“Hey, Diego, keep it down in there.” Melanie’s voice, from the hallway.
Nita is decorating me with electrodes again, but my skin, dampened again with sweat, isn’t cooperating.
A wave of nausea comes over me and I roll my head to the side. The sudden movement causes the gurney and curtained cubicle to move round and round and round. Spinning faster and faster. I grab the side rails and hold on. All the while Diego laughs, hyena-like.
Black spots begin dotting the curtains and then my vision blurs. I try to sit up—to stop the spinning. Please, let me get up.
“Mel!”
Nita’s voice seems distant. Did she leave? I look around, careful this time. No she’s still here, putting electrodes on my ankles.
The hyena cackles.
Then just as everything begins to go black again, Diego stops laughing.
“What? Dude, really? The secret of life has changed? What’s the new secret?”
Who’s voice is he listening to? Who does he hear in his head? Is it Earl?
A dark curtain closes around me.
“That’s the new secret? Dude, that is so cool!”
Maybe he’s listening to God.
The curtain suffocates.
I can’t see. Can’t breathe. Can’t feel.
Diego ushers me into a place of silence. But I try to speak, “Wait . . .”
“Don’t try to talk.” A voice from afar instructs. “Just relax.”
“But—” As the laughter fades, I try again. “Wait—” I . . . I need to . . . know.
What’s the . . . new . . . secret?
What . . . is it?
I have to . . . know.
The laughter stops.
And finally.
Finally.
As all goes black . . .
I’m at peace.
My groaning is witness that I am displeased with myself.
Saint Augustine
Chapter Thirty-Five
Sabina
I ponder Miles’s words about putting himself on the same plane as God. Is that what I’ve done with Ashley’s death? By allowing the burden of her choice to rest on my shoulders, have I put myself in God’s place?
No.
I put myself in God’s place long before Ashley’s death . . .
It was after Jazzy died.
I stand up—a sudden flourish of movement. I look down at Miles. “I’m sorry. I don’t wait well. I’m going to walk around. May I bring you something? Coffee or a soda?”
“No, thank you.”
“May I give you my cell phone number, that way if you hear something you could let me know?”
“Sure.”
We exchange numbers, and then I turn and walk back toward the doors that lead to the parking lot—the ones I came in not long ago. I need the slap of the cold wind against my face, but as I exit the building I see the sun is still shining.
How dare it.
I walk through the parking lot to the street and then through the neighborhood surrounding the hospital. If You let anything happen to Ellyn, I swear . . . I leave my threat dangling. What good would it do? You do what You want, regardless of my prayers.
A lump of emotion lodges in my throat. I wish I’d brought my iPod with me so I could listen to music as I walk. I need a distraction.
I do not want to consider God.
Nor do I want to think about Ashley.
I slow my pace.
And Jazzy. A tear slips down my cheek. Oh, Jazzy.
No. I can’t—I won’t let those memories control me. I turn back toward the hospital, but then I stop. A scream rises in my chest. I want to shake my fist at God and demand answers. Jazzy, Ashley, and now possibly Ellyn?
Why?
Ellyn. The first friend I’ve allowed myself in years. And now she’s lying in a hospital.
Hot tears fall. I reach in my purse for a tissue and wipe my eyes and nose. As I do, a car passes by. How must I look walking down the street, crying? I look like the fool I am. A fool who’s demanding answers from a God she no longer believes in.
Antwone, Ellyn, and Miles can have their God.
But something nags. Antwone, Ellyn, and Miles are intelligent people—people I respect. And my mama believed in God more than in the air she breathed. She was a woman to reckon with. If she’d ever heard me denounce my belief in God, she’d . . . well, she’d have walloped me. Such a choice from me would have wounded her in the deepest part of her soul.
So how do I reconcile my respect for others who believe? Maybe they just don’t get it. But my mama? Oh, she got it. And Miles? He seemed to understand. Why is it they’ve moved on with their lives and I’m stuck?
The answer seems obvious.
And that makes me even more angry.
Miracles are not contrary to nature, but only contrary to what we know about nature.
Saint Augustine
Chapter Thirty-Six
Miles
After Sabina comes back, we sit in silence.
I check in with the receptionist again, but learn nothing new. I pace the waiting room and the parking lot, and then sit again. After almost three hours, Dr. Nguyen comes looking for me. When I see him coming, I stand and meet him across the waiting room. I want a medical report without Sabina next to me.
I shake Dr. Nguyen’s hand. “So?”
“Her potassium level is low—2.7.”
I nod. “That accounts for some of her symptoms.”
“Yes, and the flattened T waves on the second EKG concur with the low potassium. But take a look at this. This is the first EKG.”
He hands me a piece of paper from the file he holds. It reads like a seismic encounter with its peaks and valleys. I look at the waves and now understand his hesitation. “Pulmonary embolism? That’s consistent with her symptoms.”
“Exactly. But the ultrasound was negative. As was the chest X-ray. Her blood oxygen level has returned to 9.8, and the dizziness and chest pains have subsided, as has the ache in her leg.”
