by Sera Trevor
The ride to the hospital was a blur. The paramedics allowed Noah to ride with them while Zeke made his own way to the hospital. He reported her symptoms, the sudden pain, the vomiting, her drooping face and contracted pupil. The paramedics radioed the hospital for instructions. Noah wanted to do something, to help somehow, but he wasn’t an EMT and knew he’d only get in the way.
They arrived in chaos. Becks was rolled away, out of sight, and Noah was left alone in the waiting room. He couldn’t stop staring at the place where she’d disappeared.
Just then, Noah’s phone rang. Oscar. He answered it.
“Zeke called,” Oscar said. “I’m on my way. Mom says she’ll keep Bette as long as we need her to. I love you.”
Noah mumbled a response. He put the phone back in his pocket.
He sat in the waiting room, doing nothing. One of his worst fears was coming true, and he hardly reacted at all. He’d been to this waiting room so many times, offering a comforting word, trying to help people with their pain. And now here he was. He felt like Alice in Wonderland on the other side of the looking glass, everything familiar yet unnervingly strange.
Time passed. Zeke joined him, looking pale as death. They exchanged words, but Noah couldn’t remember what either of them said a moment later. Zeke prayed. Noah continued to do nothing, feeling as if he were trapped in amber, unable to move, the world around him hazy.
Oscar burst into the room. The world came back to him, horribly clear and loud. Oscar ran to him, pulling him out of his chair and wrapping his arms around him fiercely. “I got you. We’ll get through this.”
The numbness left. Panic and pain crashed over him. He’d be swept away. A stuttering sob wrenched itself from his chest, and then he was weeping, shaking. “My fault,” he said between sobs. “It’s my fault.”
Oscar pulled back and gave him a bewildered look. “How?”
He just shook his head helplessly. He’d abandoned her. He’d failed her. This was his punishment. As the thoughts scrambled around his head, he knew they didn’t make any sense. But it felt true. He was a horrible brother. He didn’t deserve to have a sister. And now she was paying for it.
Eventually, Oscar helped Noah sit again. Zeke put an arm around him. “It’ll be okay,” he said.
It wouldn’t be. Not ever again.
Time froze. There was no before, no later, just one, horrible moment. Noah tried to distract himself with Duolingo, but even that was difficult. Instead of the phrases he was supposed to be learning, his mind offered some alternatives: Mi hermana está enferma. My sister is sick. Mi hermana está muerta. My sister is dead.
While Noah felt frozen, Oscar couldn’t sit still. He paced up and down the room, his fists clenching and unclenching, making Noah dizzy. Zeke was the most composed of the three of them. He sat quietly in prayer. Normally Zeke’s faith didn’t bother him. His church was progressive and inclusive. But today it irritated Noah. When he was with the Witnesses, he prayed his heart out. Jehovah had never answered him. He wasn’t likely to start now.
Coworkers came by to offer their condolences. Nurses were professional condolence-givers; he was good at it himself. He didn’t like being on the other end of it. Finally, hours later, Dr. Varma appeared. Noah recognized him, but he didn’t have a lot of interaction with him. He was middle-aged and had kind eyes. “Noah, isn’t it? You work in oncology, correct?”
His breath came quicker. “Yes.”
“And this is the family?”
“Yes—my husband, Oscar. And my Uncle Zeke.” The doctor shook their hands.
“Tell us what’s going on,” Oscar demanded.
Dr. Varma sat beside Noah. “Your sister had a subarachnoid hemorrhage. The bleeding in her brain is significant. We have already opened her up to drain the blood and clipped the aneurysm. Unfortunately, her brain is swelling. We’d like to remove part of her skull to ease the pressure.”
The world went blurry. Noah shut his eyes for a moment and willed himself not to faint. “Okay.”
“Does Rebecca have any medical conditions or religious objections we should know about?”
It took a moment for Noah to process that. Religious objections. Jehovah’s Witnesses forbade the use of blood transfusions. It was something beat into them as kids, it was better to die than to allow yourself to be polluted.
