Cyclone

  My head was spinning. I just wanted to sit down. Right there on floor.

  “Riley’s been moved off the floor.” It was Audra, one of our favorite nurses, sounding more tense than usual. “I tried to find her new room number, but it’s not in the system yet.”

  “What is she doing in pediatrics?” Mom was fumbling with her phone, which I could see was lit up with texts and messages. “Mike, Riley’s out of PICU. . . . I know! Eighth floor . . . I’ll meet you there. . . .” Aunt Elayne threw up her hands in disgust.

  “I am not getting back in the elevator again!” Aunt Elayne announced to nobody.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, but my aunt was now on the phone too.

  I did a quick lap around the PICU, trying to look casually and quickly for Jack in every cube. Nothing. I poked my head into the family room. No Jack. Could I have missed him? My heart started pounding. Could he be behind the shade in the Code Blue room right now? I immediately abandoned a bad decision to just plant myself in the hallway to see who came out of the Code Blue room. I didn’t want to see Jack if he was coming out of there; I only wanted to make sure he wasn’t in there. What was I going to say if I bumped into him? There was a Code Blue! You have to go check on your brother!

  I doubled back in the opposite direction, this time picking up my pace at the Code Blue room and then again at Riley’s empty room. Two quiet rooms, two very different outcomes. But for who?

  I found the staircase and pulled on the door, momentarily panicked that I might set off an alarm. I didn’t. The stairwell was empty. I jogged down the two flights of steps to pediatrics, but then I turned and went back up to the PICU: two flights up, two flights down, two flights up. I didn’t know where I wanted to go. I was dizzy and sweating. Finally I threw my weight against the cold horizontal bar of the door back on the tenth floor, my sweat suddenly cold, my legs shaky. There I spotted Jack chatting casually with Monica outside her office. He waved—an everyday Code Regular wave. And then my anxiety and my adrenaline plummeted. I forced the bathroom door open with my hip, hands over my mouth. Into the first open stall, before I could get to my knees, I vomited, until my stomach was empty, until my legs stopped shaking. Then I sat on the floor until I could catch my breath.

  In the stall next to me, the door swung open and quickly closed. Rocket-ship scrubs. Then the sound of crying.

  Code Blue: bad over.

  * * *

  The pediatrics hallway was not quite the sunny yellow of the PICU, but the optimistic decor was present in the cloud-and-sky theme all around the top border. The high-tech control-center patient cubes were gone too. Each room had a small window to the hallway, and though some rooms had only one patient in them, others had two. The cheerful scrubs were still here too.

  “Riley McMorrow?” I asked at the nurses’ station.

  “Eight-A,” answered a nurse, without looking up from a chart. “I just checked her in!”

  “Why isn’t she in a private room?” Aunt Elayne was asking my father as I walked in. They were facing each other, sitting on opposite sides of Riley. The curtain dividing the room was half-open, revealing an empty, unmade bed and a chair covered in random belongings: a sweatshirt, a drugstore bag, and a stuffed giraffe.

  “Hey, Dad.” I had splashed my face with water and hoped I looked reasonably normal. Well, at least for here.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” He furrowed his brows. “You okay?”

  “Took the stairs,” I answered. “Just winded. Where’s Mom?” It occurred to me that maybe only two visitors were allowed in pediatrics—and Mom might have used the rule to duck out. Maybe I could too?

  “With Aunt Maureen and—”

  “I think a private room would be better,” interrupted Aunt Elayne, “for everyone.”

  “I’m not sure Maureen is worried about that,” answered my dad politely. He didn’t put down the Patient Rights: A Guide for Patients, Caregivers, and Families pamphlet he was reading.34

  “She would have privacy, for one thing.” Aunt Elayne just kept going. “Don’t you think Riley would like some privacy?” Privacy for Riley? My aunt had a lot to learn. Privacy in her room? No. Her phone? Yes.

  “I don’t know,” my father said with a sigh. He put the pamphlet down. “Riley, would you like some privacy?” I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or just asking. I don’t think my aunt could either.

  Elayne ran her hands through her hair. “I thought she was asleep.”

