Despite It All

Chapter 37

"Would you eat these? I feel like we need these for tonight," Logan questions, holding up another salty snack.

I chuckle at his enthusiasm, "You're like a little kid. C'mon, babe. Look at our cart—we're only spending two nights at the hospital and it's half-way full! We have more than enough."

"I hate it when you're right," Logan mutters, replacing the snack back on the shelf.

"So, all the time?" I tease.

He rolls his eyes at my unoriginal joke before shooting me a slow smile, his head shaking.

A loud, piercing ring interrupts our conversation.

"Huh, work is calling me. Weird. I'm not on the schedule for another three days."

Logan shrugs and motions for me to answer the call.

"Hello?"

"Lauren, it's Sarah."

"Hey, what's up?"

"I'm sorry to call you but... it's Jess. She's in the PICU right now. Her cancer has metastasized to her lungs and it was pushing on her heart. She's... she's not breathing on her own. I just... I thought you'd want to know."

Harsh, cold dread builds at the base of my throat, heavy and suffocating. It sinks lower and lower into my chest, my heart, my lungs, before settling like ice into my gut. My world blurs around me as tears fall down my eyes without restraint, my despair unbound. A sharp, anguished cry barely escapes my constricting throat as I think about my sweet, fun-loving, beautiful friend. Attempting to expel the despair from within, my body shakes uncontrollably.

I'm held still by large, steadying arms.

"Babe, babe, what's going on? Babe!"

Logan's voice is wild but anchoring as he seeks to reorient me, but his tone reveals his panic.

"We've, we've got to go... Jess..." I manage to whisper.

***

Sharp prickles of new-budding hair bristle against my palm, the growth delicate and hopeful. Naturally dark eyelashes rest peacefully against her pale cheek, hiding her playful, brown eyes. Jess' chest rises and falls with the tide of the ventilator, its soft whooshing an ever-present reminder that it's setting the pace of her long, even breaths.

Her soft, milky cheeks are covered with a tangle of tape and fabric, working together to secure the intubation tube to her face. Sedatives keep her asleep, preventing her from reacting to my touch, my words, my cries.

"Why? I thought... I thought the hard part was over. She had done it, she had done it all..." Jess' mother cries steadily beside me, her hand resting comfortably on my own. Grief hangs heavily in the air, and like a thief in the night, has once again stolen my voice.

The PICU nurse—Amanda—enters the room and gives us a small, sad smile. Wordlessly, she works with great precision and care to ensure all of Jess' IV pumps are programmed correctly, checking her monitors and the settings on the ventilator.

"Amanda," I whisper.

She looks up, "Hey, Lauren."

"What... what happened?"

"They're calling it superior vena cava syndrome. A new tumor formed in her chest and was compressing her superior vena cava, cutting off the blood blow to her heart. She woke up in the middle of the night, gasping for air. I guess she looked pretty blue, right Mom?"

Jess' mom nods, tears streaming down her face.

"Her oxygen saturation was very low when she came in and she was pretty delirious. Her face was pretty swollen and she couldn't talk. They had no choice but to intubate to establish a safe airway," Amanda continues.