Sí, laugh, sí, laugh, sí, laugh.
“He’s really cute. . . .”
Laugh, laugh, laugh.
“Random cute guy? Seriously? How could you both know the same random cute guy? That’s impossible!”
“Night shift!” said Sophia. I guess Spanish wasn’t the only thing that Sophia and Riley knew and I didn’t. “Riley really likes him,” she teased.
Riley shook her head.
“¡Usted!” She pointed at Sophia. “¡Usted!” Sophia answered her back in a string of Spanish and Riley almost fell out her bed, she was laughing so hard. I waited for Sophia’s translation, but it never came.
“So . . . anyway,” I interrupted. “Do you guys want to play UNO?”
“Um, sure,” said Sophia. Riley shrugged.
I shuffled my expert shuffle and dealt the hand just as Sophia’s mom, Ofelia, walked into the room.
“Hola,” she said. “Time to rest, my love.” Her mother was right. Sophia had circles under her eyes, and she was beginning to slump in her chair. I didn’t think she needed help walking back to her bed, but her mom held her by the arm, anyway, and then gently closed the curtain between us.
“Just us, I guess,” I said to Riley.
“No.” She laid her cards down on the table. “No más.”
“She said ‘no more,’ ” Sophia called—uninvited—over the curtain. “She doesn’t want to play.”
“Yeah, I got that.” I collected the cards I had already dealt and put the deck back in the box. “So, do you really like that nurse? The cute one?”
“No,” Riley said, looking out the window into the hallway. She waved at her mother, who was almost always close by, even if she wasn’t in the room.
“Can I get you anything?” I tried.
“Nuh-uh.” Even Sophia realized that no translation was necessary. Either that, or she was asleep. Whatever.
“Maybe we can . . .” I stopped. Riley’s eyelids were heavy and the shadows were back on her face. I guess they even slept at the same time. Hospital BFFs. I kicked at my backpack on the floor. Sticking out of the top was the corner of the Abraham Lincoln biography. I held it up and Riley smiled. I picked a random page and read out loud. “ ‘The initial Northern responses to the Emancipation Proclamation were predictable. Antislavery men were jubilant. “God bless Abraham Lincoln,” exclaimed Horace Greeley’s New York Tribune. “The president,” announced Joseph Medill’s Chicago Tribune, had promulgated “the grandest proclamation ever issued by a man.”’ ”41
Translate that, Sophia.
* * *
I needed Jack to help me find more words so Sophia didn’t take over my word board. I still felt a little funny taking the elevator up to the PICU family room, but Jack said it wasn’t like I was sneaking in to steal doughnuts from sick people.
“How’s she doing?” Audra asked when I walked past the PICU nurses’ station.
“She’s good!” I replied, flashing her a smile. Riley was good. And I mean like 65 percent Riley good. The stuff that mattered. She was practicing using her walker (and Jodi) and even managing her own ADLs, like using a fork and brushing her teeth. But what I wanted, and I know I’m a jerk, but what I really wanted was to be the one who understood her the best—that’s why I needed Jack. We had only been off the floor a few days, and already there were new faces in the family room, including the one sitting next to Jack in front of the fish tank. Oh. I was too far into the room to pretend to be going someplace else, and besides, Jack saw me and waved me over.
“Hey,” he said. “How’s it going?”
“Hey,” I answered. I stood awkwardly to the side of the fish tank. The kid in the chair didn’t look up. “What’s going on?”
“Same old stuff,” he said, pulling an ottoman over for me to sit. I declined. “This is Jeremy.”
“Hi, Jeremy.” Protocol dictated that I did not open the conversation by asking Jeremy who he was visiting in the pediatric intensive care unit or why. From the terrified look on his face, though, it had to be somebody close to him and for something pretty serious. He also looked young—younger than Jack and younger than me. I scanned the room but didn’t see anybody who he might belong to.
“Jeremy and I were just talking about the fish,” Jack continued, just cheerfully enough to not sound annoying. “Jeremy likes Batman for the blue one and Joker for the yellow one.” Superhero names. This kid was even younger than he looked—possibly too young to be left alone in the family room with strangers, was what my mother would have said. But clearly, emergency rules were at work. “Solid choices, I told him,” Jack added.
