“I have to be honest, I’m really worried.”
“I don’t understand what happened,” said Ben. “He was fine one second, and then in terrible pain the next.”
“It doesn’t make sense, really. The first CT looked fine—we couldn’t see any intracranial hemorrhage. But after he had continuing symptoms and vomiting, we did a lumbar puncture to look for blood we might have missed. It’s not a hundred percent accurate before the twelve-hour mark, but we couldn’t afford to wait. He seemed to be improving significantly and cognitive functions were good. But the test result showed blood, which could still possibly be from spinal tap trauma even though the levels were consistent over four vials. But also, his headache came back with a vengeance.”
Ben said, “He was talking crazy. He kept saying, ‘No feeding tube.’ Why would he say that?”
Josh’s forehead creased with tension. “That’s not crazy. If it’s a subarachnoid hemorrhage, the outcome can deteriorate rapidly. He was saying he didn’t want to be kept alive if that happened. He told me that as well.”
Grace choked. “What are you saying? Are you saying he could die?”
The double doors opened and a woman called out, “Dr. Branson? They’re ready for you.”
“I’ve got to go,” Josh said, giving Grace a quick hug. “I’m not doing the procedure, but I want to be there. I’ll come out to the waiting room and talk to you as soon as we know something.”
Ben grabbed his arm before he left. “Should I call our parents?”
Josh shook his head. “I’ll be out in less than an hour.”
Ben tried to swallow, but his cottony mouth made the act impossible.
Chapter Thirteen
Grace sat on the waiting room couch, surrounded by all three of her sisters while Ben paced before them. She was so nervous she almost wished she could take another of those pills she’d taken before her procedure.
“Ben, you should sit down. It’s going to take a while,” said Olivia. “And your shoes are squeaking.”
He picked up a foot and examined the bottom of his tennis shoe, as if expecting to find some artificial noisemaker on its sole. He flopped into a chair and dropped his head in his hands.
“I can’t believe I made such a big fuss over a little biopsy. Right now, I’d be willing to have a hundred needles stuck in my body if I knew Brad would be okay.”
“Perspective,” said Olivia. “It’s all about perspective.”
Grace felt her chin tremble. “What if I never get to tell him I love him? What if he never wakes up?”
“The important thing is you’ve finally admitted you’re in love with him,” said Hannah.
Claire frowned at Grace. “What a hypocrite. Aren’t you the one who broke up with him for saying those words?”
“That’s different—I wasn’t dying at the time.”
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“Stop being negative,” said Olivia. “He’s not going to die. And we’re all going to pray for him right now.”
The group fell into silence. Grace tried to pray, but it felt so desperate—more like begging.
Finally she spoke into the quiet. “I feel responsible. If I’d talked to him before the surgery, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Ben stood and began to pace again. “If you feel responsible, think how I feel. It was my story that made him think he needed to carry you out of the hospital.”
“Ben... Sit,” Olivia ordered. “Squeaky shoes, remember? It was a crazy set of circumstances, and it won’t do any good to mete out blame.”
Spencer trotted into the waiting room, obviously out of breath, with Emily close behind. “We got here as soon as we could. What’s going on?”
“Ohmygosh! We wouldn’t have even left if we’d known he was getting worse. I thought it was just a concussion.” Emily’s face was red from running.
“He was improving—in fact he seemed to be a lot better. But then his headache spiked and they found blood in his spinal tap.” Ben was tapping his feet and patting his hands on his legs in a random pattern.