The word hit a gong in her head. Her fingers hit a patch of tape, the crinkle of a bandage.
“You were then transferred to our Medivac helicopter, but it took some time for the unit to find you and Macallister in the national forest, as well as a safe place to land. By the time you were airlifted, you’d gone into cardiac arrest. Dr. Macallister administered CPR right up until the helicopter landed on our helipad, when our doctors took over.”
Jenny pushed up—sure she wasn’t hearing what she’d just heard. She winced at a new soreness, this time in her chest.
“Don’t.” The doctor steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. “You took a beating from the CPR. You’ll have a bruise the size of Kansas, but fortunately, nothing’s broken. We checked. Dr. Macallister insisted we check everything.”
Jenny settled back down into the pillow. Too much all at once, she could hardly keep up.
“But…” Ouch. Swallowing felt like an elastic-snap. “It…was just a bee.”
“I know. Such a severe response is rare.” The doctor rolled back to pull a chart from a hook at the end of the bed, talking as she toed the chair back in place. “If you had been anywhere else but off-road, EMTS would have come by ambulance in time to give you a shot to counteract the venom and your inflammation response. That’s what usually happens in these cases.”
“I’ve been…stung before.” She sounded like a lifetime smoker.
“Dr. Macallister did note that sensitizing event in the admission notes. The first sting a week or so ago alerted your immune system of the danger of the venom. When you got stung again so soon after, your immune system launched all weapons full force. Your body overreacted, in other words.”
“What…” Her blood went cold. “…you’re saying…”
“Yes.” Dr. Nguyen delivered the word without a hitch in her voice. “You almost died in those woods, Ms. Vance.”
Not possible. Botanists don’t die of bee stings.
“That’s why you are the luckiest woman in the world.” The doctor braced the chart on her lap, two hands on the top. “You weren’t in the deep woods with just any doctor. A dermatologist or a radiologist or almost any kind of –ologist couldn’t do what Dr. Macallister did for you. I’m not sure even I could have done it, without botching the job. But you’re not exhibiting any of the secondary complications we might expect from surgery with rudimentary tools in the back woods. It’s a miracle, considering the risks he took. I bet you’ll hardly have a scar.”
A miracle.
“You won’t remember, but when the two of you showed up yesterday, it was quite a scene. Most of us here in the emergency room have read Dr. Macallister’s papers, at one time or another. They read like thrillers. He’s an emergency-medicine rock star.”
Logan…saved me.
“Of course,” the doctor added, with a clearing of her throat, “a tracheostomy is a relatively simple procedure. You didn’t need anything exotic like pit’s-bladder saline bags or odd homeopathic remedies, but you still couldn’t have chosen a better hiking partner.”
Jenny pressed her head deeper into the pillow, drowning under the tsunami of revelations.
“You’re doing well,” the doctor continued, “but we’ll keep you another day or two for observation.” The doctor glanced at her watch and stood up. “Since this kind of allergic reaction to a wasp or bee sting could very well happen again, I’ll send an allergist down to talk to you about venom immunotherapy and other options. You’ll have to be extra careful from now on about stings, but the therapy is 99% effective. In the interim, you’ll have to carry an adrenaline shot for emergencies.”
Jenny nodded once, carefully, but heard nothing but a garble of words, none of which answered the question: Where was Logan? She needed to see him, hold his hand, and look into his face. Until then, this wouldn’t feel real.
“Try to rest,” the doctor said. I’ll call Dr. Macallister know that you’re up and responsive.” The doctor patted her on the shoulder before heading toward the door with a click of low heels. “Such a lucky woman, Ms. Vance, in so many ways.”
The nurse followed the doctor out of the room. Jenny didn’t feel very lucky right now. She felt sore and achy and fuzzyheaded and it was only just starting to sink in that she was in a hospital bed with an IV pinching in her arm with bruises the size of Kansas on her chest. One truth was rising up to her consciousness growing to block out all other information: But for Logan cutting into her windpipe in the park, right now she’d be dancing on the clouds with Granny.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She’d had an emergency appendectomy when she was twenty-three years old, and hated every moment she’d spent on her back in the hospital. Her parents had flown into Washington State from New York to ensure that her basic needs were met, critically examine the stitches, all while keeping the staff on their toes. But her parents were thousands of miles away right now, and it wasn’t them she was longing for.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. It read 9:35 pm. Was it the same day? Or had she been out for over twenty-four hours? Maybe her lack of understanding had something to do with pain medication. That would explain why her eyes were open but she was still groggy. Why her heart ached, as if it, too, had been bruised by the pressure of his hands during CPR. It would also explain why, when she blinked her eyes open again, the room had suddenly gone dim. She must have fallen asleep. She could barely make out the clock on the wall, which now read11:45 pm.
She heard a whirring sound. Something small vibrated against her leg. A burst of bluish light lit the air around her. Startled, she padded her thighs until she found her cellphone, buzzing.
She caught her breath at the name and
