Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
It’s just nervous chatter, getting more nervous with each passing minute. Dix is starting to slump down in his wheelchair. I try to hold him up, a tear sliding from the corner of my eye.
“Hang in there, please. Help is on the way.”
When a knock sounds at the door, which I already unlocked, I yell for the paramedics to come in. I weaken with relief when a woman and two men walk in with a stretcher. They start assessing him and I tell them what little I know about his medical history, before remembering that Anton left me a card with his history written on it in case of emergency.
As I pass over the card, they’re putting Dix on the stretcher. One side of his face is drooping now and there’s a panicked look in his eyes.
“It’s okay,” I say, sounding stronger than I feel. “I’m here. We’re going to the hospital to get you some help.”
The medics let me ride in the ambulance, even though I can’t be right next to Dix like I want to. I type out a quick, frantic text to Anton about what’s going on and where we’re headed.
I cry silently as the ambulance siren wails. I’ve grown attached to Dix, and it’s hard to see him suffering. But it’s the same as my grandpa’s situation—all I can do is look on, helpless.
By the time Anton bursts through the door to Dix’s hospital room, my eyes are swollen and my head is pounding from hours of crying.
“Sorry babe, I couldn’t get a quick flight out,” he says, wrapping me in his arms as he looks at Dix. “Shit. How is he?”
“Not very good,” I murmur.
“Martin and Laura are on their way. Alexei, too.”
He rubs my upper arms and then walks to his uncle’s bedside.
“Hey, Uncle Dix. I’m gonna make sure they take good care of you, okay?”
A sound comes out of Dix’s mouth, but he can’t seem to form words and we can’t understand him. It hurts my heart to see him this way. I go to the other side of his bed and smooth a hand over his forehead.
“We’re both staying here,” I say softly. “We won’t leave you, Dix.”
He keeps trying to talk. I take his soft, fragile hand in mine.
“I’ll get the nurse,” I tell him. “We’ll find a way to communicate with you and see what you need. And Dix, you have a catheter in, so you don’t need to get up to use the bathroom.”
His eyes are forlorn. We don’t know how much of his mind is still intact yet, but his body is in bad shape. The doctors know he had another stroke, and we’re waiting on test results to find out more.
Over the course of the day, Martin, Laura, Alexei and Lindsey come, and though it’s nice to see them, the worry on their faces underscores how serious things are. When I look into Dix’s eyes, sometimes I feel like he sees me, and other times, not so much.
Dix and Anton have quickly come to feel like family to me. I spend more time with Dix than anyone. And even though I knew his body was broken, I’ve been able to help him do what he wants since the day I met him. Some days I’m his legs, or his arms. I support his frail body as he gets in and out of the shower. I keep him safe and comfortable. But as I see him lying in the hospital bed, unable to talk or move, sadness grips me.
There’s nothing I can do.
When a doctor comes into talk to us about Dix’s condition, the news is devastating. He’s unlikely to make a recovery this time. The young male doctor describing the test results and statistical averages is addressing Martin and Laura only.
“I don’t know that therapy will even be an option for him this time,” he says soberly.
My grief breaks out unexpectedly in a verbal outburst.
“He’s right here,” I say from his bedside, my voice breaking. “Stop talking about him like he’s not here. You don’t know that he can’t understand you, even if he can’t respond. He’d want you to tell him what’s going on.”
The doctor’s expression of surprise quickly turns into contrition.
“You’re right. I apologize.”
Anton approaches behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I hold Dix’s hand as the doctor explains his condition. I want to sob, but I manage to cry silent tears instead.
Dix’s condition worsens over the next couple of days. The doctors tell us he’s not stable enough to be transported to a nursing home, which is actually a blessing.
Dix doesn’t want to go to a nursing home. He’s told me several times, in colorful terms, that he’d rather be dead than live at one.
Alexei, Martin, and Lindsey spend their nights at Anton’s apartment. I can’t leave Dix, though, and neither can his sister. Laura and I get to know each other as we keep vigil at Dix’s bedside. I think Anton would love a decent night of sleep and a shower, but he stays at the hospital to be there for me. He doesn’t have to say it; I know that’s why he won’t leave.