Tammy found Nurse Lebbie in room 345 talking with Dr. Swenson, St. Theresa’s intensivist. A woman with curly blonde hair and sunken eyes lay in the bed. Her head drooped to one side, and her skin looked ashen. Three IV bags dangled on the pole behind her. The chair beside her bed was empty.
Did she not have family? A husband, sister, friend? No one should have to endure sickness alone. Waiting in the doorway, Tammy offered a silent prayer—for comfort, mercy, and God’s love to surround the woman.
Dr. Swenson tucked his chart under his arm. “Let me know when the lab results come back.” He set his jaw and exited the room.
Nurse Lebbie turned to Tammy. “Hello. Can I help you?”
“I’m Tammy Kuhn with Heartland Donation Services.” She smiled and extended her hand. “We talked on the phone earlier.”
“Uh, huh.”
“Can you take a moment to look at Ms. James’s lab work with me? I have some questions.”
The woman pursed her lips, her gaze shooting toward the hall, most likely thinking of all the other places she needed to be. With a heavy sigh, she glanced at her watch. “Yes. Sure. Fine.”
She power walked out of the room and to the nurses’ station. Tammy scurried along behind. At the counter, she waited for Nurse Lebbie to pull up the donor’s chart.
She clicked on the lab results first. Most were normal, but the donor’s white blood cell count was extremely high, indicating an infection.
Tammy frowned. “Can I see the patient’s history, please?”
The nurse nodded and pulled up a consult report from an infectious disease doctor. Tammy leaned in. The patient had been treated with Zosyn, a high-powered antibiotic. “Can I see the other consult notes, please?”
Nurse Lebbie complied.
Tammy studied the screen. The patient had experienced a number of neurological abnormalities within the past two months—poor coordination, dementia, an abnormal EEG reading.
Odd. Tammy needed to speak with the woman’s doctors.
After spending the next hour talking with various physicians, she called her administrator.
Ellen answered immediately. “Hey, what did you find out?”
“It’s not good. Although they can’t make a determinant diagnosis until an autopsy’s been performed, the doctors believe she may have had mad cow disease.” An infection no transplant center would want to deal with.
Ellen let out a long breath. “Okay.” She paused. “Call a few of the aggressive centers—Nebraska, New York, maybe Chicago.”
“Will do.”
But no one wanted to take the chance of infecting their already critically ill patients with compromised organs. The risk was just too high. Tammy’s heart ached to know lives couldn’t be saved from this woman’s death, but there was nothing more she could do. Except pray for the family and hope—trust—God would bring good from this tragedy.
Sliding her cell back into her pocket, she headed home.
She pulled into her neighborhood shortly after twelve thirty a.m. A crescent moon shimmered through a layer of smoky clouds, stars twinkling against a velvet backdrop. She eased into her garage and cut the engine. Her eyes felt like they’d been doused in vinegar; her rubbery muscles ached for bed.
Grabbing her tote filled with her laptop and organ donation release forms, she got out and shuffled inside. She dropped her belongings at the door.
The kitchen light was on, the day’s mail waiting for her on the counter. Tammy paused to sift through it. Three bills—her mortgage note among them. A flyer for a summer baseball camp—one Tylan would love to go to, if she could afford it. Except with 170,000 miles on her car, it was nearing its last leg, and her air conditioning unit had seen better days. Chewing her lip, she estimated the total of her upcoming bills and compared it to her paycheck. Close, but unless gas prices took a major dip, not likely.
Maybe if she took him to the batting cage, tossed the ball around with him a few times . . . Who was she kidding? The boy needed his dad. Speaking of . . . her gaze landed on a letter bearing Brody’s signature block lettering.
Her stomach tightened, heat climbing her neck. She pulled out the correspondence and spread it on the counter.
She shook her head. A formal business letter? Her ex had printed the date and his address in the top right hand corner. And according to the CC added at the end, he’d sent copies to both of their attorneys. As if expecting a fight. She thought of a similar correspondence sent last summer asking to take the kids to Disneyland, to which she’d conceded, only to have him cancel two weeks prior. To make matters worse, she’d been the one who had to break it to them. Tears pricked her eyes as the memory of Tylan and Becky’s sad faces.
Breathing deep, she read the letter:
I have two weeks’ vacation scheduled for the first week of August. We plan to go to Hawaii, and I’d like the kids to join us.
The man couldn’t remember to show up for a scheduled visitation on time. How could she possibly trust him to care for the kids an ocean away? Not that it mattered, since he’d cancel anyway.
Exhaling, she slipped the letter back into the envelope, folded it, and tucked it in her back pocket. She didn’t want the kids to see it. Not until she’d had time to process.
She returned to her mail pile. A gold envelope poked out from the bottom of the stack. She pulled it out and read the elegant writing—Oak Park Alumni Association. She ran her finger under the envelope flap and slipped out a gold embossed card. An invitation to her high school class reunion.