“Huh, interesting. Maybe the first was a false reading?”
“Maybe.”
“But her symptoms . . .” I stop.
“One of those medical mysteries, I guess.” Dr. Nguyen takes the EKG results back. “I won’t keep her. We gave her some potassium and she’s feeling better. I told her not to take the HCTZ she’s been taking for her blood pressure and to call Dr. Norman tomorrow to schedule a follow-up appointment.”
I nod and listen as he looks at her charts and repeats her current stats. “She says she lives alone. I’d like someone with her for the rest of today and tonight, just in case.”
“Good. Thank you.” I put out my hand to shake his again and then he turns to go, but stops.
“Oh, Dr. Becker, she’d like to see you. Go on back.”
She’d like to see me? His words or hers? Oh, I hope they were hers.
“Thanks.”
“Hi.” The curtain is open and Ellyn is sitting up. “I hear you’re feeling better?”
She nods. “What . . . happened? Dr. Nguyen explained it, but I don’t understand.”
“He doesn’t really understand either.” Her color has returned. That’s good.
“What do you mean?”
I motion to a chair. “May I?”
“Oh. Sure.”
I scoot the chair to the side of the gurney and sit, stretch my legs out, and run my hand through my hair. “Well, the symptoms you were experiencing when I met you at the bike shop were indicative of a couple of things, but one of them is what’s called a pulmonary embolism—a blood clot that’s dislodged and moved to the lungs. The first EKG reading substantiated that diagnosis, which is why the ultrasound an
d chest X-ray were ordered.”
“I have a blood clot?”
I lean forward to reach for her hand, but stop myself. “No. Nothing showed up on the tests.” I see her chest rise and fall. “Your labs showed a low potassium level, but nothing else. The second EKG reading concurred with the low level of potassium.”
“Did he read the first EKG wrong?”
“No, I saw it myself.”
“So it just was wrong?”
“We don’t know if it was wrong. It was consistent with your symptoms—”
“Miles! Just tell me what happened.” She takes a deep breath and exhales. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I’m tired.”
“I know, gal. I’m not sure what happened. But the end result is this: Your potassium level was low, most likely from the HCTZ you take for your blood pressure. It’s a diuretic, and low potassium can be one of the side effects. Some of your symptoms were consistent with a low level of potassium.” I lift my hands, palms up. “The rest, we’re not sure. Dr. Nguyen called it a medical mystery.”
She hesitates. “What . . . do you call it?”
“God’s intervention.”
She tilts her head to one side and I see the doubt on her face.
“Not only did Rosa call me to pick you up, but when I let her know you were here, she let others know and asked for their prayers—Pia, Paco, your pastor. I called and asked Nerissa to pray and to ask Twila to do the same. And Sabina, though I don’t know that she’s praying, is sitting vigil in the waiting room.”
“She’s here?”
I nod. “In fact, I should go and let her come back and see you—if you’re up to it?” I stand.
“Sure. But Miles, wait . . .” Her voice softens. “I . . . I want to apologize for . . . you know, what happened the other night. I overreacted. I’m . . . so sorry for the way I treated you. I didn’t mean to . . . I don’t want to hurt you. I’m just not cut out for that type of relationship.”
The façade I’ve worked to keep in place cracks. I clear my throat. “Ellyn, I overstepped a boundary you set. You were clear with me from the beginning. I’m the one who needs to apologize. I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t just you.” She takes a deep breath. “I overstepped my own boundary.”
“Ellyn . . .” I hesitate, but I’m not sure I want the answer to the question I’m about to pose. “Is it . . . just me? You’re not drawn to me?”
She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I watch as tears fill her eyes and then she looks away. When she looks back, the tears are gone. “No, it isn’t just you. If I were ever . . . I mean, Miles, you’re a great guy, a wonderful man, I’m sure. It’s me. It’s my issue.”
I nod. “Okay. I can’t say that I understand, but I respect you and I won’t cross that boundary again, I promise.” Do I say more to her? Or leave it as is? Lord?
“Thank you. And thank you for all you did today—for being here.”
I turn to go but when I reach the edge of the curtained cubicle, I turn back. “I’m available for you, Ellyn, as a friend. If there’s ever anything you need, you know how to reach me.”
Then I leave to find Sabina.
After I talk to Sabina, and she tells me she’ll drive Ellyn home and stay the night with her, I leave the hospital. The late afternoon sun is low in the sky and there’s a chill to the air, but instead of going home, I turn left onto Highway 1 and head for the Little River Inn Golf Course—the only course on the Mendocino Coast. I keep my clubs in the trunk of my car for days like these.
I want to hit a bucket of balls—to hear the smack of the club against the ball—to release some of the day’s tension.
As I make the fifteen- or twenty-minute drive down the highway, I consider Ellyn’s condition when I found her this morning compared to how I left her this afternoon. As I do, I also consider the feelings I suppressed all day.
I can’t afford to let fear intrude when I’m treating a patient—especially in an emergency. But when I found Ellyn in her car this morning, I was just a man looking at the woman I care about, and—I exhale—she gave me a scare.
