but Dante pulses his hand to show his support.
"We just turned her on her stomach, oxygen saturation is just at 87, but that was just when she was turned,” Dr. Ellis continues to rattle off information that I can barely process let alone understand. “She still has to get into the flow of being turned onto her stomach. She needed a little bit more sedation during turning, but there has been no growth seen in the blood cultures. Our goal is to try to manage to get her blood sugar to a healthier level. In this past week as you know, she needed a lot of extra sedation medication, but luckily, none this morning."
"So why did you call me now?" I ask.
"She had a scary setback just an hour ago with the pulse ox dropping dangerously low when we went to turn her on her back. We need to see this aggressive viral form of pneumonia start clearing out of her lungs, to see a more positive sign of her being able to get through this. When we called, things were looking grim. I thought that maybe we would lose her, but she's stable now, still critical, of course."
"No, thank you for calling me," I say. "I needed to be here."
"Visiting hours aren't officially open, but of course you can stay. I'm sorry to have you worry, but ..."
"No, I need all the updates. Please, whenever, it doesn't matter what time of day or night."
"Of course."
After Dr. Ellis leaves, I take a few steps away and I lean against the wall and stare out at the exit sign in the distance, the harsh fluorescent lights blinding me just a little bit until my eyes adjust.
"I'm really sorry, Jacqueline,” Dante says.
I see him holding my hand as I dissociate from my body. Our fingers are intertwined but not really. My hand belongs to someone else.
I'm glad that he doesn't say that she's going to be okay or make more promises that he cannot keep. I’m also glad that he’s here.
Some time passes and I find myself in front of a vending machine. Dante is there. He asks me what I want, but I can't choose.
I don't want anything, and I can't imagine what any of the stuff inside tastes like.
I just stare at him and wait for him to make the decision: pretzels, and M&M's, and Lay's potato chips. There's another machine with healthier options right next to this one with apples, yogurts, and bananas in various slots.
Without me having to ask, Dante walks over and buys a Granny Smith, handing it to me.
"Do you want this instead?” he asks.
My mouth starts to water and I nod. He wipes the apple on his shirt. When I bite into it, the juices flow, overwhelming my senses.
For a second I feel just a tiny bit better and that's enough for now. We spend the whole day in the hospital, followed by another.
He's there when I get the updates and he celebrates the little victories, the pulse ox staying stable at 90, dipping down to 89 and then going back up to 91 once in a while.
I hold her hand.
I tell Mom how much I love her and how much I want her to come back to me. The nurses check on her every hour. The last two times, they don’t have any problems turning her back onto her stomach with the stats remaining good, pulse ox stable at 90.
They take her off the machine. The FIO2 is at 80%, but that's just helping to give her the extra oxygen that she needs right now. Her blood sugar has come down to the mid hundreds and I feel a small relief about the stability of her condition.
Right now it looks like she might make it, but there's still a long way to go. A whole field of mines to avoid.
And through it all, Dante stays. He cancels a work trip and he puts in a lot of hours on his laptop, sneaking it in whenever I'm resting or watching Netflix or reading.
The days all blend into one and Friday comes sooner than I think it will.
"Shit," I mumble to myself.
"What? What's wrong?"
"I forgot I have to pay,” I say when I see the note on the door of the hotel room.
We walk over to the office where a dissatisfied older gentleman with a TV blaring in the background tells me that I owe another $400 if I want to extend my stay.
I hesitate.
I know