Would Nick Zimmerman be there? The thought quickened her pulse.
He was probably happily married and had forgotten about Tammy long ago.
She tore the invite into small pieces and threw them away.
Sleep beckoned.
Heading toward her bedroom, she passed the den and caught a glimpse of Joni, sitting on the couch.
“Hey.” Tammy dropped her keys into a glass bowl. “I’m surprised you’re still up. Is everything okay?”
Joni stared at her folded hands.
Tammy’s gut knotted at the strained expression on her sitter’s face. Her gaze shot to the hall. “The kids okay?”
“They’re fine. I . . .” Joni picked at her thumbnail cuticle. “I need to talk to you about something.”
Their previous conversation flashed through Tammy’s mind. “We can talk about it when you get home.” She checked the time on the DVR. “Sure. Just give me a minute to check on Tylan and Becky.”
Joni nodded.
She slipped down the hall and into Tylan’s room. Her son lay on his back, the blankets tangled around his feet. She kissed his forehead, so smooth and soft, and ran her hand across his cheek.
Father, watch over my sweet boy. Keep him safe.
After untangling his blankets and tucking them under his chin, she headed to Becky’s room. Soft music poured from the sleeping teen’s cell, still clutched in her hand. Her laptop sat opened on a stool positioned beside her bed.
Rolling her eyes, Tammy closed the computer and placed it securely on Becky’s desk, then eased the phone from her grip.
Becky mumbled, and her lashes fluttered before closing again.
Smiling, Tammy kissed Becky’s cheek. “Good-night, sweet girl.” Slipping from the room, she closed the door behind her.
She found Joni in the same position she’d left her, shoulders hunched.
Tammy sat beside her. “Is everything okay?”
The girl shook her head. “My mother’s not doing well.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.” Tammy placed her hand over Joni’s and squeezed. “She started her chemotherapy?”
Joni nodded. “She’s very tired, and . . . I’m worried she’s getting depressed. That she’ll give up.” She sniffed and dabbed at her nose with a wadded tissue. “She needs me.”
“Absolutely.”
“She doesn’t have anyone else. I know it’s short notice, but I really need to help her out.” A tear slid down her face. “I’m so sorry.”
“Your mother is lucky to have you.” She wrapped an arm around Joni’s shoulder. “I understand.” Joni’s mom was ill—perhaps even terminal. Of course she’d need Joni with her. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t think so, but thanks.”
“Let’s pray.” Tammy hugged the girl closer. “Lord, please be with Joni’s mother, give her strength and peace. May they sense Your presence, and if it’s Your will, provide healing.” She held her for a moment longer, then released the girl to look in her eyes. “Keep me posted?”
Again, Joni nodded, more tears flowing. Placing a protective arm over the young woman’s shoulder, Tammy walked her to the door. The full weight of the day’s events—so much sickness, so much death—settled upon her as she watched Joni leave.
As the door clicked closed, an unsettling thought rose to the surface. Who would watch her kids? Finding reliable childcare in the best scenarios was hard enough. Her job—with its late-night calls and long shifts—made it near impossible.
What now, Lord?
The next morning, Tammy slipped out of bed a minute before her alarm was set to go off. A dull ache spread through her, her muscles tight. Spending the night stressing over her childcare situation hadn’t done her any favors.
I need coffee.
Shrugging into her robe, she plodded across the room, then paused, her gaze landing on her opened closet. The bar where Brody’s suits once hung remained empty, the shoe rack below bare.
Would the sting of his abandonment ever go away? Her pastor always said God hated divorce—“What God has joined let no man tear asunder.” Now she knew why. The act shattered families. If only she had it to do over, she would’ve talked him into counseling years ago. It was too late now.
Cinching her belt tighter around her waist, she trudged into to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee.
Once brewed, she grabbed a steaming mug, her Bible, and a notepad filled with names and numbers of potential sitters. Inhaling the steam rising from her cup, she shuffled into the living room and nestled into the corner of the couch.
It was too early to call anyone now. She’d wait until after she got the kids off to school.
What if she had to quit her job? Would she—could she—find another?
She laid her Bible on her lap and opened the front flap to a worn photo tucked inside. It was of her first college roommate, a girl who had suffered from cystic fibrosis. Although she managed to function—go to school, keep a job—she’d already been pretty sick when Tammy met her. Midway through their sophomore year, she was placed on the transplant list. She died waiting for an organ. Even worse, she’d never known Jesus. Tammy had always meant to share the gospel with her, but had lost her nerve every time. Even now, the guilt of her cowardice ate at her. The girl was dying, and Tammy had been too afraid to tell her about the greatest gift of all—salvation. And then it was too late. They whisked her off to a hospital near her hometown. She’d passed two months later.
