“I’ll be home with Emma as soon as possible,” Brian told her as he gave Juliette Bunny, which she grabbed and enveloped with a bear hug.
“No worries,” she said. “I’ll grab dinner and make sure Juliette is occupied.”
“I can’t thank you enough. You’re a lifesaver.”
After watching Camila drive away and knowing Juliette was being taken care of, he felt significantly more at ease and capable of dealing with the situation. The first thing he did was go back to the check-in counter to ask if there was any information available on his wife, but all he was told was that the doctor would be out to talk to him shortly.
Brian took a seat as far away from other people as he could, which required moving to the end of the room since the ED was already busier than it had been only fifteen minutes earlier. From his previous experience at the hospital as a uniformed patrolman, he remembered there was always a buildup of activity just before and then another after dinner.
The time passed slowly. To entertain himself he took out his phone, and with some reluctance he called his mother, Aimée. He knew that, as the family matriarch, she would be very upset and insist on helping, possibly by offering to come directly to the hospital, even though it would probably cause more stress than good. But he felt an obligation to let her know what was happening. She answered with her lilting and charming French accent, which she had never lost.
Aimée had grown up in the northern part of France — Normandy, to be exact — and had come to the United States forty-one years ago to attend prestigious Barnard College. It was there that she had met Brian’s father, who happened at the time to be attending Columbia University on a sports scholarship. Aimée’s maiden name was Juliette, a somewhat rare family name even in France, and in her honor Emma and Brian had named their daughter Juliette.
Brian evaded any small talk with Aimée, immediately telling her that he was calling from the MMH ED because Emma had suffered a seizure in the car as they drove into Manhattan following her sudden flu-like symptoms from the morning.
“Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry to hear,” Aimée said with concern. “Is she all right now?”
“There’s been no word yet from the doctors,” he informed her. “She is being seen as we speak. She walked in under her own power but seemed somewhat disoriented.”
“Do you think she has coronavirus?” Aimée asked.
“I hope not,” Brian said. “Actually, I don’t think so because she didn’t have any of the big three symptoms, like cough, difficulty breathing, or loss of sense of smell. But who knows? She did have a fever. We’ll have to see.”
“And where’s Juliette?”
“Camila came to pick her up just a few minutes ago. We’ve only been here an hour or so.”
“How about you? Are you okay?”
“I’m hanging in there,” he said. “Though I’ll admit it’s been a bit unnerving. This is the first time I’ve ever really seen Emma sick.”
“I can well imagine you’d feel out of sorts. Do you want me to come and keep you company?”
“It’s not necessary,” Brian said. “I’m doing okay now that Juliette is being taken care of. Besides, the hospital is discouraging family visitors with the pandemic going on for obvious reasons. I promise I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything.”
“D’accord,” Aimée said. She had a habit of sprinkling French expressions into her conversations. “I’ll call Emma’s mother and let her know. Of course, she may want to come to the ED. You know Hannah has a mind of her own.”
“Please try to discourage her. I’ll let you know the moment I learn anything, and you can let her know.”
After speaking with his mother, he debated whether to call his two older brothers or his younger sister, more as a way of keeping his mind occupied than anything else. While he was still debating, he heard his name called out by a tall, slim, relatively young doctor who’d stepped into the waiting room from the depths of the ED. Dressed in rumpled scrubs, a surgical hat, and face mask, he looked the part of a harried emergency physician with a raft of pens jammed into his breast pocket and a stethoscope slung around his neck.
Brian stood up and waved to get the doctor’s attention.
“Mr. Brian Murphy?” the doctor questioned yet again as he neared. He had lowered his voice considerably. “You are Emma Murphy’s husband?” He had a lilting accent Brian associated with people from the Indian subcontinent.
“I am,” Brian responded. He felt himself stiffen, sensing from the doctor’s tone that all was not well.
“My name is Dr. Darsh Kumar. I have important news about your wife.”
“Okay,” Brian said slowly, bracing himself for what he was about to hear.
“She’s going to be admitted to the hospital. In fact, she has to be taken to the Intensive Care Unit.”
“Okay,” he repeated, feeling increasingly panicked but trying to calm himself. “Why the ICU?”
“She had another seizure while she was being examined,” Dr. Kumar explained. “However, we were able to control it rapidly since we already had an IV running. She’s resting comfortably now, but is disoriented. We want her to be closely monitored.”
Brian nodded. His mind was racing around at warp speed. “More disoriented than when she arrived?”
“Probably, but not necessarily. I can’t say for sure.”
“Is there a diagnosis? Could this be coronavirus?”
“It’s possible, but not probable with these symptoms,” Dr. Kumar said. “What we are certain of is that she has some sort of encephalitis, meaning an inflammation of the brain.”
“I’ve heard of encephalitis. I’ve had EMT training,” Brian explained.
“What we don’t yet know is the specific etiology,” Dr. Kumar continued. “We suspect viral. We did a spinal tap and have sent the specimens to the lab. They will soon let us know what we are dealing with. If I had to guess, I’d say possibly something like West Nile virus or possibly even Lyme disease. Did you have much contact with mosquitoes or ticks while you were on Cape Cod?”
“No ticks, but we did have some mosquitoes during a beach barbecue four or five days ago.”
“That could be it, which would favor a viral disease. But there is no reason to speculate at this point. It won’t change our treatment.”
“What’s the treatment?”
“Essentially just supportive. She’s on supplemental oxygen. Even though we were able to stop her seizure quickly, her oxygen level fell considerably.”
“Can I see her?” Brian asked desperately.
“Not at the moment,” Dr. Kumar said. “She’s getting an MRI and a CT scan.”
“Both? Why both?”
“I leave that up to our radiology colleagues. Meanwhile the business office needs to speak to you about your wife’s admission.” He pointed across the room to a door that had admitting stenciled on it, and then turned and started to leave.
“Excuse me,” Brian called after him. “I would like to see my wife when I can.”
“I’ll let the nurses know,” Dr. Kumar said over his shoulder before quickly disappearing whence he came.
After taking a deep breath to fortify himself, Brian picked up the few things he had brought in with him and walked over to the Admitting office. He had no idea what they wanted from him since he’d already given their information to the ED clerk.
It was a reasonably sized room with several rows of chairs facing two desks. On the cream-colored walls were multiple framed photographs of mostly serious-looking men in business suits although there were several women. He assumed they were hospital administrators. Only one of the desks was occupied, by a middle-aged woman with dark hair and eyes. She was wearing a colorful flower-print dress under a white lab coat.