Like with Sarah, I knew too much.
But today didn’t end the way it ended with Sarah.
Sure the circumstances were different, but the symptoms Ellyn exhibited this morning were, or could have been, life-threatening.
And then, all of a sudden, they weren’t.
Thank You, Lord, for healing Ellyn. As I pray, a question darts through my mind . . .
Why Ellyn and not Sarah?
I don’t pose the question to God though. Father, I take this thought captive to the obedience of Jesus Christ. Though I don’t understand Your ways, I choose to trust You. I won’t dwell on doubt, instead, I’ll walk in faith—I’ll walk in the unknown.
The unknown?
Not a comfortable place. I felt the uncertainty of the unknown this morning in that moment when I found Ellyn sitting lifeless in her car. It intruded again during the hours of waiting at the hospital. And again as Ellyn reiterated her stance on not becoming involved “in that type of relationship.”
But today, through it all, I discovered a few things:
I am in love with Ellyn DeMoss.
Loving her will hurt me.
And God’s calling me to sacrifice. To love her in the way He loves. Though I’m not sure what that means on a day-to-day basis.
I trust He’ll show me.
When I reach the golf course, I park, pull my driver out of my golf bag, and buy a bucket of balls. I tee up on the driving range and take a few practice swings before aiming at the ball.
I roll my shoulders back and feel the tension in my neck.
Then I step up to the tee, pull the driver back over my shoulder, and swing. Hard. The head of the driver connects with the ball and sends it sailing. I bend, grab another ball out of the bucket, and repeat the action.
I do it again.
And again.
And again.
Until, with the final smack of club against ball, I’ve exhausted all emotion.
May I know you, who know me. May I “know as I also am known” (1 Cor. 13:12). Power of my soul, enter into it and fit it for yourself . . .
Saint Augustine
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Twila
I knock on the door, knowing Ellyn is home. I called before I came. I set the bag I brought on the porch and shove my hands into my pockets to keep them warm while I wait for her to answer.
But it’s Ellyn’s friend, Sabina, who opens the door.
“Um, hi. I’m here to see Ellyn.”
“She didn’t tell me you were coming.”
Sabina stares at me and doesn’t open the door any wider. “I called and talked to her a little while ago—she’s expecting me.” I smile, hoping she’ll warm to me, but she doesn’t.
“Wait here.”
She starts to close the front door and leave me on the porch. “Hey, I’ll wait inside. It’s cold out here.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll tell her you’re here.”
“Thanks.” I pick up the bag, and step inside. I wait in the small foyer with my back against the front door. I don’t have to wait long.
“Hi, honey, you’re so sweet to check on me.” Ellyn comes around the corner from the kitchen and through the dining and living room. She gives me one of her big hugs, which I’m kind of starting to like. Her hair is damp, and she’s wearing a fluffy green bathrobe.
“Hi. Hey, you look good—not like you were in the hospital all day.”
“Yeah? Well, go figure. To tell you the truth, I feel good too. Much better than I did this morning. I just showered and came downstairs for a cup of tea. Would you like one?”
“Um, I don’t know. I don’t want
to, like, intrude. I mean, Sabina’s here so I can just leave this . . .” I lift up the bag I’m holding. “. . . and then go.”
“Go? No. You’re not intruding. I love that you came by.”
She puts an arm around me and guides me out to the kitchen. “Sabina won’t mind. She’s just babysitting me because the doctor didn’t want me alone tonight.” We round the corner into the kitchen. “Right, Sabina? Twila isn’t intruding. I asked her to have a cup of tea with us.”
Sabina says nothing, instead she just reaches for another mug. Yeah. She thinks I’m intruding. She glances over her shoulder at me. “Herbal or regular?”
“Herbal, please.”
“So what’s in the bag, girly?”
“I made you some soup. Curried butternut squash. It’s vegan.”
“Sounds great. Thank you.”
“Well, you know, it’s not like what you’d make. But I didn’t know if you’d feel like cooking. There’s enough for you too, Sabina. There’s also a salad with vegetables and greens.”
“You are so thoughtful. Look, Sabina, saved by Twila. You don’t have to cook.”
Sabina turns from the counter, where she’s making our tea, and faces us. “Lucky for you,” she says to Ellyn. She hesitates then looks at me. “Thank you, Twila. It was nice of you to think of Ellyn.” Her smile is tight.
Maybe it’s the tattoo on my face that’s off-putting to her. It makes some people think I’m weird or something.
“No problem. My mom helped. We were praying for you today, Ellyn. I’m so glad you’re, you know, okay. When Miles called and talked to my mom, it sounded kind of serious.”
“Yeah, I guess it was.”
We sit with our tea at Ellyn’s kitchen table. “Sabina, stop wiping off my counters, they’re clean. Come join us.”
While Ellyn tells me about what happened to her this morning, Sabina rinses the sponge, washes her hands, dries them, and then puts some sugar in her tea, and uses the bathroom . . .
All before she joins us.
After Ellyn tells us about the mental-health patient next to her in the ER, she stops and reaches for my hand. She pushes up the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “Huh.”
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