Over her shoulder, I saw another woman rush into my room. Her eyebrows were bunched together in a frown as if she was trying to assess the situation. “Where’s her labs?” Her tone was stern, but then she looked at me and her expression changed. She was warm and inviting.
She glanced down at my chart before she moved toward me, wearing a gentle smile. “We’re going to help you,” she said softly as she placed her hand on my leg. But then when she touched me, her smile went away. “She’s got at least a plus two edema.” As she backed away and shouted orders, she nodded to a couple of nurses who turned to my husband.
“Mr. Logan, we have to ask you to step out of the room.”
“No!” he shouted.
I knew Sam would never leave my side.
“Mr. Logan, please.” I watched as two nurses pulled Samson away.
“Ang!” he yelled. “Ang!” he shouted.
I garnered enough strength to hold myself up, keep my head still, and lock my eyes on my husband. Suppose this was the last time that I ever saw Samson? I wanted his image solidly in my mind.
As Samson was dragged through the door, another man came in. And Indian man, pushing a cart. He didn’t speak a word, but he looked at me. And his eyes spoke to mine without a word uttered.
His gaze said, “I am here to help,” as he eased his cart next to the bed. He lifted my arm and I’m not sure what he did next. He probably stuck a needle in me, though I wasn’t sure. At this point, I couldn’t feel anything except for all the air that was being pressed from my lungs.
Then…I saw him! Actually, it was more like I sensed him. I managed to turn my head and there he was, entering the room.
Dr. Walters. My doctor.