“Great names,” I agreed.
“Thanks.” Jeremy seemed to brighten at this. I exchanged looks with Jack, letting him know I wanted to talk to him, but it was clear he was going to stick with the kid. I wondered if that was a pattern with Jack—befriend the new kid by the fish tank. The awkward silence that followed made me realize that they had been talking before I barged in—maybe even about why Jeremy was here—and perhaps I should wait for a better time to vent about Riley’s extremely helpful and bilingual roommate. The only other kid in the room was a five-year-old girl coloring Elmo bright green at the art table with her mother.
I had left my backpack in the room, so I borrowed some paper from the art table, sat down on the ottoman Jack had offered, and worked on some words that Riley and I had in common.
Every time somebody walked past the glass wall, Jeremy looked up, but he didn’t say a word. It seemed just as rude to interrupt the silence as it had been to interrupt the conversation. I finally gave up on a graceful exit and stood.
“I’ll check in with you guys later,” I announced, feeling very much replaced again.
“Okay.” Jack half smiled and waved, but Jeremy just blinked at me. I think the poor kid was in shock. Out in the hallway, I ran into the dad version of Jeremy—he had an equally terrified look on his face.
“Excuse me, which way is the—” he began.
“Family room? It’s down the hallway, on the right.” I gestured. “There’s food in there too,” I added for no reason; I just wanted to say something helpful. I pushed the button for the elevator and watched him stride into the family room, straightening up a bit, I thought, before facing his son, exchanging his scared look for something stronger, something in control, something that would make his son less afraid.
The elevator was taking too long—and I remembered the stairs—and I wanted to feel my legs move again. I disappeared through the stairwell door and this time ran all the way to the ground floor. I was sure Jack was introducing himself to Jeremy’s dad—and maybe showing him where the coffee was and how to turn on the television, going out of his way to be useful. I thought of Firefighter Dad trading cotton candy with his son helping Riley and directing us to the hospital. I thought of the woman who called us a cab. And the couple who stepped aside so we could get into it. Maybe Sophia drawing a horse and a cat wasn’t that much of a crisis after all.
At the second-floor landing, I stepped aside for a group of people in scrubs, talking casually as they walked up the steps. When I hit the ground floor, I pivoted and started right back up at the same pace until my hamstrings told me otherwise. I hadn’t stretched in over a week, and I felt it. Most of the hamstring stretches I knew were on the floor—and that seemed gross. So I walked the remaining flights back up to pediatrics, making a mental note to stretch when I got home.
And maybe run again tomorrow.
* * *
Aunt Maureen cried a million tears and had half a dozen false exits before she finally left the hospital that night. She and my mom chatted in the kitchen for an hour when we got home, even though I knew they were both dead tired. I was finally glad Riley’s room was wide open, because I got to hear them talking and laughing, like it was just a regular summertime sister visit. When I finally climbed into bed and swung my legs up . . . OUCH.
I slid onto the floor and stretched.
* * *
39 Of course, plenty of the doctors and nurses at the hospital spoke Spanish but had never thought to speak Spanish with Riley, just as they’d never thought to randomly communicate with her in Russian or Mandarin. It is rare for your brain to spit out another language after a stroke, head injury, or coma, but it does happen.
40 The best news was that it was also likely that her English wouldn’t be far behind her Spanish. It was a sure sign her brain was really picking up steam—just not in the order you might expect.
41 Quote from Lincoln. Copyright © 1995 by David Herbert Donald. All rights reserved.
42 Okay, neither of us actually knew how to skateboard, but we talked about it a lot and we planned on doing it and even knew the skate park where we were going to go. Someday. When at least one of us had a skateboard.
DAY 9
Ready?” Dr. Mejia smiled broadly at Aunt Maureen and then looked specifically at Riley. “We have a meeting with the social worker about getting you home by the end of the week. I’ll bring your mom back in half an hour or so.” Home. Finally. All those sparks really did add up to progress. Enough progress to send 80 percent Riley home.
