Okay, I knew what that was. Intermittent pneumatic compression.

A moment later something tightened above the cubital fossa on my left arm. Beeps followed the release of the tension.

Blood pressure cuff—check.

IPC—check.

IV—check.

Oxygen tube—check.

Catheter? I felt something down there. Check again.

I could hear my heartbeat, slow … steady.

Heartbeat—check.

I didn’t know what the doctor put in my IV, but within a minute, all went black.

The third time I roused, I still couldn’t open my eyes. But I heard one voice in conversation with itself until I realized it was Gabe and Chris talking to each other. It was the first time in over a decade that the three of us had been in a room together.

And people say miracles are only in fables.

I was trying to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t make out the words. The dialogue was on digital delay, a reverberation of each sentence that overlapped the next one, which made it virtually impossible to understand. I must have groaned, because the talking stopped.

“Mom?” I felt someone take my hand. “Mom, it’s me, Gabriel. Can you hear me?”

I nodded. I tried out a smile but didn’t quite get there. I squeezed his fingers. I think I must have asked about Juleen because of his answer.

“She’s fine. Chris set her up with violin and Spanish lessons.”

Okay, I thought. Spanish is good.

“She’s doing okay. She asks about you, but we both don’t think it’s a good idea for her to see you until you’re a little stronger.”

The more awake I became, the more pain I felt.

Somebody, please knock me out.

I must have groaned, because Chris asked if I was in pain.

I nodded.

Doc came in a minute later, pain subsiding, lights out.

It was like that for a while. Each time I woke up, I could manage a little more time before things became overwhelming and I needed to sleep. Sometimes I heard people talking, not realizing that I was listening. Bits of speech here and there, some of it positive.

Good vitals.

Good bloods.

Swelling subsiding.

Kidney function improving.

Kidney function improving? What was wrong with my kidneys? No matter, because whatever was wrong, they were on the mend.

I had no idea how long I’d been hospitalized. It seemed like forever. This alternating pattern of wakefulness, nausea, pain, and slipping back into darkness. Sometimes the room was almost silent except for the clicking of a keyboard. Sometimes I could feel Chris’s presence. Sometimes the room felt devoid of anything alive, including myself.