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It’s Sunday morning. I can picture Sandy over on the East Coast, sitting in the front row of her husband’s huge church. She’s wearing one of those floral-print skirts that rustles when she walks, and her hair’s in that long French braid, and she’s so busy worshipping God she’s not even thinking about my baby on a ventilator.
No, that’s not fair. She’s thinking about Natalie. I know she is. I texted her last night to tell her what was happening. The doctors got Natalie hooked up to her machine just fine. Her oxygen levels are holding steady. By the time I woke up this morning her fever was down to 102. Everyone says I made the right call.
I’m still not sure I believe them.
It’s one thing if Natalie’s on this ventilator for a day or two while they get her fever under control. I get that part of it. But it’s totally different if we start talking about weeks or months. I mean, at some point you just have to say enough is enough, right? I know Natalie’s totally knocked out, but what if that only means she can’t respond? What if she can still hear and feel everything? What if she’s scared? What if she thinks I’ve abandoned her?
I can’t even hold her anymore, not while she’s on all these machines. I’ve seriously started to wonder if it’s good for me to stay here, but I don’t have anywhere else to go, and of course I’ve got to stick around in case something changes.
Something has to change eventually, right? That’s what’s got me so scared. The thought that we might be here in this limbo for months. It’s Christmas in a few days. Big stinking deal. And what if Easter comes and she’s still on this stupid machine?
I should call Jake. I need to talk to him, but my phone’s almost dead and my charger’s stuck in Orchard Grove. I sent him a quick text last night. Didn’t even have the heart to tell him Natalie was back on the ventilator. I just said it was something the doctor mentioned as a possibility. I’ve got to warm him up to the idea or he’ll completely freak out. I told him to call the hospital room when he wakes up. I can’t waste my phone batteries anymore.
Sunday morning. I saw something about a church service in the big chapel downstairs. Maybe I should go. There’s nothing really for me to do here. But I know I won’t be able to bring myself to leave. What if Natalie wakes up? What if she needs me?
My phone beeps with an incoming text. How’s she doing?
At first I think it’s Jake, but then I realize it’s coming from Eliot. Back on the ventilator, I tell him then add Phone’s about to die. Can’t really chat.
I’ve got a Bible I borrowed from the peds floor chapel. I figure even if I don’t make it to church, I can spend some time in here on my own. I swear I’ve done more praying in the past week than I have in the last three years combined.
It’s hard to believe it’s already Sunday. Hard to believe that a week ago I was whining at Jake for making us go to some dumb country church. If it hadn’t been for Grandma Lucy, would I have let them intubate my baby? If Jake hadn’t gotten the itch to make things right with God last week, would my child have died sometime overnight?
Her color’s better today. Not so ashen. I always thought it’d be creepy to see a baby go blue, but really it’s that sick grayish yellow that’s the most frightening. Like they’re already a corpse. No, I can’t think like that. Natalie needs all my positive energy today. She’s going to be healed. That’s what Grandma Lucy said, and that’s what I’m going to believe.
Any other alternatives are too horrific to fathom.