
“I have to call my mother.”
She nodded. “I’ll take the others back for a while, and then you can come when I bring them out. We want to keep the excitement down; we never give up hope completely that they’ll recover.”
Her comment sparked some hope within me. She had recovered once. It was still possible for her to do so again—if we could get her another blessing.
I returned to the phone while Giselle led Marie-Thérèse and Simone into the back room. Both looked frightened. I could barely speak as I told my mother what was happening.
“I’ll call Louise and Jean-Marc,” she said. “We’ll all be right there.”
Minutes ticked slowly by as I sat alone in the waiting room. The harsh glare of the fluorescent lights made my eyes ache. The now-familiar smell of the hospital—somehow formal and removed from real life—seemed stronger than ever. Yet this was life—and death.
My mother and the children arrived first, followed almost immediately by Louise. Saying nothing, my mother enfolded me in her arms, and I burst into tears. My children crowded around my knees anxiously.
“Is Aunt Paulette going to heaven?” Marc asked.
I nodded. It seemed my mother had prepared them on the drive over.
“Can I say good-bye?” Josette was crying. Large teardrops spilled from her eyes and onto her face.
“Yes. But just for a minute, and then Grandma will stay with you out here.” I looked at my mother, who had André in her arms, and she nodded.
A few moments later, Giselle came back with Simone and a tearful Marie-Thérèse. “Who’s next?” she asked somberly.
I stood up, taking the twins by the hands. “Can they come? They want to say good-bye.”
Giselle hesitated only a moment. “Of course. Come along.”
We followed her along the silent corridor. The shiny linoleum squeaked beneath our feet, giving the silence its only relief. The twins clung to my hands tightly. Giselle stopped at a sink, and we had to scrub our hands thoroughly as we had when visiting the baby. Then she brought us to a door, motioned us inside, and continued down the hall alone.
Pierre sat by the bed, holding his wife’s limp hand. I was appalled at Paulette’s condition. Pain was etched on her face. I could hear her breathing, ragged and harsh, and an oxygen tube dangled from her nose.
“I’m dying,” she said when she saw me.
I shook my head. “You can’t give up.”
“It isn’t a question of giving up. It’s time.”
“Aunt Paulette?” Josette whispered, stepping closer to the bed. “I love you.” Tears fell to her cheeks.
“I love you, too.”
“I wish you didn’t have to go.” Marc stood by his sister bravely, but his lower lip quivered, and his eyelashes glinted with moisture. I felt terrible exposing them to death at such a young age, but I knew it would be better for them later on, after Paulette’s death. This way there would be closure.
“I’ll miss you, too, but I’m going to heaven. I’m not go
ing to be suffering or sick anymore. And we’ll see each other soon. You see, Jesus is going to take me in his arms and hug me. Do you know how happy I will be?” Paulette spoke to the children, but her words were for me. I wanted her to cling to life, but at the same time I knew that to waste painfully away, as many AIDS patients did, was not a pleasant way to die. Paulette was trying to tell me that at least she would go quickly and also remind me of the beauty awaiting her in heaven.
“Could you say hi to Antoinette for me?” Josette said. Her words startled me. I knew she was talking about the sister she had never known, but I had already begun to think of Paulette’s baby as Antoinette.
Paulette nodded, a faint smile touching her lips. “I will. And I’ll tell her all about you and Marc.”
“And André,” Marc added. “But she probably already knows. She looks down on us, you know.”
“Will you look down on Marie-Thérèse?” Josette asked.
“Every day.”
Josette nodded in satisfaction. “I’ll tell her.”
“It’s time to go now, children.” Taking turns, the children kissed Paulette’s cheek. Then they buried their faces in my body. I knew they didn’t understand death yet, that over the months to come I would have to help them cope with their aunt’s death. I was more grateful than I could express for the wonderful plan of salvation that made eternal families possible. Because of the gospel, I would have answers to their questions.
