70. Riley
SEVENTY
Everything happens all at once,it seems. I”m wheeled into one room for a CT scan, and then to another for an ultrasound. Gabriel can”t come with me, and I feel cold and small in this bed as I”m wheeled around the hospital, into elevators and down sterile hallways. It”s all slightly confusing, but somehow, I don”t feel anything.
I should be scared. I”ve never been in a hospital before, and I also know I should call my parents. Mom would want to know that I”m ill. But I don”t have my phone and they”re gliding me into this circular tube and the air feels like cold molasses, thick and strange.
At least I”m not in pain. The morphine squashed that, thank God. With this painkiller I could totally go to work...if I could just go home and get some sleep.
I try to speak with the orderly, but my words come out jumbled.
”Someone got their morphine,” the guy grins as he pushes me down a hallway, past rooms with motionless people attached to machines.
The orderly wheels me and the bed back into the room and a nurse comes in to hook me back up to the IV machine. Gabriel”s sitting in a tan leather chair — I”m not sure when or how that got here — staring at his phone. I suspect he”s dealing with the shooting.
The fact that I covered a mass shooting for the paper only a few hours ago blows my mind.
Gabriel stands up the minute he sees me, his face pinched with worry. ”Is everything okay?”
I shrug, dimly aware that every movement I make feels like I”m underwater. Whatever they gave me sure is strong.
Gabriel adjusts and arranges the sheet and blanket on my bed, making sure it has no wrinkles or lumps.
”Thanks,” I say, but it comes out sounding like ”tanksssss.”
Gabriel grins. ”The doctor will be in soon to talk about the test results.”
How does he know that? Why does it seem like he has more information about what”s going on here than I do? I”m the patient. It doesn”t make me angry. Instead, I”m confused and fuzzy about all the details.
Gabriel”s making sharp folds in the sheets at the end of the bed, tucking them in. I”m about to ask him where he learned his bed-making skills and trying to think of an inappropriate joke when the doctor walks in with a clipboard.
Gabriel stands to his full height. I slur the word, ”Heyyyy,” but end up drooling on myself. I wipe my chin. I don”t think anyone noticed, which is a plus.
”The results of the CT scan and ultrasound are in, and you, Miss Murphy, have a serious kidney infection, as I suspected.”
My knowledge of the human body is pretty sketchy. All I know is that I have two kidneys, and my mind wanders, wondering which kidney is infected. I”m guessing it”s the side with the pain, but who knows? Now that I feel nothing, the infection could be anywhere, I guess.
Gabriel”s face turns scowly and dark. ”What does that mean? Will there be surgery involved?”
The doctor shakes his head. ”No, nothing that serious. She”ll stay here and we”ll administer antibiotics for three or four days. We”ll monitor her during that time, and obviously give her the best care. These kinds of infections can be difficult to treat, so that”s why we”re keeping her.”
Three or four days? What about the shooting story? My editor”s going to kill me.
Gabriel puts his hands on his hips and glares at the doctor. ”How did this happen? Is there a cause for this, something she can eat, a supplement, to prevent this from happening again?”
I”m thankful Gabriel”s asking questions because I”m still wondering if it”s my left or right kidney that”s infected and whether I”m going to be fired for my absence at work.
The doctor clears his throat and for some reason, seems uncomfortable. He glances at me, then at Gabriel. ”Research has shown that women who have sex more than three times a week have a higher risk of kidney infections.”
I look at him, my mouth slack. He basically is blaming my infected kidney on ... fucking? I”m not gonna lie, Gabriel and I do have sex a lot. But I didn”t know that was a bad thing. I”d had bladder infections in the past, so this all makes sense. Or does it? Who knows.
My eyes go to Gabriel, who is scowling even deeper.
The doctor continues. ”Frequent intercourse can lead to bladder infections, which if left untreated, can result in kidney infections. Before Riley”s released, we can all go over ways to prevent this. I can prescribe antibiotics and suggest other best practices. But for now, we”re going to fix her up with some IV antibiotics and keep her on morphine for the pain.”
”Blrb,” I manage to croak.
Both men look at me.
”I have a question.”
”Of course, dear,” the doctor says.
”When can I go back to work?”
The doctor leans against a cabinet. ”Probably not for a week. You need to rest.”
Gabriel shoots me a look that says, I told you so.
”I need to message my editor,” I mumble.
”I”ll let the two of you work things out, but in the meantime, I”m sending a nurse in to handle the antibiotics. After that, I”d try to get some sleep. But you have the button on the side of your bed to call a nurse if you need anything.”
The doctor shakes my hand, then shakes Gabriel”s. The two men walk out of the room, and Gabriel looks over his shoulder at me. ”I”ll be back in a few minutes, babe.”
The door shuts behind them, and I”m alone in the room. My head feels like it”s filled with cotton, and I shut my eyes. For some reason, I can”t keep a single thought in my head, and I drift into a half sleep.
Sometime later — maybe it”s a few minutes, maybe it”s hours, who really knows what time is anymore — Gabriel walks in.
He sits on the edge of the bed, sweeping the hair off my face and stroking my cheek.
