Page 56 of We Can Stay
“Be careful, and check the cameras before leaving your house, please. And call me—or the police—if anything else happens.”
“I will.” I promise before ending the call.
I take a deep, calming breath. Everything is fine. But my gut tells me this isn’t over yet.
“Sorry, I can’t make it tonight,”I type into the Chronic Pain Crafters message thread.
Immediately, bubbles appear as Maya types.“Oh no! Are you not feeling well?”
It’s a common event, of course—one of us skipping a crafting meetup because we’re having a flare or feeling more under the weather than usual. I’m good about pushing through, though, and unless I literally can’t move because I’m in pain, I always make it to our get-togethers.
“No, just busy,”I type back.“I’m only halfway through with this dye lot, and I need to get it all up and drying tonight.”Plus, after what happened at the coffee shop today, I’m not in the mood to leave my house.
As I finish the text, the knuckles on my right hand start to ache. I wince and put the phone in my apron pocket. Some heat would probably do my joints good right now, but I don’t really have time for that. Not with this order to finish and emails piling up.
Putting on some music, I get back to work on soaking this lot. Cat comes into the kitchen, a tinsel ball in her mouth. She drops it on the floor and bats at it.
I chuckle at her, this little kitten that seems to have doubled in size since I found her under that bush. Maybe Sebastian is right. Maybe she is my cat.
I mean, I’m glad he hasn’t found a home for her yet... And I kind of don’t ever want him to.
Both of my hands start aching, and I take them out of the water to warm them in a towel. It doesn’t do anything to help, though, and an additional pain flashes through my chest.
“Shit.” I hiss, bent over the sink.
No, no, no. This can’t be happening.
And yet it is. My hands are so stiff I can’t even move them, and the pain in my chest is taking my breath away. I’m having both an arthritis flare and a pericarditis episode.
I turn away from the sink, trying to remember where my heating pad is. When did I last use it? While falling asleep on the couch last night?
No. It was?—
Another jolt of pain seizes my chest, powerful enough to make me cry out. Cat looks at me with big eyes and runs out of the room.
That’s right. The heating pad is in my bedroom. And all my hot water bottles are in other rooms.
Rooms there’s no way in hell I can make it to.
Rendered immobile by the pain, I slide my back down the cabinets until I’m on the floor. Tears fill my eyes, which I squeeze shut.
Okay, I’ve been here before. I can make it through this.
Except this is different. The rheumatoid arthritis combined with the pericarditis brings this pain to a whole new level. And here I am, on my kitchen floor, as helpless as a newborn baby.
There’s no way around it. I need help.
I could call Hannah, but this isn’t how I want her to find out about the pericarditis. If only my parents were here.
Which is a crazy thought. They can be so overbearing; it’s one of the reasons I don’t live in the same state as them. And I’d have to tell them everything if they were nearby.
Right now, though, I just want someone to take care of me. No. Not want.Need.
Gasping in pain, I reach my stiff hand into my apron pocket and pull out my phone. It’s so much less embarrassing to send a text, but my fingers won’t let that happen.
And so, I call Sebastian instead.
As it rings, I hold my breath. He won’t be back from his vet conference until tomorrow, and I know there’s a good chance he won’t be able to answer, but I just want to hear his voice. I want to know that I’m not as alone in the world as I feel right now.
