Chapter 38
Monica
Nan was the first person Alex called after dialing 911. She’d arrived just a few minutes after the paramedics and took Zoe and Desmond home with her for the night.
She was also the first of my visitors on Thursday morning. She entered my room carrying a basket she’d woven herself, filled with fresh-baked maple scones with organic butter, hard-boiled eggs from her chickens, a thermos of home-brewed pomegranate kombucha, and a tiny vial of lavender oil, a few drops of which she immediately placed on the hospital pillowcase. “It’ll help you relax.”
I’m sure she was right, but I was more excited about the food. That gray hospital oatmeal they’d sent up for breakfast looked like something you’d use to paste up wallpaper.
Zoe came right behind her, carrying a bouquet of roses she’d cut in Nan’s garden. The second she saw me, Zoe burst into tears and threw her arms around my neck. The rose thorns pricked my shoulder, but I didn’t mind.
“Monica, I was so afraid you were dying!”
“Of course I wasn’t dying.” I kissed the top of her head. “Only the good die young, don’t you know that?”
“Zoe,” Alex said, prying away his sister’s arms. “Let go before you choke her.”
“It’s okay,” I said, patting her on the back. “I can take it.”
Malcolm came in next, carrying a potted hosta plant and advice on where to plant it once I got home. “Cool and shady, but don’t let the feet get wet,” he said, and then, in response to my blank look, “The soil should drain well.”
“Oh, right,” I replied, though I wouldn’t know drained from undrained and have managed to kill every houseplant that has ever been unlucky enough to come into my possession. Still, it was a nice thought.
Bob arrived a couple of minutes later. He brought a bouquet of balloons from the hospital gift shop, including two big silvery Mylar globes that shouted, “It’s a Boy!” and “It’s a Girl!” respectively.
“Sorry,” he said after kissing me hello. “They were out of the ‘Get Well’ kind.”
I smiled up at the bobbing balloons. “These are nice. And seem oddly appropriate.”
Five minutes later, Grace and Luke walked in, arriving together in spite of the early hour. I took that as a sign that things were going pretty well between them, but the expression on Luke’s face was a pretty good tip-off as well. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. They, too, had stopped in the gift shop before coming up, and brought me a bouquet of spring flowers in a white wicker basket and a bag with ten bars of gourmet chocolate.
Grace hugged me. “I take back everything I ever said about you being a hypochondriac.”
“Ha! That’s what I’m engraving on my tombstone—See? I told you I was sick.”
“Just don’t engrave it anytime soon, okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Grace looked skeptical. “Oh, yeah? Then what are you doing here?”
“Fulfilling my insatiable desire for attention, of course. And collecting presents.” I looked into the bag of candy. “Dark chocolate?”
“With almonds.”
“I love you so much right now.”
Grace grinned. “I know.”
A few minutes later, a petite blond woman wearing a white coat came through the door and said, “Hey, hold it down in here. Don’t you know this is a hospital?” She smiled and stuck out her hand “Hi. I’m Elsie Pringle, staff cardiologist.”
“I have a cardiologist?”
The thunk-bump in my chest answered the question even before Dr. Pringle bobbed her head.
“Don’t worry. The prognosis probably isn’t as dire as you think. Is this a good time to discuss it?” she asked, looking around at my visitors, her tone suggesting it would be a good time for them to leave.
“They can stay,” I told her. “This is my family.”
The news that I hadn’t had a heart attack came as a huge relief. But atrial fibrillation, a condition in which the upper chambers of the hard beat irregularly and can keep the blood from moving well, possibly resulting in heart failure or stroke, can be a serious condition too. Symptoms can include fatigue, fluttering sensation in the heart, shortness of breath, light-headedness, and even fainting. Over the last days and weeks, I’d experienced all of those, but especially fatigue.
“I’ve had so much going on,” I told the doctor after explaining about the demands of my business. “I just thought I was tired.”
“And I think you were right. Causes of atrial fibrillation, A-fib, can include heart disease or defect, lung disease, high blood pressure, or an overactive thyroid. The tests we ran didn’t show signs of that.
“And so, especially in a patient under sixty, we start looking for other, less chronic causes—like exhaustion,” she said, inclining her head. “Also alcohol and caffeine use.”
“I have been drinking—not a lot of wine but more than usual,” I admitted. “And I’ve been downing coffee by the potful. It’s the only way I’ve been able to keep up.”
“Well, you’ve got to cut down on both. Way, way down. And what about sleep apnea?” she asked. “Do you snore?”
I shook my head. Alex and Zoe started laughing.
“Yeah, you do,” Alex said, happily sharing this little tidbit with everyone present, including Bob. “Monica, you snore like a buzz saw. I can hear you all the way from downstairs, even with my door closed.”
“So can I,” Zoe giggled.
“Well, okay then,” Dr. Pringle said, tapping something into her electronic tablet. “Sounds like I need to order a sleep study. But I’m guessing this episode is the result of a sort of perfect storm of the causes I mentioned—apnea, alcohol, caffeine, and fatigue—emphasis on the latter. We can release you tomorrow, but only if you promise to take care of yourself when you get home—no wine, no coffee, and no work for at least a week—two would be better. You’ve got to get some rest.”
“A week?” I let out an incredulous laugh. “You’ve got to be joking. Who’s going to run my restaurant? My sous-chef just quit. I can’t just close the place down for an entire week.”
“Yes, you can,” Grace said. “You were planning on doing it in August anyway. Just move things up a couple of months. I’m sure your cousin would still let you use her beach house.”
“But the ball!” I protested. “One hundred and twenty-five people who paid big bucks for dancing and a gourmet dinner are going to be trampling all over Nan’s garden in two days. What are you going to do? Call out for pizza?”
For a moment, the space of a heartbeat—or, in my case, a heartbeat and a half—the room was silent. Then Alex said, “I can do it.”
“Alex—”
“I can,” he protested. “I’ve spent a ton of time at the restaurant with you, I know my way around the kitchen. Besides, you already did the tough part—planned the menus, ordered the food and everything.”
“Alex, you are very sweet and yes, very capable. But feeding that many people is a huge undertaking. You can’t take it on by yourself.”
“Well, he wouldn’t be by himself,” Nan said. “I know my way around a kitchen. I can help.”
“So can I,” Bob said. “I don’t know if I told you, but I barbeque a mean steak.”
“I can help too,” Luke said. “You don’t spend three years in France without picking up a few things.”
One by one, they chimed in, offering to help. It was really touching. However, I drew the line at Grace.
“No,” I said. “Nothing personal, Grace, but you’re a terrible cook. You can set the tables.”
For a second it looked like Grace was going to argue with me, but then she shrugged and said, “Fine. I can set the tables. And arrange the flowers.”
“Oh, can I help with that?” Zoe chirped, raising her hand.
“Sure,” Grace said.
“Well, then,” Dr. Pringle said, looking at the assembly, “if that’s all settled, all we need to do now is discuss the procedure.”
I reached out and clutched Bob’s hand.
“Procedure?”