“She’s stable and intermittently awake,”
Burns said, “although heavily sedated at the moment. Her CPK and troponin”—he
paused, catching himself—“sorry, her blood tests measuring cardiac injury are
pretty conclusive. She had a substantial MI…heart attack…and the thallium scan,
which is a test to show heart function, indicates a serious area of damage.”
A cold hand squeezed around Derian’s insides.
“What does all that mean?”
“We’ve already started her on a fibrolytic
agent—an intravenous drug to help break up the clots in her coronary arteries.
The cardiologists will repeat her noninvasive cardiac tests, but there’s a very
good possibility she’s going to need open-heart surgery within the next day or
two to reverse the damage.”
“And then?” Emily asked, her voice steady and
calm. “What’s the prognosis?”
Burns regarded her directly for the first
time. “Very good, luckily. She got here fast, and we started treatment right
away. With adequate reperfusion, the cardiac muscle will likely recover, and
once the blood starts flowing again, the heart will return to a near-normal
state.”
Emily’s shoulders relaxed. “So we can expect
her to make a full recovery?”
“Barring complications, of course, and
assuming she follows a reasonable cardiac care plan.”
Derian laughed shortly. “If that includes no
stress and a slower pace, that’s not likely to happen.”
“Not uncommon in these patients,” Burns said,
“and that’s exactly why surgery is the best approach. If everything goes well,
your aunt won’t need to curtail her lifestyle.” He held up a cautionary finger.
“However, she’s still going to need significant time to recover from the
surgery, rehab, and work back into her full daily schedule. I take it she’s
pretty active.”
Emily huffed. “A locomotive headed down a
steep incline would be an apt comparison.”
He nodded. “Not surprising.”
“Can we see her?” Derian asked.
Burns glanced at his watch. “For a minute or
two. The nurses will be busy getting vitals and labs in ten minutes, but…come
with me.”
When Derian moved to follow him, Emily
hesitated. Derian glanced back and held out her hand. “Come on, sis.”
Emily’s lips pressed together, the dancing
light in her eyes saying she was suppressing laughter. She took Derian’s hand,
hers smaller, soft and warm and firm. Without thinking, Derian threaded her
fingers through Emily’s. The fit was so natural, she was momentarily
disoriented. She wasn’t a hand-holder, but the flow of heat from Emily’s touch
steadied her. Filing that disconcerting thought away as an anomaly due to the
circumstances, she followed the medical resident down the hall to where he
slapped a big red button the size of a dinner plate on the wall. The foreboding
double metal doors with the tiny windows that blocked all view of what went on
inside swung open with a hiss. She almost expected a warning sign above it: Abandon All Hope…
Derian shuddered. She was more tired than
she’d thought.
Emily’s fingers tightened on hers. She was
pale, and her eyes had widened, as if she too sensed the despair radiating from
the sterile surroundings.
Her own discomfort fading in the face of
Emily’s, Derian leaned close, her mouth near Emily’s ear. She caught the
fragrance of coconut and vanilla. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Emily said, her voice tight. “I’m
fine. Just a bad memory. Don’t worry.”
Derian wasn’t convinced. Emily looked shaken,
and her distress tugged at Derian, awakening a fierce desire to ease Emily’s
unhappiness that felt so right she didn’t bother to question it. “I’m right
here.”
Emily turned away from the too-bright lights
and righted herself in Derian’s intense, sympathetic gaze. Derian’s deep, sure
voice—her comforting words—shut out the hum of machines and jumble of sounds
that struck her like a tidal wave, threatening to pull her under. She wasn’t
used to being championed or protected by anyone and, for a few seconds, she
basked in the comfort of Derian’s unexpected chivalry. Feeling stronger, and
slightly embarrassed, she squeezed Derian’s hand and reluctantly loosened her
grip. “Thanks.”