“Moo-Moo,” Riley said as Aunt Mo followed the doctor out, but she was okay with her mom leaving. It was just her way of saying, See you later, Mom.
“I’m going downstairs for an after-breakfast cigarette,” Aunt Elayne announced next. What? She was leaving? Leaving me alone with Riley?
“I think you’re supposed to stay until Mom gets back from the cafeteria,” I said carefully. “Riley shouldn’t be alone.”
“She won’t be alone,” she answered. Her hair was already in the hallway. “You’re here.”
“But . . . um . . . I think a grown-up is supposed to be here,” I called after her. “Or at least close by . . .”
Riley made a tiny wave with her good arm.
“See, Riley’s fine with it,” my aunt said from the hall. “So you’ll be fine too. I won’t be gone long.” And then she was. Gone. I hadn’t been alone with Riley since . . . well, since the safety bar came down on the roller coaster.
“So . . . ? You want some water or something?”
“No, gras.”
“I do!” Sophia called softly from the other side of the sheet. Jeez, was she always listening? “My pitcher is empty!” I jerked the curtain back, annoyed, but Sophia looked so much sicker—now in her bed—than she had just yesterday. She was losing sparks. I carried Riley’s water pitcher around the curtain and poured Sophia a cup. Her hands shook when she held it to her mouth. I waited for her to finish, then took the empty cup from her and put it on her table.
“Gracias,” she whispered.
“De nada,” I whispered back. I stood for a few moments, just in case she wanted more. I wondered if Riley knew what my mom had told me about Sophia—that she may need a pacemaker to help regulate her heart. Did they talk about that kind of stuff?
When I sat down, Riley looked me straight in the face and said, “Orb.”
“Orb?” There was no translation from Sophia. Was she asleep already?
Riley put her hands together to mimic an open book, like in charades. “Orb,” she insisted. She searched around the bed and table, now littered with paperwork and magazines. “AHA!” She found what she wanted . . . the red binder Monica helped me make . . . The Official Riley Binder!
“The ORB!” I exclaimed. Man, she was closer to 90 percent! No wonder they were sending her home.
She found her way to the hospital chart and stabbed her finger at:
“Oh. Okay. I’ll call the nurse,” I said.
She shook her head. Okay then.
We always left the room when she signaled to Aunt Maureen, so I pointed to the bedpan on the chart.
Riley shook her head no.
“How about I just get the nurse for you?” I suggested. “Does she, uh, help you with that?” I had no idea how this worked.
“No. No,” she said. She pointed to the bathroom in the corner and then to the picture again.
“You want to use the actual bathroom? Do you want me to get your mom?” Maybe Riley was a little embarrassed to have a nurse take her to the bathroom. I’d definitely be!
Riley frowned. She pointed at me and then again at the bathroom. She didn’t want to wait for her mother. She wanted me to take her to the bathroom. She was already getting in position to swing her legs over. If I didn’t help her, I swear, I think she was going to try to do it herself.
“Can you . . . can you do that? Are you allowed? What are we going to do with your, uh, wires and . . . stuff?” I asked. She blinked at me. Dumb! We both knew she couldn’t answer a string of complicated questions like that! I’d have to figure it out myself. The bathroom wasn’t that far away—five or six steps from the end of Riley’s bed. She used her good hand to make the walking motion with her pointer and middle fingers.
“Like physical therapy?” When they walked, the wires and IV drip rolled along with them. She nodded.
“Okay. Sí. Yes,” I said. I circled around to the other side of the bed, where her IV drip and her monitor were. I’d seen Jodi work with her to get up and sit down, and walk the hallway, all with the pole rolling behind them. I was pretty sure I knew what to do. Still . . .
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Riley gave me a thumbs-up.
Then she reached over and pulled apart a small box I hadn’t seen before. The numbers on her monitor went dark, the lines went flat, and my own heart did triple beats.
“What are you doing?! You need that! We need that!”
Riley shook her head, making the walking motion with her fingers again. “Jo.”
“You don’t use that when you walk with Jodi?”
“No.” She smiled. I was terrified she was going to rip the IV needle right out of her hand too, but she didn’t.
