A Time to Die (8 page)

Kara gritted her teeth and with pained effort forced herself upright. “No ambulance. I can make it. As long as I’m not unconscious, I’ll go under my own steam.”

Her mother helped her struggle to the door, stopping only long enough to grab a coat to cover Kara’s thin frame.

K
ARA FELT AS
if she were suffocating, as if she were trying to breathe through a drinking straw. Her lungs felt on fire, and each breath was excruciating. Dr. McGee told her and her anxious parents, “It’s viral pneumonia, bronchitis, and a staph infection. As you know, antibiotics won’t touch the virus, but they’ll help the others. We’ll be doing cultures and blood gases, and, Kara, I’m putting you on a strong pain medication to help you relax and sleep.”

“How long?” Kara managed to ask through her agony.

Dr. McGee arched an eyebrow. “I can’t say how long it will take to get you on your feet again, but don’t count on jumping out of here too soon. You’re much sicker than when you were admitted
last August.” He patted her arm in a fond, fatherly gesture. “Have faith. We’ll lick this infection.”

Kara realized that she’d let the infection get out of control by refusing to call Dr. McGee when she first felt the sensations in her chest. She’d stubbornly hoped that it would go away with doses of cough syrup and daily respiratory therapy. She should have known better. “Sorry, Mom and Dad,” she mumbled. “It’s my fault I didn’t catch the infection sooner.”

“Don’t blame yourself, honey,” her father told her. He’d managed to grab a predawn flight and had arrived a few hours after Kara had been admitted. “You just get well.”

“I’ll spend a few nights here in the hospital with you,” her mother told her. “You know they’ll let me.”

“But your job—”

“Can wait. You’re my number-one priority.”

Kara was torn between thinking she was too old to have her mother stay and wanting her to remain through the long nights, as she had when Kara had been a little girl. The child in Kara won out. “Just until I’m better.”

“Not a minute more.”

Kara squeezed her eyes shut as the painkiller stole over her body and pulled her toward a drugged sleep. “Can you get my schoolwork?”

“I’ll call your teachers for your assignments.”

“And my sketch pad—it’s in my desk at home.”

“I’ll bring it later with your other things.”

“We love you, honey. Just concentrate on getting
well,” Kara heard her mother say as sleep overcame her.

She drifted on a sea of fevered pain for five days, too sick to care much what was being done to her. They took blood with a long, sharp syringe from an artery in her groin. They pumped her full of medications and aerosol inhalants. Her veins kept collapsing, and they had to continually hunt for new ones to insert her IVs. Because she was so thin, every needle prick felt like a dagger being driven into her. She sucked on oxygen round the clock.

No visitors except her parents were admitted, for which she was grateful. She didn’t want anyone—especially her friends—to see her suffering. Not Vince, who might have to go through it himself, and certainly not Eric or Elyse. Christy visited twice a day, held her hand, smoothed her sheets, and whispered words of encouragement. Kara couldn’t speak—it took too much energy, too much air from lungs whose linings were raw and bleeding—but she offered mute thanks with her eyes.

Kara lost track of time, but did know that the nights seemed to stretch into eternity. She insisted that a light be kept on in her room, and since she slept fitfully, she’d startle awake, disoriented, and turn toward the circle of light like a ship seeking a safe harbor. Her mother slept on a roll-away bed, supplied by the hospital. In the long, lonely hours of darkness, when she couldn’t sleep in spite of the drugs for pain, Kara listened to the
slow rhythm of her mom’s breathing, and found comfort in it.

If only she could breathe as easily! People took so many things about living for granted—like the simple act of breathing. It was an involuntary action. Even newborns did it without thinking about it. But for Kara, it was a battle. How she longed to breathe normally. Was it too much to ask for?

Dr. McGee came daily, wearing a perpetual frown between his gray eyes. He flipped through charts and file folders. She heard him tell nurses to switch medications, twice. She almost felt sorry for him because her particular collection of germs was frustrating his medical expertise. She wanted to apologize, but didn’t have the energy to form the words.

She found herself silently repeating the Twenty-third Psalm. She wondered what heaven would be like and vowed to read her Bible more often when she recovered. She clung tenaciously to that goal—she
would
recover. “I’ve got so much left to do, God,” she prayed silently in the long hours of the night when the fever gave her respite. “I’m only sixteen … but then, you know that. I’m not trying to be greedy, or tell you how to run the universe. But there’s so much I want to do. I have a drawing to complete for a contest. I have my junior year to finish. I want to grow up and get fat.

“And my parents, they don’t need this, either. Maybe they drive me crazy sometimes, and
maybe I don’t act it all the time, but I love them so much. Let me get well so they won’t be sad.

“I almost had something going with this fabulous guy—maybe you know him—Eric Lawrence. Please, let me have another chance with him. He makes me feel so wonderful—like I’m floating and walking on clouds. I want to feel that way again. Just once more.

