Page 59 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise
Wes swears loudly. “All right. First off, stay calm.”
“I’m trying,” I say.
“Good. You’re doing good,” he says, and I can tell he’s switching into nurse mode. I’ve never appreciated it more. “Don’t call 911. She doesn’t need that. Turn her on her side if you can. She might throw up, and we don’t want her to choke. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “Yes. I can do that. Hang on.” I punch the button for speaker and then get down on the floor next to Molly, setting the phone down on my scratchy carpet. With one hand on her shoulder and one at her hip, I manage to get her on her side. “Okay,” I say. “What now?”
“Can you cushion her head?”
“Yes,” I say. There’s a weird sensation in my eyes, and a second later I realize that hot, stinging feeling is tears. Actualtears.I squeeze my lids closed impatiently; I don’t have time for this. I grab a pillow from the couch and lift her head as gently as possible, placing it underneath. Then I look breathlessly at the phone. “Now what?”
“Now we wait,” Wes says gravely. This is the most serious I’ve ever heard him in our many years of friendship, but I can picture the tight set of his mouth and the crease in his brow. “Stay on the phone with me. I have a timer going. It should be over soon.”
“Yeah,” I say, my body sagging. “Okay.”
“She might wet herself,” Wes warns. “Or throw up—”
“I don’t care,” I say. “I can clean up. I don’t care.” I swallow, my eyes glued to her as panic continues to rise in me. “Wes, itreallydoesn’t look like she’s breathing—”
“She is,” he says quickly. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but she is. And her breathing will go back to normal when she’s done with this phase.”
“Her lips are blue, man—”
“I know,” he says. “I know. I need you to breathe, okay? I know it looks scary. It looks bad. But she’s going to be okay. All right?”
“Yeah,” I say, forcing myself to take deep breaths. “Is she—is she conscious right now?”
“Not at all. She won’t remember any of this.”
I nod. A second later I notice a wet stain seeping over the crotch area of her shorts; like Wes said might happen, she’s lost control of her bladder. I sit up straighter as her body begins to relax, her limbs going limp as the seizing stops. “Oh, she’s done. She’s done.”
“The seizing is over?”
“Yes,” I say. “What now? Do I need to call an ambulance?”
“No,” Wes says. “If this were her first seizure, maybe, or if it had lasted an abnormally long time. But the only thing you can do now is wait. She’s going to be unconscious for a little bit—maybe five minutes, maybe ten. Something like that. When she comes to, she’s going to be confused. She’ll be completely out of it, and probably still unresponsive even though she’s conscious.”
“How long will that last?” I say.
“Maybe thirty minutes. Now listen up. After she opens her eyes, I want you to wait ten minutes. At that point I want you to tell her she’s had a seizure.”
Through the surreal haze of everything that’s going on, another emotion pierces my panic: confusion. “Won’t she know?” I say, frowning.
“No,” he says. “That’s how disoriented she’ll be; she won’t even know what’s happened.”
“Okay,” I say, committing every word he says to memory. “Ten minutes, tell her she had a seizure. What then?”
“Try asking her to follow a simple command. Maybe give her your hand and ask her to squeeze it. Don’t try to make her talk yet.”
“Simple command,” I mumble. I’m still paying attention to Wes, but most of my mind is focused on the slight bit of color that seems to be returning to Molly’s skin. Her breathing is becoming more apparent too, her chest moving up and down. Some of my icy panic melts when I see this, and I exhale roughly, my body slumping as some of the tension leaves my shoulders.
“Even once she’s back to herself, you need to stay with her until we get there,” Wes says, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I nod. “I planned on it.”
“I’m talking pee with the door open, Beckett.”
“I’ll make it work,” I promise, my eyes darting over her unconscious form.