“Okay, ready?” I pulled the covers back and she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She had gotten pretty good at that. She took a deep breath and I thought—I hoped—she was going to change her mind. But she didn’t. She reached her good leg down until her foot touched the floor, then very, very slowly followed with her stroke leg. She motioned for me to stand in front of her. Feet apart, I remembered. Jodi repeated it every time they stood up together. I checked to make sure Riley had a wide stance. She did. Okay. Good start. I put my leg in front of hers, so her knee couldn’t buckle.
“Shoot!” I’d forgotten to bring the walker closer to the bed. It was up against the wall, under the corridor window. I stretched one arm out, but I couldn’t reach it and support Riley at the same time. “Wait, sit down a second . . . the walker . . .”
“No. Me.” Riley put her arm up around my shoulder.
“Riley, the walker. You need it!”
“Me. You.” I didn’t want to do this. But I didn’t want to let her down. We could certainly make it five steps together, couldn’t we?
“On the count of three, we pivot, okay? We need to turn your body toward the bathroom,” I said. “Ready?”
“Sí,” she said.
“One, two . . . oops . . . Uno, dos, tres.” She shuffled her feet and I shuffled with her. We were in position to walk straight ahead to the bathroom. I was on her strong side and the bed was on her weaker side. She swayed a little bit, but I pulled her closer. She felt solid, heavy. I remembered her weight pressing on me in the roller-coaster car. “Okay, now we’re going to step forward. On the count of three. Uno, dos, tres.” We stepped.
“Me. You. See?”
“Again,” I said. “Uno, dos, tres.” Step. I pulled the pole along and we shuffled another step forward.
“Free-o.” Riley giggled.
“Cold?”
She looked down.
“Your feet?”
She nodded. She was barefoot. “Should I put your slippers on?” She shook her head. I think she wanted to just keep going. Could she get sick this way? I’m sure the floor was kind of gross. If Aunt Maureen walked in and saw he
r bare feet, I think she’d probably freak out. I know it was freaking me out, but Riley seemed okay with it, so I let it go.
It might have only been about six steps to the bathroom from the edge of the bed, but I hadn’t accounted for Riley steps. Hers were much smaller than they used to be. And every step took a lot out of her. Six steps quickly grew into twelve and then fifteen small half step-and-rolls. She was sweating. And her face had gone a little gray, I noticed with alarm. She no longer had the bed on her left side, either. It was all floor. I should have put a chair in that space to give her something to lean against besides me. Too late, but I could do it on the way back.
Three more shuffles. We were still barely halfway there. “Do you want to turn around?” I asked. I really wished a grown-up was here. She shook her head fiercely, so we kept going. “Stay with me,” I said, repeating what Marisol always said to me during the worst part of a run, when the initial adrenaline had worn off and the finish line was still impossibly far away. “Stay with me.”
Inch by inch, we shuffled, two feet away, one foot. Out of habit, I looked up to check her vitals—her HR, her BP—but there was no monitor for reassurance; it stood next to her bed, with its connection dangling free. This could not have been a good idea.
We were a mere step away from the door—the closed door. Grrrr! Why did I not think this through? We were in our own way! “Okay, Riley. The door opens outward into the room, so I’m going to come around in front of you and then we are going to pivot, so you can lean against the wall and I will stay in front of you. Got it?” I parked the pole out of the way of the door.
“Sí, sí . . .” She needed to sit down. I came in front of her, like Jodi did when she helped Riley stand up, and hugged my arms around her waist, grabbing my own hands behind her to support her until her back was against the wall. “I’ve got you, so you can lean into me if you need to. I’m going to let go and open the door with one hand. Uno, dos, tres.”
We did it! We made it! The bathroom walls were lined with grab bars, just like the PICU bathroom, and Riley grabbed ahold of one as soon as she could. I let go of her for a second. She held herself steady, both hands on a rail. I pulled the IV pole closer and then shut the door and hurried back, my arms under her armpits now, and helped her lower herself onto the toilet. Now I was sweating and my heart was racing. But we did it! We did it!!
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