I”ve always wonderedwhat the term ”lucid dreaming” meant, and now I know. Even though I know I”m sleeping, an entire, vivid world is unfolding in my mind.
It”s trippy and fun, for a while.
I dream of Boston, of blizzards and cold. I dream of Mom, of us walking to the market in Southie. I dream of Lorna.
Beautiful, funny Lorna.
In my dream I”m running toward her, yet she”s getting farther away. I”m confused, I”m upset, and I”m crying. Something crosses my path, a dark, nebulous thing. I stop because I”m afraid, and the form moves toward me.
I scream, and my entire body quakes as I call out for Lorna. But she”s gone, vanished in the thick Boston blizzard. Snow swirls around me, almost like magic. I”m shivering from the cold. Somehow, I can remind myself that I”m dreaming, so I do.
Wake up.
Wake up.
WAKE UP. I”m shouting into the void, at the swirling snow.
I force my eyes open, and I”m greeted with nothing but a soft, slow beeping noise. A column of light pours in from the small window on the door, illuminating the unfamiliar room.
The hospital. Oh God. I smack my mouth, which feels like it”s been washed out with sawdust.
Ugh. My limbs feel heavy and stiff, and a hint of the back pain I had earlier is making its presence known.
I turn my head to gaze around. Probably I should call the nurse. That”s when I see Gabriel.
He”s stretched out in the tan chair, which apparently converts to a recliner that almost lays flat. He”s still wearing his button-down shirt, and it”s still rolled up at the sleeves. His suit pants look as crisp as when he put them on, and he”s wearing socks. One arm is crossed on his chest, his hand pressed to his heart. His other hand clutches his phone.
The sound of him breathing deeply, like he does at home, fills the room. Even in this light, in this hospital, he looks handsome. So handsome that I don”t want to stare at him. I know I”m a mess right now, and I have a vague memory of drooling in front of him.
The pain throbs a little harder in my back, and I suspect the morphine”s wearing off. Maybe if I can get back to sleep, I won”t feel the pain as much.
I force my eyes shut, but my mind sharpens and races. A pang of humiliation goes through me at the memory of the doctor talking about sex and kidney infections. I knew Gabriel and I had a lot of sex, but this is absurd.
For the millionth time in recent months, I wish I could call Lorna to tell her everything. I imagine a conversation.
Me: You know that show, Sex Sent Me to the E.R.?
Lorna: I love that program!
Me: Well, I lived it
Lorna, laughing: I”m glad one of us is
I smile, thinking of all the jokes she”d crack and how she”d tell me exactly how to get better. But my smile quickly fades because there won”t be any such conversation, no jokes between besties.
Lorna”s gone.
I let a long breath out of my nose, wondering if I should wake Gabriel. No, he”s had a long day, and the fact that he”s even here with me at this hour is nothing short of amazing. Most men would”ve gone home, but Gabriel is here to ensure my safety. My comfort.
What time is it, anyway?
Oh crap, I need to get in touch with my boss. Where is my phone?
I open my eyes again and carefully shift onto my side, making sure I don”t pull out the IV in my arm. There”s a table on wheels that”s about a foot away, and from its height I can tell it”s meant to fit over the bed. I spot my cell phone and purse.
Gingerly, I sit up, The pain in my back is no longer a whisper, it”s more like a shout. After I grab my phone, I”ll figure out how to call for the nurse.
There”s no way I”m going to reach the table from the bed, but perhaps the IV line is long enough that if I move off the bed, I can pull it toward me.
I”m sitting up and leaning in the direction of the table when I hear Gabriel shift.
”What are you doing? Riley! Get back into bed.” His harsh tone slices through the silence.
”I”m trying to get my phone.”
He”s at my bedside now, staring at me with angry, dark eyes. ”You”re not supposed to get out of bed.”
”I don”t remember the doctor saying that. And I”m not running a marathon, I”m getting my phone.”
With a sigh, he gently lifts my legs back on the bed. I recline.
”Do you want to sit up?” he asks.
”I guess.”
He presses a button on the bed and the head slowly boosts me into sitting upright. Then he arranges the pillows and the blankets once again.
”I need to text my editor. What time is it?”
”I”ve already taken care of that. It”s four-thirty. How do you feel?”
”What do you mean, you”ve taken care of that?”
He leans down and kisses my forehead. ”I contacted the paper and told them what was going on.”
My lips part. The fact that he contacted my bosses — on the night that a mass shooting ripped through a restaurant he”s affiliated with — is stunning.
”What... what did they say?” I stammer.
”They”re worried about you and want you to get better. Now, tell me what you need. Any pain?”
I nod. ”A little.”
”It”s time for more morphine.” He moves toward the door.
”Wait, Gabriel.”
He returns to my side and sits on the bed. ”What else, babe?”
”Did the doctor say we couldn”t have sex?”
His mouth is set in a hard line. ”Unfortunately, not for a while.”
I rub my lips together. ”Oh.”
”Don”t worry about that right now. I”ll be right back. You need to get more rest.”
He walks out, and I add another worry to my list: what will happen to Gabriel and I if we can”t have sex? What if that”s all our relationship is about?