Sunday
When Dr. Armstrong let himself in just before shift change that morning, he found Jim asleep in Ginny’s room. She put her finger to her lips.
“It’s the first he’s gotten since this happened.”
Dr. Armstrong nodded. “All right. I’ll leave him ’til last.” He walked over and stood beside Ginny’s bed. “How are you doing?”
“They tell me I’m fine, neurologically, and no virus, and the wounds are healing.”
“But?”
“My chest aches, and it’s hard to breathe.”
He put his stethoscope into his ears and bent to listen. “Hmmm.” He straightened up. “We need to strike a balance between the pneumonia and the brain injury.” He studied the monitor over her head, then looked back at her.
“It’s been almost four days since that crack on your skull. You weren’t bleeding when you came in and I haven’t seen any evidence of a pressure buildup.” He crossed his arms on his chest, his eyebrows drawing together.
“We need to thin the secretions, make them easy to cough up. Fluids, mucolytics, chest physiotherapy, and a cough suppressant to use between sessions.” He walked her through the neuro exam, then nodded. “Stay hydrated. Stay off your feet, especially that ankle. Sleep as much as they’ll let you. I’ll check back before I leave the hospital.”
“Thank you.”
He smiled at her. “I’m also going to transfer you to a regular room. These ICU beds are for sick people.”
Ginny smiled. “Fine by me.”
Dr. Armstrong slipped out, leaving Ginny to wonder if he was headed for Hal’s room, and what he would find when he got there. She glanced over at Jim and found his eyes open and on her.
He rose and came over. “Good morning. Did I hear respiratory treatments mentioned?”
She nodded.
“Good.” He gave a bone-cracking yawn and stretched. “What time is it?”
“Almost seven. I’m guessing you got two whole hours of sleep.”
“More than enough.” He smiled at her. “I’ll be back.”
“Go to bed.”
“I will. Later.” He waved from the doorway and Ginny found herself suddenly alone.
She threw the covers back and considered her sprained ankle. Some things she could get away with. Falling flat on her face in an attempt to get into the bathroom by herself was not one of them. She put the call light on and waited for the nurse to respond.
* * *
“Good morning, darling.” Mrs. Forbes came over and gave her a kiss, then opened her hand to show Ginny what was in it.
“I thought you might want this. It was on your bedside table.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Ginny slipped the talisman over her head, then tucked it inside her gown.
“I spoke to Dr. Armstrong a few minutes ago. He told me he’s happy with your progress, but he’s going to keep you for a day or two just to make sure.”
“In that case, would you bring my computer up to me? I’m going to go stir crazy without something to do.”
“Certainly, darling.”
Ginny frowned. “There’s something else.”
“Yes, dear?”
“In the kitchen you’ll find roses and chocolates. I don’t think there’s any virus on them, but I’d hate to take the chance. Have the hazmat crew remove them, please.”
“Yes, dear. Detective Tran tells me she marked all the contaminated areas before she left. I’ll make sure that includes the kitchen.”
“Good,” Ginny said. “Now, tell me all the news. How was Mrs. Blair’s funeral?”
Her mother stayed until it was time for her appointment with the hazmat team. When she had gone, Jim Mackenzie sidled back in, carrying a computer and wearing a smile.
“I have something to show you.” He set the device in Ginny’s lap and brought up two images, aligning them side by side. Both were full body scans. His.
“Look. You can see here where the virus shows on the earlier scan.” He zoomed the image and showed her the infected region.
“Now. Look at this one.”
“Is this the same hand?” Ginny could see nothing.
“Yes. Taken forty minutes ago.”
She looked up at him. “It’s gone.”
“That’s right.”
“But it’s over here?” She pointed to a spot further up his torso.
He was still smiling. “What you’re seeing is the virus fragments being carried off by the lymphatic system.”
“Oh, Jim! That’s wonderful news!”
He was grinning from ear to ear. “Dr. Armstrong, cautious bastard that he is, warned me not to get careless. As if I would. But he’s letting me go home today on my own recognizance. I am to take my medications on time and in the correct manner and report back for follow up scanning on schedule.”
“Which you will do.”
“Which I will do.”
“I’m very happy for you.” Ginny’s smile faded as she remembered there was another patient fighting that virus.
Jim must have read her mind. “He’s still alive.”
She blinked. “Oh. Thank you.”
He studied her face. “Do you want to see him?”
Ginny was silent for a long moment, considering the question. “I don’t know. Should I?”
“I can’t answer that. Is there someone you’d like to discuss it with?”
“Yes.” She blinked. “I can’t go to him. Do you think he’d come here?”
“I’m sure he would. Shall I call him?”
“Yes, please.”
* * *
They moved Ginny before lunch, settling her into a room on the neuro surgical floor. She was promptly visited by the respiratory therapist, bringing engines of torture and foul-tasting medications for her pleasure and amusement.
After the breathing treatment, the therapist spent the better part of an hour knocking the mucus loose from the inside lining of her lungs with a device like a miniature jackhammer. The percussion moved the secretions out into her airways, causing her to cough. By the time the therapist had collected the sputum specimen and made sure she knew how to use the incentive spirometer, she was exhausted.
Jim had helped move her, had watched the treatment from the window seat, had made sure she could reach the tissues and inspected the specimen she had produced, before pronouncing it sufficient and allowing the tech to label and dispatch it. He now pulled the oxygen equipment off the wall and set the meter to deliver two liters of supplemental oxygen into her nose via a nasal cannula.
“I will have them add a bubbler,” he told her, “to make sure the airways stay moist.” He slid the pulse oximeter on her finger, then flipped his stethoscope off his shoulders and bent to listen. Ginny was pretty sure she knew what he was hearing. She could feel the fluid moving in her lungs as she breathed.
“How’s your head?”
“Splitting,” Ginny replied.
He took her through the neuro exam, then smiled down at her.
“The best thing for you is sleep.”
She sighed. He was right. If she could sleep, she wouldn’t notice how much she hurt. He closed the curtains and turned off the light, then came over and stood looking down at her.
“Close your eyes, Ginny.”
The sounds of the hospital floated into the room, muted by distance and the door. The hiss of the oxygen mixed with the hum of the air conditioning. White noise. Soothing. Calming. Her eyes drifted open and she found him still standing there, still watching her, watching over her.
“Sleep, Ginny. I’ll wake you when he gets here.”
* * *