Page 98 of Give My Everything
And then he says two words that rock the foundation of my world like I didn’t think could ever happen again.
“It’s Ivy.”
Nobody has any answers for us.
The only thing I know is that my sister is in the hospital and we have all been relegated to a waiting room, desperate for knowledge about what’s going on.
Paroxysmal Nocturnal Hemoglobinuria.
It’s a big fancy crazy word that means my sister gets sick a lot. She’s had PNH for a while. It makes it difficult for her to build up red blood cells, so something like a normal cold or small infection can knock her on her ass for months as her body tries to recover.
She’s been on regular medication to manage her symptoms and sickness, but it requires that she goes in to see a doctor at the USC Medical Center every two weeks to have it administered since it involves an IV and several hours of monitoring.
Today, she’s not at USC, though. She’s at Roth Memorial, which means everyone we know is huddled in the waiting room…waiting.
For answers. For prayers. For anything that will make this feel like just a speed bump instead of a car crash.
She collapsed on the kitchen floor.
That’s what Wyatt told me.
She had been complaining about being tired and not feeling well but promised it was normal, said it wasn’t anything outside of the everyday, ordinary fatigue she has all the time. And then she collapsed on the floor.
Hannah was with her. The two of them have grown extremely close over the past few months, ever since she moved to town and gave my sister someone new to talk to. The times I’ve been around them, the pair like to go off into corners and giggle as they sign to each other.
At first, I was worried about an outsider infiltrating our family unit, as fucked up as it is, but I know Ivy’s deafness has been a hindrance for her ability to interact with some of the people we know. When the two of them are together, Ivy’s face is almost always plastered with smiles and happiness…and that’s what started to matter the most.
Thank fuck Hannah was there with her today, that she had the foresight to add Ivy’s medical information into her own phone weeks ago.
They rode in the ambulance together, held hands as Ivy went in and out of consciousness.
I haven’t seen my sister in weeks.
And now we’re here, sitting in the waiting room just hoping for something to go fucking right in Ivy’s life.
Foronce.
Remmy is sitting next to me, holding my hand, regularly asking me if I want anything to drink or eat.
It’s funny to me that the one person in this room I know the least is the one providing the most comfort, focusing entirely on me and making sure I’m okay.
I glance at my watch again. It’s been over an hour and we still have no information.
No diagnosis or explanation. We don’t know if she’ll live or die, or if she’s already dead.
My entire body shudders at the thought.
There has just beennonews.
And I don’t necessarily think that means it’s good news.
“How long has she been sick like this?” Remmy asks, her voice low as she leans into me, her thumb stroking the back of my hand, our fingers woven together in a way that provides a small but needed balm to my soul.
I sigh, wishing I had any answers for her. “It’s really complicated,” I say, looking into her eyes. “Truthfully, I just feel too exhausted to get into it right now, okay?”
She nods, understanding and compassion etched in her brow.
“You also don’t even know half of what’s going on.”