But they weren’t Witnesses anymore. “No, nothing. Except—” He chewed his finger. “She has a history of drug use. We think she’s clean, but...”
“We’ll screen her, then.” Dr. Varma stood. “We are going to do everything we can for your sister.”
“What are her chances?” Zeke asked.
“Forty percent of patients with brain aneurysms die before they reach the hospital, so she’s already beat those odds. You got her here quickly after the event, so that’s another plus in her favor. As I said, we will do our best.”
Noah tried to swallow, but his throat was so dry. “Thank you, Doctor.”
Dr. Varma inclined his head and took off down the hall.
No one said anything for a moment.
Oscar broke the silence. “Fuck.”
That about summed it up. Noah rubbed his face. “Oscar, why don’t you get Bette and take her home?”
“And leave you here?”
“You have work tomorrow. There’s no sense in both of us being here. Besides, you’re pacing like a caged panther. Don’t tell me you don’t want to get out of here.”
Oscar bit his lip. “You sure?”
He tried to smile. “Positive.
“I’ll stay,” Zeke said.
“No, you should go too. Get some sleep so that you can take over for me later.” Besides, Noah wanted to be alone for a while.
Zeke stood. “Good thinking.”
Noah and Oscar stood as well. They all hugged. Noah promised Oscar twice that he would call him if he needed him.
And then he was alone. Or not alone, exactly. There were many other people, waiting like him for news of their loved ones. A brown-haired woman in red rubbed her hands while staring into space. A young couple cried together. An old man dozed, stirring occasionally to wipe his eyes with a handkerchief. They might have been miles away. Each of them was trapped in their private grief. Later, friends and family would come to comfort them, and they would have to smile and agree that everything happened for a reason, and everything would be okay.
He couldn’t face that right now.
Noah gave up on his Spanish lesson and went to get something to eat. Afterward, he curled up on a chair to try to rest a little. It was only eight o’clock, but he was already exhausted.
He must have fallen asleep after all, because he awoke to Dr. Varma gently shaking his shoulder. “I have good news,” he said when Noah had sat up. “Your sister is out of surgery and stabilized.”
Noah exhaled in relief. “Is she awake? Can I see her?”
Dr. Varma shook his head. “No. She might not wake up for quite some time.”
Noah absorbed the information. Neither the best nor worst outcome. Relief and worry fought for dominance. “What’s her prognosis?”
“It’s too early to tell, but she’s made it this far. I don’t think she’s ready to leave us.” He patted Noah’s arm. “We’ll let you know when she’s stable enough for you to see her.”
Noah called Oscar after Dr. Varma left. He answered on the first ring. “You hear anything yet?”
“Yeah.” Noah explained Rebecca’s condition.
Oscar let out a long breath. “Well, that isn’t great news, but I guess it’s better than death.”
Noah almost laughed. “You’re supposed to tell me that everything happens for a reason and that she’ll pull through.”
“Why would I say that? I can’t see the future, and that everything-happens-for-a-reason sentiment is bullshit.” He paused. “Crap. Is that what you want me to say?”
Noah smiled. “No.”
“Then what should I say?”
Noah cradled the ph
one. “That you love me. That you’re scared, too.”
“I love you,” he said immediately. “And yeah, I’m scared shitless.” Another pause. “When are you coming home?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to spend the night, I think. I want to be here if-if she wakes up.” His breathing hitched. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to cry.
“Yeah, of course. Don’t worry, I’ll hold down the fort. Stay as long as you need to.”
“Thanks.” Noah wiped his eyes. “How’s Bette?”
“She’s fine. She just had a big poop. That was a good idea about the prune juice. Cleared her right out.”
Noah did laugh this time. “Glad to hear it. She’s less fussy?”
“Yup. Happy as an unconstipated clam. You want to talk to her?”
“She talks now?”
“You know what I mean. Here—”
A moment later, and Bette was babbling on the other end of the line. It made him tear up again. “Hey, sweetie. Daddy will be home soon. Be good for Papa.”
