Lost Without You Page 5

  She offered him the first genuine smile she’d given anyone in weeks. ‘Thanks for listening. I came out tonight to try and numb the pain, but no matter what I do, I can’t escape it.’

  ‘You’re out on your own?’ His question could have been construed as threatening, but it didn’t feel that way.

  ‘Yep. Pretty sad, hey? But we haven’t lived here long and I don’t have any proper friends.’ The few she’d begun to make through work hadn’t really come to fruition—since losing her last baby, her colleagues seemed too scared to talk to her about anything but school stuff in case they said the wrong thing. She didn’t blame them; they probably would.

  ‘Where’s your husband tonight?’

  ‘He’s in Japan for work. But he’s sick of my sadness too. He wants me to get over it and for us to try again, but …’ She sighed, feeling the tears prickling again.

  ‘He actually said you need to get over it?’

  ‘Well … no … not in so many words, but he doesn’t like talking about the babies. And although he says he’s sad too, he doesn’t act like it. How can he be really? I was the one pregnant. I’m the one who lost a part of me.’

  ‘I don’t know your husband, but us blokes process things differently. Don’t write him off. I’m sure he’s feeling it just as deeply as you.’

  She shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Have you spoken to anyone about your losses?’

  ‘You mean like a counsellor?’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not really the counselling type. I don’t see the point—talking won’t change anything.’

  ‘I don’t mean some fancy-pants shrink.’ He chuckled dryly, then dug his wallet out of his pocket. ‘But my wife … she understands what you’re going through. Here’s her card.’

  With his scrappy clothes, bloodshot eyes, greasy hair and unhealthy-looking skin, this man looked in need of assistance himself. How could he have a wife who could help her?

  Still Josie glanced down at the card as her fingers closed around it. The name Clara Jones was alongside the logo of Life After Loss, a charity that claimed to support people grieving miscarriage, stillbirth or neonatal death. ‘Thanks.’

  The flashing lights of an ambulance zoomed past as she slipped the card into her pocket. They both looked up as it screeched to a halt a little further up the road in front of an art studio. Two paramedics jumped out—one carrying some kind of medical bag—and ran into the building.

  ‘Looks like we’re not the only ones having a bad night,’ the guy said as the paramedics disappeared inside.

  She let out a sad laugh. ‘True.’

  Her mother always said that no matter what you were going through, there was always somebody else going through something worse.

  She sighed deeply; while she’d verbally vomited her problems to the man, she had no idea why he was out alone on a Saturday night, littering the footpath like some kind of tramp.

  ‘I’m sorry. Here I am unloading my woes to you while I haven’t once asked why you’re out drowning your sorrows.’

  The man laughed quietly and then shook his head sadly. ‘I no longer need a specific reason to drink, sweetheart. It’s just what I do.’ He straightened up off the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Take care.’

  And with those words, he walked off, leaving Josie alone, cold, more than a little tipsy, and unsure about whether she was feeling better or worse than when she left home.

  Rebecca

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  Rebecca looked up from where she was lying on an uncomfortable hospital bed to see her daughter entering the room. ‘Hello darling. Much better. I’m sure this is a whole load of fuss over nothing.’

  ‘I bought you some flowers and some magazines to read. I know how much you like them.’ Paige dumped the gifts on the portable bed-table thingy and took hold of Rebecca’s hand. ‘Sol’s just parking the car.’

  ‘Thanks. That’s very thoughtful of you,’ Rebecca said, knowing Paige couldn’t understand why she liked reading about royals, rock stars and fashion. Still, as much as she did enjoy such glossies, she hoped she wouldn’t be here long enough to read them.

  If she’d had her way, there wouldn’t even have been an ambulance last night and she definitely wouldn’t now be waiting in the Prince of Wales Hospital for the results of blood tests, chest scans, x-rays, a CAT scan and Lord knows what else they’d subjected her to since her admission. She’d felt like a cadaver that medical students were using to practise everything under the sun on. The number of tests seemed a little over the top for what was likely nothing more than a complication from a common cold.

  So she’d coughed up a little blood—okay, even she could admit that had scared her a bit—but she’d only fainted because of the blood. Rebecca had always had a bit of a queasy tum; when she saw vomit, she hurled in sympathy, and when she saw blood, she got dizzy. Hugh should have known this but by the time she’d come to, someone had already summoned the paramedics. There was probably a perfectly benign reason for her medical theatrics. One of the old dears she delivered Meals on Wheels to had been hospitalised for something similar a few months back—turned out the blood had been from a nosebleed.

  Rebecca’s eyes went to her daughter’s ring finger. Where was the big, shiny, diamond engagement ring that was supposed to be glistening there?

  She couldn’t remember whether she’d fainted before Solomon proposed or just after. Maybe he had proposed but the beautiful ring he’d bought didn’t fit properly. Her head hurt as she tried to recall the exact sequence of events last night.

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ Paige asked as she glanced at the empty chair where Hugh had been in vigil since they’d arrived.

  ‘I made him go downstairs and get something to eat. He was driving me bonkers constantly asking if I was okay, if he could get me anything, whether I was comfortable.’

  ‘He loves you. He’s just worried about you. We all are.’

  ‘I know.’ Rebecca squeezed Paige’s hand. ‘I’m sorry for spoiling your night. You looked beautiful, there were so many people there and—’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ Paige interrupted. ‘Louisa called me this morning and said that after we left everyone was so worried about you and sorry for me that they dug deep into their pockets and bought even more books. More money for the Refugee Council.’

