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She held out one cup to me.
“This is for me?” I asked.
She nodded, sipping her coffee, watching Trenton sleep. “His color’s back. His vitals are good.”
“How can you tell?”
She nodded toward the door. “Monitors at the nurses’ station.”
“You’ve been here keeping an eye on him?”
“On all my patients, but yes. Trenton in particular.” Her answer worried me.
“Did any of the test results come back?”
Dr. Walsh scanned Trenton from head to feet. “Yes. His white blood cell count is significantly elevated at fifteen thousand. I’m keeping an eye on his band count. It varies with each lab, but ours considers less than ten percent to be within the normal range. Trenton’s count is at nineteen percent.”
I’d never heard of that before. “What are band cells? What does that mean?”
“Trenton’s bone marrow is releasing too many white blood cells into his bloodstream. It’s usually an indication that an infection or inflammation is present. Elevated levels could mean any number of infections. The less likely but more concerning causes are autoimmune disease, cancer, or leukemia. But based on his recent accident and his additional lab results, I suspect it’s a bone marrow infection that developed sometime during the healing process of his arm. We need to keep a close eye on it, but as of now the plan is to treat with intravenous antibiotics, and if all goes well, he should be good to go in two, maybe three days.”
“Oh,” I said, blinking. “Thank you.”
She smiled, pushing back a stray curl and hooking it behind her ear. “He was pretty dehydrated. That could have contributed to his body’s inability to fight off the infection. Does he have help at home?”
“Yeah. Yeah, his girlfriend is devoted. He’s just stubborn.”
“Where is she?”
“I …” I had to think for a second before answering. “I sent her home. She has to work in a few hours. She’s the only income right now and—”
“Let her know it’s time to be more stubborn than Trenton is.”
“I will.”
Dr. Walsh exited as quietly as she came in. The blinds were drawn, but the sunrise was beginning to pour through the cracks.
Dad’s mouth was hanging open as if it had unhinged sometime in the night. His light, sort-of snore was straight out of my childhood, and I found it relaxing.
I vaguely remembered when he’d fall asleep next to Mom in her at-home hospital bed, a tough memory that I had to hold on to because it was one of very few. I looked at Trenton in his bed, reminding myself that he was going to be okay.
A year ago, the alternative would’ve been impossible to wrap my head around, but after so many close calls, that fear had become too real.
Trenton had been restless earlier, like he was having a nightmare, but as the antibiotics worked through his system, he fell into a deeper sleep. His head had fallen to the side, his body sunken into the mattress.
I hoped this was the last time I’d ever see one of my brothers lying in a hospital bed. At least this time Trenton and Dad would wake up to promising news.
The twins and Thomas were on Mountain and Pacific time—one and two hours behind—so I’d give them a few more hours to sleep before calling.
A vibration from the small tray that sat next to Trenton’s bed prompted me to put down my coffee and pick up my cell phone. Brandon’s name lit up the display.
I need you to pick up four hours today. I have a couple of clients I need you to cover.
I tapped out a reply.My brother’s in the hospital. Ask Chuck.
Chuck’s sick.
Then ask someone else.
