Page 4 of Inherited Light
I patted his head. “It’s okay, Brute. I’ll take care of her,” I assured him. “Sis, it’s only four in the afternoon. Are you not feeling well?”
She gazed around the office and leaned back in the desk chair, her face contorting into an expression I’d seen before. She was in extreme pain. I lived with her enough years during my childhood to know when her Crohn’s disease had flared up.
“I think I have a problem,” she admitted, which was a first as far as I was concerned. She always hid her pain from all of us. Maybe Foster has taught her to be more open about her disease.
“What kind of problem?” I asked, poised to get Foster from the meeting he was in.
“I don’t know. I can’t sleep because the tube feeds are making me uncomfortable for some reason. I need them though, or I don’t get any nutrition. I can’t eat either and my stomach hurts constantly.”
“Is it a burning, heartburn type pain?” I asked, but she shook her head.
“No, it feels like someone punched me in the gut, only all day every day. It’s this low-level ache, but it has increased lately to be almost unbearable. I can hardly sleep anymore. When I do a tube feeding, it only makes it worse.”
Cinn had a feeding tube placed in her stomach many years ago and it occasionally becomes infected. “Is it your port again?” I asked, but she shook her head.
She lifted her shirt up to show me the button and the skin around it. “It looks fine to me. No redness or infection like before when they put me in the hospital.”
I nodded, remembering how scared we all were when she passed out in Foster’s arms here at the shelter, and ended up in emergency surgery within an hour of arriving at the hospital.
“You need to see your doctor. If the tube feeds don’t normally cause discomfort, then you’ve got something going on. You shouldn’t wait over the weekend,” I admonished.
Her expression pinched and her body stiffened as another wave of pain hit. “Maybe I should cut back on the volume of the tube feed at night or do smaller, more frequent feedings.”
I shook my head with frustration. The woman never wanted to disrupt anyone’s day with her problems, but with the seriousness of her condition, it wasn’t smart to wait. I had already texted Foster with one hand while we sat talking. He would have my head if I didn’t tell him about it immediately.
He rushed through the door and slid to the floor in front of his wife, his clinical gaze darting over her. “Cinn, what’s wrong, honey?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, but leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. He put his arms around her to keep her from falling out of the chair and glanced at me.
“I stopped in to say goodbye and found her sleeping on the desk. She told me her tube feeds are making her uncomfortable to the point she can’t sleep, and her stomach feels like someone is constantly punching her. She showed me the port and it’s not infected, but there’s a problem somewhere. I can feel it.”
He nodded and kissed his wife’s forehead. “I’ll call her doctor and have him meet us at the hospital or clinic. I noticed she was lethargic the last few days, but thought it was from working too much.”
I could see he was beating himself up about not being more on top of it and I rubbed Cinn’s arm. She had snuggled into Foster’s chest and was sleeping again, even with both of us talking.
“She’s sleeping,” I said, alarm bells going off in my head. “I think you should take her straight to the ER and let them call the doctor. Something is wrong. You have to trust me with this.”
He nodded, and patted my shoulder. “I trust you when it comes to her. You’d never do anything to hurt her.” He scooped her up into his arms. “Will you help me get her into the shelter van? It’s easier than my Bug.”
I motioned for him to go first and then followed, Brutus and Poopsie bringing up the rear of the parade. I helped him get her situated and her seatbelt on and then picked up Poopsie as Brutus sat next to me, a low whine in his throat.
“I’ll keep the dogs here untilMamáand Dad get home. I’ll fill them in and leave the dogs with them. Keep us posted and let us know if we need to come to the hospital.”
He shook his head, opening the back door for Brutus. “I’ll need to take Brute. He’s allowed in with her since he’s her therapy dog. She’s going to need him and he won’t settle down for you knowing she’s sick.”
With Brutus in the back seat, his head hanging over the front to check on Cinn, Foster angled into the driver’s seat.
“Okay, but keep us posted, please,” I said again.
“Will do, thanks Lorenzo,” he said, his lips in a thin line as he drove away from the shelter like a man on fire.
I stared down at the dogs around my feet and frowned. Since everyone else had left, I had to take care of Foster’s dog, Poopsie, and my parents’ dog, Annabelle, until my parents got home. The shelter was full with adoptable dogs, so I couldn’t put them in a kennel and leave. I would have to wait it out upstairs in the apartment. I couldn’t leave Poopsie alone since Foster took Brutus. She would flip out and bark nonstop without him by her side. The two were rarely apart and she had been around Cinn long enough to sense when she was sick. When Brutus left her, she understood there was a problem.
“Everything okay, Lorenzo?” Kerrigan asked as I strode toward the front of the building.
I shook my head slightly. “Foster had to take my sister to the hospital. I’m worried sick about her and I don’t want to leave the dogs here in a kennel. Poopsie is already freaking out since Foster took Brutus with him.”
She rubbed Poopsie’s chin and gazed into her eyes. “You’re right, she’s on edge. I would keep them, but I think she would cry for hours even with Annabelle with her. If you don’t mind taking care of them until you hear if you need to go to the hospital, it’s probably the wisest choice. If you need to go, I’ll take them,” she promised.
