She was about to ask who’d been admitted but he was already striding away from her. She followed him past the cubicles to one of the monitored beds.
“Oh my God!”
Nick lay on a hospital gurney, his usually healthy, tanned face matching the color of the covering sheet. A pulse oximeter was fitted on his forefinger, an IV line ran into the back of his hand, oxygen prongs sat in his nostrils and leads protruded from behind his hospital gown. The EKG machine beeped rhythmically.
She grabbed his free hand, gripping it hard as if he might suddenly be pulled away from her. “What happened?”
“Your husband’s experienced some chest pain,” the nurse said matter-of-factly. “We’ve taken bloods and he’s had a chest X-ray. We’re just waiting for the results. His vitals are stable, although his BP’s still a bit high. Dr. Naing will be in shortly to talk to you.”
Libby’s gaze swung to the EKG, frantically looking for signs of a heart attack. “Nick, how long have you had pain?”
“I dunno. A few hours.”
A few hours! Panic skated through her. “Tell me everything.”
“There isn’t much to tell. I’ve felt lousy all day and then I got this pain …” He rubbed his chest with his hand. “It got worse and then it got hard to breathe.”
Her own breathing sped up when she thought of his briskness on the phone. Then her abiding love for him got tangled up with frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me when I phoned you about Lucy?”
“I didn’t have it then.”
“When did it start?”
He blew out a long slow breath and closed his eyes, weariness emanating from him.
“Nick?”
He took a moment before opening his eyes and when he did, the swirl of confusion in their depths made her wonder if he’d been given morphine. “What?”
“When did the pain start?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t check my watch!”
“Okay,” she soothed, horrified at the spike in his blood pressure. “Let’s work it out. I called you at 11:00 and you usually have lunch at 1:00—” She suddenly remembered her conversation with Jess. “Jess would have phoned you soon after 2:00 about dinner and collecting the girls. Did you have pain then?”
“She didn’t call.”
“What?”
Libby had an appalling image of Nick arriving at after-school care and daycare and not finding either of his daughters where they should be. But before she could ask, her own phone started buzzing so incessantly, it bounced on the bed. Five texts tumbled in.
Missy just told me she called an ambulance for Nick! I’m with her and Jannick at the pub. They’re stressing out. Call me! Or Mom! Please call! Alice x
Sent Nick by ambulance to Bairnsdale for tests. Ramesh
Hi, Libby, Nick’s complaining of chest pain. We thought it best to send him to BRHS by ambulance Hopefully you’re with him now. Call when you can. Best wishes, Penny
Hi, have you heard from Nick? He’s not answering his phone and the girls are refusing to go to bed without him. I’m a bit worried. Jess xxx
Everyone’s concerns piled in on top of her own and she sent up a vote of thanks that at least Rosa and Rick were out of town. If they’d known Nick was sick, they’d have tailgated the ambulance to the hospital and Libby would be talking them off the ledge while trying to keep a lid on her own anxieties.
Nick complaining of chest pain? Her entire body clenched as she tried to wrap her head around his symptoms. They made little sense. He was fit and healthy, didn’t smoke, drank moderately and ate a Mediterranean diet. His grandparents had lived to a ripe old age and his parents were fit and well. His only risk factor was he was male. None of it reassured her enough to quieten her clawing terror that something was seriously wrong.
She heard someone clearing their throat and turned to see a man with a stethoscope slung around his neck. “Hello, I’m Dr. Naing.”
“Dr. Hunter.” Libby shot out her hand. “Nick’s wife. Do you have his cardiac enzymes results?”
“I do. Good news, Mr. Pirelli. We’re fairly confident you haven’t had a heart attack, but we’ll repeat the blood tests in another three hours so we’re absolutely certain. Your white cell count is normal and your chest X-ray is clear with no sign of pneumonia—”
“And pulmonary embolism?” Libby asked, running through her own checklist.
“Yes.” Dr. Naing gave a wry smile and concentrated on Nick. “I’m going to send you for a CT and echocardiogram so we can rule out a few other nasties.” He glanced at the monitor. “Good to see your blood pressure’s starting to come down. How are you feeling compared to when you first arrived?”
Nick fidgeted with the top sheet. “The pain’s less but I feel like I could sleep for a week. It’s stupid, because I haven’t done anything to make me tired.”
“Well, you’re in the right place and we’ll get to the bottom of it. The best thing for you is to get some rest. You’re going to be here for a few hours yet.”
Nick nodded and closed his eyes again.
“Will you admit him?” Libby asked the doctor, starting to think of the girls and logistics.
“We’ll keep you informed.”
Libby recognized the code for “it depends on his results.” As the doctor walked away, she sat down again and slid her hand into Nick’s. He didn’t get sick often, but when he did, he was very capable of exhibiting all the symptoms of man-flu. Once, when he’d caught a heavy cold, he’d summoned her to their bedroom multiple times with requests for everything from Tylenol to new batteries for the remote. The ninth time he rang the bell, she’d confiscated it. But today, this quiet, exhausted and withdrawn—almost resigned—version of her husband scared her.
Her phone vibrated again and Jess’s name lit up the screen. Technically, she wasn’t allowed to have her phone turned on back here so she selected the offered text option, Will call you back.
She bent down under the gurney and
