Page 88 of Then Came You

At the sobering realisation that I’m completely and utterly alone, a soft wail escapes my lips. I feel the wetness of tears slide down my face before I register that I’m actually crying. Heaving, my sobs become louder. Snot runs down my nose and onto my lips, making me gag. wipe it away with the sleeve of my shirt, but it’s no use because of how much liquid I’m secreting from every orifice on my face. I start to choke on my cries, and it’s only then that a passing nurse comes to my aid.

At this time of night, there’s a skeleton staff on duty, so it’s not anyone's fault that no one could come and comfort me sooner. I don’t know if it’s a female or male nurse, but I know they’re kinder than the lady at the front desk. Someone hands me a tissue box, which I use to the fullest extent by pulling out a wad and blowing my nose. I’m also given a cup of water, and there are gentle but firm strokes being circled on my back.

“You’re going to be okay,” an elderly voice soothes. I turn my pain-stricken face toward the nurse, who looks like she’d be a great grandma, and tug her in for a hug. She doesn’t know I’ll be okay, but the fact she said it makes me appreciate her at this moment.

She’s shown me kindness and compassion when no one else ever has.

“Can I call anyone for you?”

“I have no one.”

“I’m sure that can’t be true,” she insists.

“The only person in my entire world is lying somewhere behind those doors and is dying of cancer.” I’m slammed with the reality of how true that is.

For the remainder of my wait, Nurse Diandra sits with me and holds my hand in silence.

“Miss Atkins?” My name is called by a petite Asian doctor. She doesn’t seem like the Grim Reaper who’s coming to be the bearer of bad news, but there’s a tense smile on her face as she addresses me.

I sniffle. “That’s me.” I go to get up with help from Nurse Dee.

“I’m Dr. Yau. Your sister, Tori, is awake. I’m the doctor who has been with your sister, getting her stabilised.”

I’m impatient for her to get to the part about Tori’s health.

“Is she okay?” I cut in.

She hesitates and flicks her eyes to Nurse Dee, who is holding my hand in support. I don’t know what the look means, but it can’t be good. It doesn’t feel good.

Exhaling, she continues. “She’s got a bad bout of pneumonia, so we’re currently treating that and giving her plenty of fluids. With her chemo treatment and the fact she’s been quite ill over the past few months, her immunity is at an all-time low, virtually non-existent, so we’re running more tests.” She isn’t giving me the full picture. I’ve been around the same block a few times to know that there’s more to the story.

“What else?” I push, my breathing accelerating

“I’m afraid that’s the only news I can tell you at the moment because we don’t know what we’re dealing with or how she’ll respond to the medication we’re giving her. We’ve called her specialist, Dr. Cecily, who will be here as soon as she can.”

There it is. The shoe. They wouldn’t call Dr. Cecily if the end wasn’t nigh.

“Can I see her?” I urge. “Can I stay with her?” I beg.

“Of course. Nurse Dee will set you up a bed.”

That’s the final nail in the coffin.

If she was going to get better, they’d never allow me to stay, but because these could be her last moments, hours, days, or weeks, they’re making not only exceptions but going above and beyond to let us have these last times and memories together.

My chest caves in, and I feel a heaviness that I know will remain there for the rest of my life.

My sister is not coming home.

When I leave here, she will be gone.

One day, 24 hours, 1,440 minutes, 86,400 seconds. One day. That’s all it takes for my entire world to disintegrate into ash.

After tubes of blood, countless x-rays and tests, Dr. Cecily confirmed Tori was in multiple organ failure, and that her pneumonia was worsening despite the drugs.

This can’t be my life. It can’t be real.

Tori has been given a low dose of morphine to mask her pain, but I can see the light in her eyes slowly extinguishing. She’s been more asleep than awake the last 12 hours, and every time she closes her eyes, I die inside that she might not wake up, and I’ll never see them again.

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