Tammy switched majors the next semester and vowed never to waste such precious time again. Because life didn’t always offer second chances.
A lump lodged in her throat as she slid the photo back in her Bible. She closed it and returned it to her end table. She couldn’t quit. Her job was too important.
God had gotten her through worse messes than this.
She wrapped both hands around her cup and inhaled. The tension began to seep from her neck and shoulders.
She glanced at the clock. 5:10. Time to put her drama aside and focus on bigger problems, like giving hope to grieving families.
She opened her laptop resting on the coffee table and logged into Heartland Donation Services. While waiting for the program to open, she grabbed her phone. Three new messages. The first came from the charge nurse at St. Mary’s. After listening to the voicemail, Tammy returned the call.
“St. Mary’s, Joyce Lundquist speaking, how may I help you?”
“Good morning. It’s Tammy with Heartland Donation Services. I’m calling about Mr. Chesney.”
“He’s Pam’s patient. Would you like me to page her?”
“Yes, please.”
She sipped her coffee as elevator music filled the line. Footsteps shuffled on the thick carpet. She glanced up to see a groggy Tylan approaching, and opened wide her free arm. Clutching his stuffed dinosaur, he wiggled onto the couch and snuggled in beside her, his head tucked under her chin.
The elevator music ended with a click. “Hello, this is Pam.”
Tammy repeated her greeting. “How is Mr. Chesney doing today?” Still holding Tylan, she positioned her phone between her shoulder and ear to free her other hand for note taking.
“He arrived maybe thirty minutes ago. The family’s on their way, and the doctor’s at his bedside now.”
“Any pupil reaction?”
“No.”
“Does he breathe over a ventilator?”
“Yes.”
She continued asking routine questions, jotting the answers on a notepad. What was his pulse, blood pressure, had his labs come back? The nurse’s responses made no sense.
Tammy sat straighter. “His white blood count is 532? That has to be an error.”
“Uh-uh.”
“Wow. Do you have any history on him?”
“I’ll get more information when the family arrives.”
Tylan wiggled, tickling Tammy’s side with his elbow, nearly producing a giggle. She covered by clearing her throat. “Do you know the plan for him? Are they talking surgery or brain death testing?”
“I’ll ask the doctor.”
The elevator music returned, and Tammy gave Tylan a squeeze. “As soon as I’m done, I’ll make butterfly pancakes. How does that sound?”
He nodded, licking his bottom lip. “Can I help?”
Always her little helper. Sure, that would stretch a ten-minute task into thirty, splattered pancake mix and all. But his toothy grin and dimpled cheeks made it all worth it.
She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’d love for you to help me.”
A Skype box pulled up on the bottom right of her screen alerting her that her mom had come online. A pop-up message followed.
Mom: Good morning. How are you doing?
Tammy: Morning. You’re up early.
Mom: How are the kids?
Tammy: Sleepy.
Mom: Becky texted me last night.
Tammy: That’s nice.
Mom: What’s going on with your babysitter?
Tammy: Everything’s fine.
Mom: That’s not the impression Becky gave me. You’ve had three sitters in two years.
Tammy raised her hand over her keyboard, then dropped them in her lap.
Mom: That’s not good for the kids. They need stability. Come home.
Tammy sighed. This had become a frequent conversation—since her divorce.
Tammy: I can’t uproot the kids—move them so far from their father. You know that.
Not that he appeared to have any interest in them, but that was his choice, not hers. Besides, she’d never sell the house, not without a hefty loss.
Mom: Dad and I are coming for a visit.
Tammy stared at the screen, her fingers suddenly frozen. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her parents, nor that she didn’t want to see them, but she had way too much going on to play host.
Tammy: I appreciate that, but now’s not a good time.
Mom: Of course it is. You need a sitter, and we need time with our grandkids.
The nurse returned to the line. “They’re taking him to the OR as soon as the surgeon arrives.”
Tammy: We’ll talk about this later. Gotta go.
She closed out the text box before her mom could press further, then returned to her phone conversation. “Thanks, Pam. I’ll check back with you in a few hours. Contact me if anything changes.”
She made a few more calls—closed out a patient and received a new one—then set her phone on the coffee table.
“Okay, muffin.” She bopped Tylan on the nose. “I need to wake that sleepy-head sister of yours—”
“Then we’ll make pancakes?”
“Then we’ll make pancakes.” She took one last sip of her coffee, then stood.
A door creaked, followed by soft footsteps. Her daughter emerged a moment later with tangled hair and droopy eyes. “Grandma and Grandpa are coming?”
Tammy frowned. “No. Why would you think that?”
Becky lifted her phone. “Grandma texted me. She said Grandpa’s not lecturing at the university next quarter. He’s got the entire summer off. Isn’t that awesome?”
Like all three months? Wonderful.