“What does that mean?” Her hands were shaking in her lap, so she clenched them into fists.
“The next twenty-four hours will be critical.” Sarah felt her breath catch as the blood drained from her face. The doctor took her hand. “What that means is that we need to give Grace’s brain a chance to rest so it can heal, and we need to put her into a deep sleep so that can happen. She’ll be unconscious for the next day or so, but if we can get the swelling down in the next twenty-four hours, her chance of a full recovery is high.”
Sarah couldn’t think clearly. This wasn’t part of the plan. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “And if the swelling doesn’t go down? What then?”
“That’s harder.” The doctor squeezed her hand. “If the pressure doesn’t go down, or worse, it goes up, Grace could face the effects of brain damage or—”
“She could die?”
“She could. It’s a worst-case scenario, but I need to be honest with you. Let’s just focus on these next twenty-four hours and getting her well.”
*
Sarah sat mutely in the waiting room. Her mind kept replaying the sequence of events on some unstoppable loop. Her memory of the accident alternated between horrifyingly vivid and frustratingly blank. The small window across the room that offered a peak at the real world, the world Sarah could hardly believe still existed, showed signs of dusk falling. The clock couldn’t turn quickly enough.
Her brothers checked in hourly, but at her insistence stayed home with their families awaiting word. Carmen offered her encouragement, clearly doing everything a best friend should do, but Sarah couldn’t find it within herself to say much back. Because really there was nothing to say. Instead, she stared at the sterile double doors that led to Grace.
Visiting hours in the intensive care unit were monitored strictly, and Sarah was allowed inside Grace’s hospital room for twenty minutes each hour. She sat with Grace, who was covered with blankets and tubes, and looking so incredibly small that it about broke her heart in half.
“You’re going to be okay, baby,” she’d whispered, “I’m right here with you. I’m here, Graciela,” as she held her lifeless hand.
In the hallway, the doctors murmured in somber tones to one another, but inside, Sarah stroked Grace’s cheek softly, telling her one of her favorite stories, the tortoise and the hare. In the deep recesses of her mind, Sarah recognized with shocking horror, that her beautiful, sweet, witty child might never return to who she once was or…worse. God, she couldn’t acknowledge worse, but it hung over her in this endless nightmare.
“Sarah, you need to eat something,” Carmen prodded her once she returned to the hellish waiting room. “You’ve been here all day. Did you even eat breakfast this morning before…?”
Sarah cut her eyes to Carmen and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I’m not in a hospital bed.”
“Still, I think—”
“I said I’m fine.”
Carmen nodded resolutely.
Time crawled by.
Coffee cups came and went.
The fluorescent lighting in the grim waiting room spared no detail of her family’s fear-stricken faces. Her mother thumbed through a battered magazine from the rickety coffee table. Carmen scanned her phone. All the while Sarah watched the hours tick by with excruciating delay.
Finally, her father stood. “Why don’t I go pick up dinner for everyone?”
“Nothing for me,” Sarah said. “You guys go ahead.” Her eyes settled resolutely back on the set of double doors.
Carmen joined him. “I should update your brothers. Can I use your phone, Sarah? My battery is all but gone.”
Sarah nodded and handed her the phone. Carmen exited the waiting room with her father, leaving Sarah alone with her mother. She took advantage of the private moment. “Mama, why did this happen? She doesn’t deserve this.”
“Of course she doesn’t,” her mother said. “You don’t either. No one does. God doesn’t work that way. But here we are and we have to be strong for that little fighter in there, do you understand me? She needs you now.”
“I’m trying, Mama, but I feel like I’m about to cave in. I can’t seem to find the strength. I feel like crying, but I can’t do that either. I don’t think I can handle this on my own. I need help, but I don’t know where to get it.”
Her mother scooted in closer and wrapped her arm tightly around Sarah and spoke to her quietly. “This may surprise you, but do you know what helps me in dark times? Prayer. I haven’t raised you in the church because that’s not how I was raised, but in difficult moments, I turn to a higher power. There’s a chapel down the hall. Do you want me to go with you?”
“No. If I do decide to go, I think it’s something I need to do on my own.”
By midnight, there was no real change in Grace’s condition, but at least the swelling hadn’t increased. She found herself in a difficult place and thought hard on it. Her mother was right. She wasn’t a very religious person. She’d only been to church a handful of times in her life, mostly on Christmas, and even then it was kind of a formality. But she believed in God. She did.
The hospital chapel was surprisingly small with only four pews and a center aisle leading up to a modest altar. Above the altar hung a large stained-glass window depicting two white doves in flight. Sarah took in the image before her, struck by its beauty. There was something about the quiet of the room that she found comforting.
She glanced around, feeling unsure and not knowing exactly how to proceed. Finally, she decided to do what felt natural. She knelt before the altar, bowed her head, and took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “So I know I haven’t been in touch in a while, and I’m so sorry about that. I don’t know how else to say this, but I really need you today and so does my daughter, Grace.” She felt her voice catch and choked back emotion. “She’s only eight years old and not doing so well. Please help her through this. I don’t think I’d survive if anything were to happen to her. She’s my life. And lastly, God, I ask you to send me the strength I need to get through this and to give my daughter the support she needs right now. Please send me the strength and I will receive it. Amen.”
Sarah raised her eyes and stared silently at the white doves for another few moments when a feeling of calm slowly and inexplicably crept over her. She couldn’t identify precisely its source, but she could detect a noticeable change in her resolve. She stood slowly and turned. The figure standing at the entrance to the chapel was dimly lit but unmistakable. Sarah didn’t hesitate. She moved to Emory and fell into her arms as a burst of tears sprang from somewhere deep within her. Emory held her for several long moments as she cried.
“I would have been here sooner, but I had a long drive. I came as soon as I heard.”
“How did you—”
“Carmen called me from your phone a few hours ago. Grace is going to come through. Know that.”
Sarah nodded, the tears falling freely now, as she clung to Emory and buried her face in her neck. Emory was here and she would help her through this. Emory would be her strength. No matter what had transpired between them, that much she knew.
They walked slowly back to the intensive care, Sarah filling Emory in on all that had happened. Emory greeted her parents and accepted a hug from Carmen. She sat next to Sarah and held her hand, not saying much of anything, seeming to know that was exactly what Sarah needed.
*
It was four a.m. and time for another visiting session. Thus far, Emory had stayed back in the waiting area with Carmen while Sarah and her parents cycled in and out sitting with Grace. She would never want to intrude upon the family’s space in any way, but when Sarah stood and held out her hand to Emory, she hesitated, glancing around the room, her throat tight. “Are you sure? I don’t want to take any time away from anyone.”