  Riley was not sleeping. Her eyes were half-closed, and she was still, but she definitely wasn’t asleep. Her HR dropped when she was asleep, I knew. She was a solid and steady seventy-eight—a very-much-awake heart rate.

  Elayne stood up, still not addressing Riley. “Why isn’t Maureen here? Shouldn’t she be here?” Frenetic energy practically bounced off the walls. I wished she would sit down.

  “She’s with Monica, the child life specialist,” Dad answered, turning back to the Patient Rights.

  “What the hell is a child life specialist?”

  “A social worker, Elayne.” Dad said this like he had known what a child life specialist was his whole life, in a tone that sounded very much like a grown-up duh.

  “A social worker?35 Why does Riley need a social worker? Is she on drugs? Is that how this happened? You know where she got that from, don’t you?” What did that mean? I shot Riley a look out of pure habit. Her eyes weren’t half-closed anymore. They were laser-focused on Elayne, who still hadn’t even acknowledged her. My aunt barreled on without waiting for any answers. “How does this kind of thing happen? This doesn’t feel possible.”

  “There was a problem—with her heart.” Dad was using his trying-to-be-patient voice.

  “Do you trust the doctors here?” Aunt Elayne asked next.

  “What does that even mean?” My mom entered the room just in time to hear the question, and her irritation was immediate. “Honestly, Elayne, you’ve been here all of ten minutes. Why don’t you take a breath before you start spouting opinions about things you don’t understand?”

  Aunt Elayne didn’t flinch; it was as if they had always carried on conversations this way. “Well, Brooklyn isn’t exactly known for its medical care, is it?”

  My mother was speechless. For three seconds. “I’m not sure how we made it through the last week without guidance, Elayne. Maybe if you’d been around more when Mom was sick, it might have turned out better.”

  Aunt Elayne finally flinched.

  Dad finally closed the pamphlet and stood slowly. “Paige, maybe—”

  “Mom has nothing to do with this! And if it were your daughter,” continued Aunt Elayne, “wouldn’t you want her to be in a hospital in Manhattan instead of in a place famous for its hot dogs, or cheesecake, or whatever?” She walked toward my mother, the better to get in her face.

  Dad moved quickly over to them. “Nora, honey, please. Step outside.”

  My mom was livid. “Elayne’s the one who should step outside!” Whoa.

  Over Mom’s shoulder, I caught sight of Aunt Mo in the hallway. I don’t know what it looked like from out there, but she practically sprinted through the door.

  “Elayne!” cried my aunt Maureen, arms outstretched. “You found us! I’m so glad you’re here!” They bear-hugged at the end of the bed for a very long time.

  Mom left the room without another word and Dad followed. I stared after them, not sure what to do, when I felt a hand on my arm. Riley’s fingers were closing tightly around my wrist. She caught me completely off guard, and I jerked my arm free.

  Riley’s heart rate jumped from 78 to 92.

  * * *

  I declined my parents’ invitation to take a walk. I knew my mother was going to vent about Aunt Elayne, and I didn’t really need to hear about it.

  “Riley called it the Sullivan Triangle.” I was explaining the crazy dynamic between my mom and Aunt Elayne to Jack up in the PICU family room. I felt funny being there because Riley wasn’t in intensive care anymore, but I k
new that’s where I would find Jack.

  “Doesn’t really matter who they are,” Jack said reasonably. “There’s three of them—your mom and your two aunts. Triangles don’t work. That’s why you and I get along. If there were another kid in here, two of us would be more similar than the third one. Always works that way. If the other kid was a girl, then I would probably be the ‘out.’ Or if the other kid was a boy, then you would be the ‘out.’ One person is always a little bit left out when there are three.”

  “But Elayne is the outsider,” I argued. “She lives in California and she just showed up now! Like practically a week later! Then, all of a sudden, Aunt Mo walks into the room and my mom is the outsider!”

  “Depends on the situation,” he said. “It’s a fluid triangle. Depends on what’s going on around the triangle. You know?”

  I nodded, even though I wasn’t so sure I got it. Jack could tell, though, because he kept right on explaining. “Name any three people and I’ll tell you who the outsider would be.”

