A Selfish Moment

15 - Jubilee - 11:30 PM

The click and slide of the double doors to the ICU wakes me from a dreamless sleep. Aryana had adjusted herself sideways across my lap with her head resting on my chest just under my chin. A tall, thin man with thick glasses and wearing a white medical jacket walks towards me.

"Are you a relative of Sophie Ramirez?" the doctor asks as he hands me a blanket and pillow. I nod and rise to my feet. I place Aryana on the floor and cover her with the blanket. "She is still in critical condition. We were able to seal off the wound, after cutting out two feet of the small intestine." The doctor glances over my head at someone walking down the hallway behind me. "Because of the nature of her injury, sepsis is almost guaranteed, so we started treating her with antibiotics immediately. She was lucky to have made it to the emergency room when she did. Another hour or so and she might have been in worse shape."

"Is she going to be okay?" I ask in a shaky voice, pleading him with my eyes, begging him to just say yes. Say yes, damn it!

"We have to give her time to heal," the doctor says. "She's being closely monitored in ICU for the next twenty four hours. The first six to twelve hours are the most crucial. We want to prevent her from developing any form of infection."

"So you won't know until tomorrow morning if she'll be all right?" a deep voice asks from behind me. I turn and inhale sharply when I see Everett's blue eyes staring down at me.

"The more hours that pass without infection, the more likely she will recover with little or no issues. The first twelve hours are crucial. It's imperative that she rests and not be exposed to external pathogens. All visits should be only for a few minutes and with proper precautions. Just one person at a time."

"I want to see her. Can I see her?" I ask.

"Yes, but children are not allowed inside. She'll have to wait out here."

"I'll stay with Aryana," Everett whispers.

"Thank you," I say, my voice catches and I swallow hard.

I float around the nurses' station, past several glass-walled rooms with curtain openings. The cacophony of beeping sounds, rolling carts, and the sterile, unemotional conversations between the doctors and nurses feels surreal. Every room is occupied with motionless bodies hooked up to several machines whose beeps are the only indication that they are still alive.

We arrive at a corner room where Sophie lies. The doctor stops me before I enter the room and points to a sanitizer lotion dispenser.

"Five minutes," he whispers and then heads towards the nurse's desk.

I gasp at the sight of Sophie lying unconscious in a hospital bed. Both of her arms are attached to several machines crowding around the sides of her bed. The smell of alcohol penetrates my senses. A brown film stains the skin around her neck and arms. I see her chest move up and down – she's breathing normally. I take note of the time on the clock on the wall. It's almost midnight. If she remains the same for the next twelve hours then she'll be okay.

I gently take Sophie's hand in mine and curse under my breath, asking someone, anyone, why this has happened. Aryana needs her aunt Sophie. Sophie's parents need their daughter. I can't lose Sophie, my best friend, my sister.

Nine years ago, when I received the phone call from a nurse at New York University Medical Center about my dad collapsing from a heart attack while he and my mom were out celebrating their thirtieth anniversary, I thought I was dreaming. It was two-thirty in the morning and the ringing had incorporated itself in my dream, where I was riding a bicycle down Coney Island boardwalk. Every time the phone rang, I rode past a phone booth. When I finally woke up, I answered the phone in a rush, wondering who would possibly call me at this time. I knew immediately that it was bad news.