Page 133 of Sing it, Sam

“Yep. Sam’s cough is awful, but he sounds like he’s in good spirits.”

Ben clears his throat. “It’s not good, Jane,” he says in a wavering voice. “Not good at all.”

My heart jolts. “What do you mean?”

“Sam told me that he’s had tingling in his hands and feet for the last week, but instead of talking to me about it, he figured it was nothing. Unfortunately, while he’s been fighting this cold the numbness has spread to his arms and legs. Maybe his torso.”

“Oh, God,” I groan, and fist the neck of my shirt.

“GBS has returned, but it’s morphed into a chronic form of CIDP. They’ve been giving him IVIG through a drip, to try and stop the attack on his nerves and boost his antibodies, but he’s not responding the way they expected him to.”

I snatch up my keys and head for the door. I remember reading something about that other term, but don’t focus on it. “What does that mean, Ben? C-I-D-P?”

The silence that follows is deafening.

“Ben?”

“It means we have a bigger fight on our hands, Jane. The doctors are trying to stop Sam’s body from fighting itself.”

My heart takes a dive into my stomach. I swallow down the rising bile. “I’m on my way. Text me his room number.”

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