  “Me, you, and Riley,” I said.

  “FLUID!” he answered. “You guys are cousins, so I might be the outsider. But you and I are, well, healthy, and Riley is not.” I cringed. “At least, not right now. So in that case, she could be the outsider.”

  “Same for me, you, and Colin, I suppose.”

  “Yeah.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Pick something else.”

  “Me, you, and P-SOCKS,” I said. “But you can’t make him the outsider because he’s a fish! That’s too easy!”

  “Can you swim?” he asked.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “There it is. I can’t swim. I’m the outsider.” Huh. I thought everybody learned how to swim. I tried again. “Fine. Make me the outsider.” I thought it was a good challenge. It wasn’t.

  “You are technically out of the intensive care, and P-SOCKS and I aren’t going anywhere.” A lump filled my throat so fast I almost choked on it. I didn’t know what to say. “See how the fluid triangle works?” Jack went on.

  “Yeah, I get it,” I said, and I did, but I also got something else. I got that Riley was going to be released from the hospital someday and Colin probably wasn’t going home. “I’m sorry, Jack. That was a bad example.”

  “It’s okay,” he nice-lied. He stretched out his legs. They practically touched the fish tank. He waited for more triangle examples, but I didn’t offer. The silly way I thought about triangles was different from the way Jack did—and I was worried about leading the conversation somewhere I didn’t want to go.

  “I should probably head back.” I gathered up my stuff, avoiding eye contact with Jack as he watched me. “I’m meeting my dad for lunch. We’re going out today, for a change.”

  “Okeydoke.” He wasn’t looking at me anymore.

  “Need anything?” Food. My go-to for awkward moments.

  “Plenty,” he answered, but he was looking at the fish.

  * * *

  31 Not all hospitals use the same “code” designation, but they all have a code that lets the staff know that someone is having an emergency, usually cardiac arrest—their heart has stopped.

  32 The floor or section of the hospital that treats kids—usually from about three years old and up. They can be very sick but don’t require quite the monitoring of the ICU.

  33 Reminder: heart doctor.

  34 What are your rights? you might ask. Well, they include the right to receive treatment without discrimination as to race, color, religion, sex, national origin, disability, sexual orientation, source of payment, or age.

  35 Social workers help people solve and cope with problems in their everyday lives. Sometimes when people are struggling with big problems—like drugs or depression or chronic illness—social workers help them find additional resources, too. You may even have one who works in your school.

  DAY 5 1/2

  Riley had a roommate—the owner of the stuffed giraffe, I presumed. I hadn’t seen her yet; the curtain that divided the room in half had been closed most of the day. But I had heard her, plenty. We all had. Her name was Jennifer, and she must have called every single person she knew and told them that she had had a terrible accident and fallen down the steps. “And it was like messed up so bad that I had to have surgery to fix it, and now I have a rod in my foot. For real . . .” Jennifer told her story over and over and over again in excruciating detail.

  Aunt Elayne made sure my mother wasn’t looking and then used the board:

  I stifled a giggle. But she wasn’t done. She went to:

  My giggle got away from me and Aunt Elayne winked. Mom looked up for just a moment and then went back to the pile of work she had begun to bring with her to the hospital. Today was the first day she seemed fully involved in it, and I’m pretty sure Aunt Elayne had something to do with that. Dad’s work was piling up too, and after Mom promised to “remain calm,” he opted to do his work in the family room.

  Riley could actually sleep despite Jennifer’s constant babble. As Jennifer repeated the story for the umpteenth time, I closed my eyes and pictured it happening. Jennifer at the top of the stairs. Jennifer’s bright orange flip-flops. The bottom of the left flip folding under on the top step. Jennifer flying forward! Jennifer grabbing for the banister, but missing! The tumble! The yelling! A heap at the bottom of the staircase. The crying! I knew it was wrong, but the sketchbook was already open in my lap. I really had to dig for an orange pencil, but I found one.

  As Jennifer finished her 1,011th phone call with an “OMG, I might totally need a cane!” Aunt Elayne had reached her limit. She went to the curtain. “Could you please keep it down? My niece is trying to sleep!” Jennifer did not appreciate the scolding and made another phone call almost immediately.