“Don’t go yet, Ariana. I need to talk to you.”
“I’ll take them back to the waiting room. I’ll be right back.”
When I arrived in the waiting room, Jean-Marc was with the others. I was surprised; it seemed my mother had been able to reach him. I took his hand gratefully. “How is she?” everyone asked at once. I shook my head and bit my lip to keep it still.
“I have to go back in,” I said, trying to keep the dread from my voice. “She wants to talk to me.”
“Jean-Marc, go with her,” Louise said. “You and Pierre need to give her a blessing. I’ll go afterwards.”
Yes! A blessing. It had worked the last time. Hope flared in my breast.
“I want to go, too,” Marie-Thérèse said. Her face drooped in a frightened frown. I understood her need to be with her mother, and I reached for her hand, feeling her small fingers close around mine. I led them back to the room, stepping more confidently. As we were about to go in, Giselle appeared.
“Going to give her a blessing?” she asked. When we nodded, she said, “Good.”
“How is it you’re here, instead of in the other wing where you worked before?” Jean-Marc asked. “Not that we aren’t glad to have you.” I had wondered too but hadn’t had the presence of mind to ask.
“When an AIDS patient becomes critical and needs the additional care they can only give here, we like to have someone specifically trained in AIDS to come over. When I learned it was Paulette, I volunteered. I’m sort of on loan, you might say. I’ve worked here enough to know my way around. Besides,” her voice lowered, “even here people are afraid of getting HIV. It helps to have someone who is used to working with AIDS patients.”
“We’re glad you’re here,” I said.
We turned into the room. Giselle entered and stood near the door. Marie-Thérèse ran across the room and scrambled up onto the bed as she had earlier in the day. Paulette’s frail arms went around her. The scene was poignant, tugging at my heart until I thought it would burst.
Jean-Marc greeted his brother with a hug and then pulled out his oil. “I’ll anoint her,” he said. “But you need to bless your wife.”
“Yes, please,” Paulette rasped. “It will make my passing easier.”
“You can’t die, Paulette,” Pierre pleaded. His voice sounded nearly as bad as hers.
Marie-Thérèse buried her face in her mother’s body, and I coughed gently, reminding them of the child’s presence. I moved closer to the bed to stroke Paulette’s leg beneath the blanket. She smiled fleetingly.
The brothers placed their hands on her, and we bowed our heads. After Jean-Marc finished the anointing, Pierre began the blessing. Among other things, he blessed Paulette with courage and with a knowledge of her Father’s love. Nowhere did he mention her regaining her health.
“Thank you,” Paulette said when it was over, reaching up to grasp her husband’s hands.
Pierre smiled at her tenderly, but I could see the seething anger in his eyes. He squeezed her hands and then backed away from the bed. “I need a breath of air,” he said. Without explaining further, he stalked from the room.
“Go after him,” Paulette pleaded.
Jean-Marc and I ran out the door, leaving Giselle and Marie-Thérèse alone with Paulette.
Pierre was out in the hall with his forehead resting against the wall, and his fists beating uselessly at the stretch of white.
Jean-Marc grabbed his shoulder, bringing him around to face us. “I could have healed her!” Pierre said, gazing at us with fury. “I could have! I felt the power of God within me. It was right there within my grasp.” He held out his hand, palm up, and clenched it as he spoke. “I could have made her well, gotten rid of the AIDS completely.”
Jean-Marc and I exchanged looks, not knowing what to say. “Then why didn’t you?” I asked. More than anything I wanted Paulette to be cured, as impossible as it seemed.
With one hand he wiped tears from his cheeks. “It wasn’t right,” he whispered hoarsely. “It just wasn’t right. I had the power, but I couldn’t do it. She isn’t going to live. Paulette is supposed to die!”
I shivered at his words, despite the warmth of the corridor. He stared at us defiantly, and then his shoulders crumpled and he began to sob, racked with a torment I remembered so well.