She squealed. There was a faint hey, no! from Oscar, and then he was back on the phone. “She tried to eat the phone.”
“Go give her a bottle then.”
A sigh. “I feel weird not being there.”
“I’m okay. I’m learning Spanish. I’m at level 14 now.” He lowered his voice. “Te quiero, amorcito.”
“Shit, you’re going to know more Spanish than me soon.” His voice grew more serious. “I love you, too. You want me and Bette to come have breakfast with you?”
“Don’t you have work?”
“I’m taking the day off. Bob’s been bugging me to use my sick days anyway.”
“Yeah,” Noah said, cradling the phone. “That would be nice.”
“Good night, then. Except not really. How do you say ‘shitty night’ in Spanish?”
Noah laughed. “I don’t know. My app doesn’t teach curse words.”
“I’ll ask Dad and let you know.” His voice softened. “I wish I was better at saying comforting shit.”
“You’ve said everything exactly right. Except too many swear words around the baby,” he mock-scolded.
“Hey, there are situations in life that call for swear words, and this is one of them.”
“You’re right,” Noah said. “This fucking sucks.”
Oscar laughed grimly. “Damn right it does. Try to get some sleep.”
“You too. Good night.”
Noah texted Zeke. He deserved a phone call, but Noah wasn’t up for any more conversation. He’d see him in the morning. Once that was done, he stared at his phone until the screen went black. His reflection in the dark glass stared back bleakly. He looked like hell.
Jehovah’s Witnesses didn’t believe in hell. Nonbelievers were annihilated. His sister was being annihilated. That’s what his parents would think.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shoved that thought into a dark corner of his mind. Something he learned from being a Witness was how to compartmentalize. It didn’t work forever, but it would get him through the night.
4
Oscar and Bette arrived at exactly 6:30 am, when breakfast started. Oscar had joined him on occasion when Noah was on the late shift, before Bette was born. Hospital cafeterias had bad reputations, but the food here was decent. Noah’s appetite was poor, but the smell of scrambled eggs and coffee was soothing.
Bette slept in her carrier. Oscar rocked it absently with his foot as he ate his eggs.
Noah nibbled on some toast. “You should have left Bette with your mom. It’s not good for her to be here with all the germs.”
Oscar swallowed before replying. “Yeah, I thought about that, but you didn’t say anything last night, which means you aren’t too worried about it. Besides, I think you need to see your baby.”
Noah couldn’t argue with that. He felt better seeing her, even if she was asleep. Oscar had put her in her fluffy bunny pajamas, Noah’s favorite. The dark, fuzzy hair she was born with had faded, leaving her with a wispy mohawk. A pink pacifier bobbed now and again as she sucked at it in her sleep. His heart ached with how sweet she was. In the days after Bette’s birth, he’d wondered if the feeling of overwhelming love would ever fade. So far it hadn’t.
“When are they going to let you see her?” Oscar asked.
“Sometime this morning, I think.”
“And then you’ll come home?”
Noah put down his toast and rubbed his face. “I don’t know.”
Oscar gave him a look. “What do you tell family and friends of your patients?”
Noah sighed. “That they need to take care of themselves, too.”
“I rest my case.” Oscar took his hand. “Come home for dinner, at least.”
“The first forty-eight hours are really important,” Noah protested.
“We live fifteen minutes away!” Oscar squeezed his hand. “I’m not letting go until you solemnly swear that you will come home for dinner.”
“Fine. I do so swear.”
“Good.” Oscar released him and returned to his eggs.
Zeke arrived just as they finished. The circles under his eyes were so dark they looked like bruises. “Any news?”
“Nothing yet.”
A tiny yawn came from Bette’s carrier. Noah peeked in the carrier just as her eyelashes fluttered open. She looked up at him and smiled. Bette always smiled when she woke up. It made his heart ten times lighter.