  “Hey, it’s me. I’m in the hospital. . . .”

  “Jesus! Nobody gives a sh—” Mom pulled Aunt Elayne away from the curtain, smiling even though I don’t think she wanted to. They tripped over each other and both started to laugh. That’s when I held up my drawing:

  There was a very, very long and uncomfortable pause as they both stared at it.

  “That is . . . terrible!” My mother was not amused.

  But Aunt Elayne burst out laughing. “That is brilliant! Let’s make a plane out of it and fly it over the curtain!” Mom actually laughed as she tried to object, and couldn’t stop. I had never seen my mother laugh that hard. Her face went beet red! People were looking in the window now, smiling at us as they walked by. Look at the happy people, making the best of a bad situation. Nope, just some really bad people making fun of someone else’s bad situation.

  “O,” said Riley. I shifted in my seat, worried that Riley was having that same feeling you get when you walk into a room and everyone suddenly stops laughing. “O” was a word, for sure. It wasn’t “hello,” but that’s what she meant by it. I understood her!

  “Show her,” prodded Aunt Elayne. She had calmed down—somewhat—and reached across the bed to turn the book toward Riley herself.

  I waited anxiously for Riley’s reaction. Her good hand drifted to the picture and she ran her fingers over it. She looked confused, but we really couldn’t explain because, well, the butt of our joke was lying five feet away in a hospital bed. Riley’s cheeks twitched. A smile? A grimace? A muscle spasm?

  “Hey, it’s me . . . I fell down the steps!” Jennifer, as if in on the joke, launched into yet another phone call. Aunt Elayne doubled over again and plopped herself on my mother’s lap.

  The first time we had laughed in days—and I mean guffawed—was at the expense of someone who had tripped down an entire flight of steps and was recovering from surgery. Clearly, we were not good people.

  “What else you got?” asked Aunt Elayne, getting a hold of herself, pointing toward the sketch pad. It was Riley who pushed the book toward me. Mom encouraged Aunt Elayne off her lap with a little shove. Riley’s eyes now settled on each one of us at her bedside, a few seconds on Mom, a few on Aunt Elayne’s red face, runny
with mascara, and then a few seconds on me.

  “C’mon, Nora, don’t hold back,” said Aunt Elayne. “I’ve seen you scribbling in that book. Have you got any other good drawings for us?”

  “Um, well,” I stumbled, “I made this.” I pulled out the Fisher-Price drawings I had done with Jack:

  “That’s cute,” said Aunt Elayne, leaning over the end of the bed. Cute? Oh jeez. “Wait a minute! Where am I?”

  “You weren’t here yet,” I answered.

  “Hmmmph,” from my mother. So much for laughing.

  “Let me see that.” Mom, looking at my Fisher-Price heads chart, nodding. “Do you recognize everybody, Riley?” Riley looked down at the notebook, but her eyes didn’t move over the page. “There’s you, your mom, Archie!” Riley suddenly reached for it.

  “Moo-Moo,” she said quietly, her hand on the drawing of Aunt Maureen. “Moo-Moo.” Her heart rate went up—seventy-two to eighty. She wanted her mother.

  “She’ll be back in a few minutes, honey,” my mom reassured her. “She’s meeting with Dr. Mejia.” Elayne stepped away from the bed as my mom moved forward. Comfort was my mother’s territory.

  “O,” Riley said again. It wasn’t “hello” after all. It was the word you use when you have no idea what to say. The word you might use if you woke up in a room with your family laughing their heads off while you try to recover from a stroke and hope your mother is coming back soon. Even if she had a thousand words to choose from—and she didn’t—what else could you say to that?

  * * *

  Our rides home at night were traditionally pretty quiet. My parents were exhausted, and more often than not, I slept. They weren’t quiet tonight.

  “I still can’t believe Elayne,” said my mother in the front seat. “I mean, why is she even here? What’s the point now? Tomorrow I’m going to ask her when she’s leaving. I mean, does she really need to be here now, when things have calmed down? It’s so typical of her!”