Jean-Marc threw his arms around his brother, but Pierre shrugged him aside. “I should have healed her,” he said. “It’s my fault she’s going to die.” He turned on his heel and fled down the hall, leaving us to gaze helplessly after him.
Chapter Sixteen
Jean-Marc stared in the direction his brother had gone. His normally cheerful features were drawn with anxiety, the ever-ready grin replaced by a worried frown. He turned to me without speaking, eyes apologizing for what he wanted to do: leave me and go after his brother.
“Go,” I said. “Go after him. He needs you. I’ll be fine.” He smiled slightly and leaned forward to hug me. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He sprinted down the hail, and I smiled after him wistfully. I felt a great loss at his leaving because I would have to face Paulette alone, but I knew he had to follow his brother. I was losing my best friend; Pierre was losing his wife. There was no comparison.
Reluctantly, I returned to Paulette’s room. She looked up as I entered. “Jean-Marc’s with him,” I said. “He’ll be fine.”
Paulette appeared relieved. “In some ways this is harder for him,” she said.
Giselle nodded. “It really is.”
“But there’s one thing I have to know.” Paulette’s gaze met mine and dread washed over me. I had known all along this moment would come.
“Why don’t I take Marie-Thérèse back to her grandmothers for a while?” Giselle said.
Marie-Thérèse slid off the bed. “I’ll be back, Mommy.” She held her finger to her mother’s lips and then to her heart.
From somewhere, Paulette found the strength to copy the motion. Her eyes fixed on Marie-Thérèse’s as if never wanting to let her go. “I love you more than anything,” she said.
“I’ll be right back.” Giselle led Marie-Thérèse from the room. Paulette and I watched each other, and I wondered what would come next. But my friend lay silently on the bed, saying nothing until Giselle came back into the room and stood on Paulette’s other side near the monitors.
“I want to know if you’ll take care of my daughters when I’m gone,” Paulette said finally.
“You need to fight!” My head spun, and I wondered if I was hyperventilating. Violent sobs racked my body.
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She closed her eyes, as if fighting to gather strength. “Don’t you think I want to stay? I have just given birth to a beautiful new baby, and I can’t even hold her and help her to become strong. Do you know how that feels? I’m going to leave her, and I won’t be around to explain why—not to her or to Marie-Thérèse. Who’s going to tuck them in each night? Who’s going to take care of them? Who will answer their questions in ten years?”
She began to plead in earnest. “And when the time comes, who is going to help my baby understand why she’s dying? Who’s going to teach her to love God and to find peace in Him, despite the trials? Only you can do that.”
“But Pierre—”
“Is HIV positive,” Giselle said calmly. I turned to her, for the first time feeling resentment against the nurse. This was a private conversation.
My feelings must have shown in my face, because Paulette said, “Giselle is more than a nurse; she’s my friend. I asked her to be here when I talked with you.” I knew Giselle was taking the missionary discussions and that Paulette had kept in touch with her. I myself had great hopes for the conversion of her family, but that all seemed far removed in this clinical situation.
“Pierre will be around a long time,” I said. “A person can be HIV positive for more than ten years without showing any signs of AIDS. It says so in the booklet you gave me.”
Paulette looked at Giselle and nodded, as if telling her to go ahead. Giselle’s eyes fixed on me. They were a deep brown, filled with love and compassion. “Pierre has cancer, inoperable. It’s one of the opportunistic cancers that attack AIDS patients.”
I turned my face to Paulette. “When did you find out?” I couldn’t believe she hadn’t told me.
“Only last week,” she said wearily. “We were deciding how to tell everyone, but then the baby came. We didn’t have time.”
“Well, isn’t there something they can do?”
“It’s a non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma,” Giselle said, “called Burkitt’s type. These tumors are unusually aggressive, and they don’t respond well to chemotherapy.”
The Ariana Trilogy Page 37