“Hi, baby girl.” She kicked her legs. He wanted to pick her up, but then she’d have to be buckled back in. He straightened and turned to Oscar. “You should take her home.”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” He picked up the carrier. “But we’ll see you tonight. Promise?”
Noah crossed his heart. “I swear.”
Oscar kissed him and left. With every retreating step, Noah’s heart sank a little further. He turned to Zeke. “You get any sleep?”
Zeke shook his head. “Not really. You?”
“A little, here and there.” The chairs weren’t comfortable, but the anxiety of being away from Rebecca would have made his rest worse if he’d gone home.
They returned to the waiting room. Neither of them was energetic enough for conversation. Lisa, an ICU nurse Noah was acquainted with, approached them. She was a petite middle-aged woman with brown hair and a warm smile. “You can come see your sister now.” She led them to the ICU.
“How is she?” Noah asked as they walked.
“Stable. She had a rough night, but she’s pulling through.”
As they drew closer to the ICU, the typical human sounds—talk and laughter, sneezes and footsteps—faded, replaced with the beeps of monitors and the wheezes of respirators. A sterile, chemical smell battled with the stink of still bodies. Modern medicine versus death. Noah’s stomach churned.
They reached Rebecca’s bed. Lisa drew the curtain. “Dr. Ling will be by in a few minutes.”
Noah and Zeke stepped in, and Lisa closed the curtain again. Rebecca lay on the bed. One side of her head had been shaved. The IV stand with its bags of fluids loomed like a tower beside her. Tubes and wires sprouted from her arms and throat. Machines beeped, the respirator compressed. Robot breathing. Robot living, if it could be called that. None of this was unfamiliar to him, but to see his own sister this way shocked him.
Noah’s legs nearly gave out. Zeke caught him and helped him to the chair beside the bed. “Oh, Becks. I’m so sorry.”
Zeke looked just as shaken. He took the other chair. “I hate to say it, but I thought she might end up here. But she was getting better, finally. I believe that.”
Noah nodded, unable to find words. It felt like a cruel joke. Or a punishment.
Zeke rubbed his eyes. “She’s so thin already. I did everything I could to get her to eat, always kept cookies in the house, brought in take-out, anything she wanted. But she’s always eaten like a bird, ever since she was a child. Do you remember?”
Noah found his voic
e. “I used to finish her dinner for her when our parents weren’t looking. They’d make her sit there for hours otherwise.”
Zeke leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “You going to call your parents?”
That cold thought blew the fog out of Noah’s brain. “I don’t know. Do you think I should?”
Zeke leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Your mom would want to know. All she ever wanted in life was kids. Ever since we were little, she was always talking about how she was going to be a mom. I mean, that was the only thing she was allowed to aspire to anyway. But I’ve never seen her happier than when her kids were born. She would have had eight if your father had let her.”
“She was a good mom,” Noah said quietly. She was always soft with them, even when the elders told her that sparing the rod would spoil the child. His dad, on the other hand… “Do you think Dad still cares?”
Zeke snorted. “I don’t think that man has ever cared about anything but himself and Jehovah his whole life. Worse thing that ever happened to my sister, if you ask me.” He shrugged. “But then again, without him she would never have had you two, and I’m pretty fond of you both. God works in mysterious ways.”
Noah shifted in his seat. “I guess so.”
He straightened. “My feeling is, you don’t have to call them. They turned their backs on you. But at the same time, you might regret it. That’s not me saying that you should, mind. It’s up to you. Personally, I don’t have any desire to speak to my sister. But she’s your mom. It’s different when it’s your mom.”
That was true enough. “I’ll have to think about it.”
The curtain pulled back, revealing a young doctor Noah hadn’t seen before. She was a serious-looking young woman with long, black hair tied in a low ponytail. She greeted them briskly. “I know seeing a loved one in such a condition is a shock. But she has beat the odds and that’s thanks to you, for getting her here so quickly. You’re a nurse here, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Noah said.
“You saved your sister’s life, as much as any of the doctors here. Another hour and she would have been dead.”