“Oh, and God, one more thing. I’ve got this friend, Vince. I know you know him because we’ve talked about you before. Please take special care of Vince. Don’t let this happen to him. And let him find somebody who will care about him, be his friend, just in case I don’t get better. But please, God,
please
let me be all right. Let me have tomorrow. Give me some time to have fun. I won’t ask for anything else.”

Kara was never certain when she turned the corner and began to rally. She only knew that the suffocating sensation slowly began to subside. Dr. McGee smiled when he visited her, still shuffling papers on her medical chart, which was the size of the phone book.

“You’re definitely improving,” Dr. McGee told her one morning. “Now, all you have to do is get your strength back.”

Her mother looked a bit haggard, but she was all smiles. “Dad’s been deadheading every flight so that he could come home as often as possible.”

“How long has it been?” Kara asked. Her voice sounded hoarse and scratchy, like an old phonograph record.

Her mother patted her hand. “Two weeks. You’ve been here two weeks.”

Kara felt dismayed. She’d come in on October 31, and now November was half gone. CF had robbed her yet again. Not only of strength and health and breath, but of time. And time was the one thing she was loath to relinquish. Tears started to slide down her cheeks. “I want to go home.”

“Not yet,” Dr. McGee said, touching her shoulder. “Hang on. I want you completely over this and back in your regular therapy regime before I release you. Be patient.”

Kara’s patience had run out. She ached from lying in bed. She was weak and shaky, and she knew without looking in a mirror that she’d dropped a lot more weight. Her overwhelming sense of frustration made her cry harder.

“You couldn’t have visitors, dear, but you’ve got a ton of mail.” Her mother’s tone was cheery. “Do you feel up to sorting through some of it?”

The suggestion lifted Kara’s spirits. “Yes,” she whispered. “Help me sit up, please.”

Her mother wedged pillows behind her back and shoulders as Dr. McGee slid his arms beneath her and boosted her upright. When she was comfortable, Dr. McGee said good-bye, and her mother brought in a sack of mail. Kara sorted through the collection, recognizing the handwriting of her grandparents, aunts and uncles, and family friends. Elyse had sent two cards. Her fingers fumbled awkwardly as she opened the envelope.

Kara smiled, mentally hearing Elyse’s chattering voice as she read. She counted fifteen cards from Vince—one for every day she’d been hospitalized, she guessed. She held one displaying a fuzzy teddy bear to her cheek and envisioned Vince buying it, writing it, mailing it. She felt lucky to have someone like Vince in her life.

Each card and letter touched her deeply. Yet, sick and weak as she was, she realized that there was nothing from the one person she’d hoped to hear from. Nothing to make her spirits sing and her heart happy. Not one thing from Eric Lawrence.

C
HRISTY CAME INTO
the room and beamed Kara a smile. “Do you know how good it is to see you sitting up?” Kara returned Christy’s hug and started clearing the mail off her bed. “Looks like the post office did a booming business on your behalf.”

“I like getting cards,” Kara confessed. “It makes me feel special.”

“You are special.”
Not special enough for Eric
, Kara thought. Christy’s expression grew somber. “We were really concerned about you, Kara.”

“We? You mean you and the doctors?”

“My brother, too.”

Kara wanted to believe her, but figured she was only being polite. “Well, tell Eric the crisis is over.”

“Your tone tells me that you don’t believe me.”

Kara shrugged. “You said all along that he wasn’t the guy for me. You were right.”

Christy plucked aimlessly at the bed sheet, the expression on her face pensive. “He took your hospitalization pretty hard. I could tell it was affecting him by the way he was acting. He either moped around or turned into a whirlwind of pointless activity. I made sure to give him a daily update on your condition.”

Kara was careful to note that Christy never once said Eric had asked about her, only that she’d kept him informed.

“I think I owe you an apology,” Christy continued slowly. “I should have stayed out of your relationship with Eric. You’re a bright, mature girl and perfectly capable of making your own choices.”

“That’s nice of you to say, but it takes two to make a couple.”

“I think I sold Eric short, too.” Christy was struggling to put her thoughts into words, but Kara didn’t know how to help her, so she kept silent and listened with all her heart. “He’s having a tough time finding his place in the world. It’s hard for him to express his feelings, but I know how deeply he feels things. I think it’s a defense mechanism—if he doesn’t
say
what he feels, then he doesn’t have to deal with his feelings. It’s much simpler for him to ease through life by pretending nothing matters. Even when something really does. Am I making any sense?”

Kara did understand, but found little comfort in the knowledge. Relationships took time, and time was something she was short on. “What you mean is that rather than taking the time to sort through feelings and hash out emotions, Eric avoids them altogether.”

Christy flushed, and Kara knew her assessment was correct. “I’m not being disloyal to Eric. He and I have had some discussions about his—” she searched for a word, “—his cool attitude. My problem is, I love you both. I didn’t want to see either of you get hurt.”

“Too late,” Kara told her.

Christy sighed and took Kara’s hand. “Will you forgive me?”

Kara saw tears in Christy’s eyes and realized she could never hold anything against her. Christy was the closest thing to a sister she would ever have. “Sure,” Kara said. “I’m not mad at you. Eric has to make his own decisions.”