  Rebecca forced a smile. As proud as she was of Paige’s drive and her vision to improve the world through her art, it was the more personal aspect of last night she was itching to know about.

  ‘At what exact stage of the night did I faint? The last I remember is Solomon coming up to the front to join you … Did he …?’ But before she could finish her question, the man himself came into the room with her husband.

  ‘Look who I found lurking around outside,’ Hugh said.

  Paige stood back to let Solomon greet her mother.

  ‘Hey, Rebecca,’ he said, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek. ‘How you doing?’

  She looked into his eyes, trying to see if she could find any answers there. Did you ask her? But Sol seemed oblivious to her subliminal message. He went to stand beside Paige, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her into his side.

  ‘I’ll be better when they let me out of this place. Paige, go and see if you can find anyone to tell us when that might be.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll let us know as soon as they have any news,’ Hugh said.

  Rebecca glared at him and then turned back to her daughter. ‘Please, sweetheart.’

  ‘Of course, Mum, I’ll go ask at the desk.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Solomon offered.

  ‘No!’ At Rebecca’s loud protest all eyes in the room widened at her. ‘You stay here. I want … I need … Paige will be fine on her own.’

  Thankfully, as she was the one lying in a hospital bed, her loved ones were willing to give her whatever she asked without question. So, after a curious and suspicious glance, Paige went off to look for answers and
the men stood like wooden soldiers as if scared to make a wrong move.

  ‘Did you end up proposing last night?’ Rebecca hissed.

  Solomon and Hugh exchanged a look then Sol turned back and shook his head. ‘You fainted before I got the chance.’

  ‘Damn me,’ she said, stamping her fists into the mattress.

  Hugh put his hand on her arm. ‘Relax, honey. The most important thing right now is your health.’

  She shook him off as she would a pesky mosquito. ‘You have to do it today,’ she told Solomon. ‘Promise me, you’ll do it today.’

  Hugh laughed dryly. ‘You seem more excited about Solomon proposing than you were about me doing so.’

  She ignored that comment. Although Hugh had sported good looks and a sexy Scottish accent, he was thirty-one—thirteen years older than Rebecca—when he’d moved in next door to her family and this fact had prevented her from thinking about him in romantic terms.

  But they’d struck up a conversation when they’d both been out walking their dogs and become solid friends fast. It had been clear to Rebecca from early on in their friendship that Hugh’s feelings for her were different to those she had for him. When he’d kissed her, that hunch had been confirmed. Yet, although there hadn’t been fireworks or blazing passion on her side, she’d found the experience wasn’t all together terrible and they’d started going out.

  She’d thought her parents might find the relationship scandalous and had actually been a little disappointed when they told her they approved. A cameraman for Channel Seven, Hugh was a kind, gentle, hardworking man and, most importantly to her parents, he came from a ‘good Christian family’. It didn’t seem to matter that he only ventured to church for the Christmas and Easter services. In her mother’s words, he would ‘make a very suitable husband for her’. When he proposed, Rebecca’s ‘yes’ was as much because she wanted to escape the claustrophobia of living with her parents as anything else.

  She wasn’t in love with him, she didn’t think she would ever be in love with anyone again, but believed that in time she could grow to love him. And, luckily, she had.

  But things were different between Paige and Solomon—their love, every aspect of it, had been the real deal from the beginning. When they looked at each other she saw in their eyes the kind of passion and connection she’d only felt once in her life. And she didn’t want anything to get in the way of that.

  ‘I think Paige has enough on her plate right now, don’t you? I still want to ask her but—’

  Before Solomon could finish his sentence, Paige appeared with two medical professionals in tow. Rebecca recognised one of them as the doctor who’d examined her early that morning.

  ‘Hallelujah!’ She’d never been happier to see anyone in her life. The doctors would tell her she had some minor infection, give her some antibiotics and then they could all go home. Solomon could have another go at proposing, Paige would say yes and they could get on with the excitement of planning a wedding.

  ‘Hello, doctors.’ Hugh looked much paler than usual. ‘Do you have some news?’

  The male doctor drew the curtain that separated Rebecca’s bed from the others around them. ‘We’ve got the results of your tests. I’m Dr Hodder,’ he reintroduced himself and then gestured to the short but thin, dark-skinned woman standing beside him. ‘And this is Dr Chopra, from the renal health facility here at the hospital.’

  ‘Renal?’ Rebecca breathed.

  ‘Is that to do with kidneys?’ Hugh asked. ‘We thought she was going through menopause.’

  Dr Chopra was so small her white coat swamped her and her stethoscope almost hung to her knees, but she smiled warmly at Rebecca as she spoke. ‘The initial tests we conducted showed that you had bleeding into your lungs and so we investigated what exactly was causing this issue. Have you been feeling a little unwell lately?’

  Rebecca couldn’t answer. She vaguely remembered telling someone late last night about being tired, short of breath and a little off her food, but Hugh stepped in to repeat this now.

  ‘What’s wrong with me?’ she asked when he was done.

  ‘We believe you have pulmonary-renal syndrome.’ Dr Hodder might as well have been speaking in tongues for all Rebecca understood. ‘This is quite rare and was likely caused by Anti-GBM disease, more commonly referred to as Goodpasture Syndrome.’

  Was she supposed to know what that meant?

  ‘What’s that?’ Paige asked.

  ‘It’s an auto-immune disease in which antibodies attack the basement membrane in the lungs and kidneys, leading to bleeding from the lungs and kidney failure.’

  Paige squeaked. ‘Kidney failure?’ Solomon drew her closer into his side.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ the doctor replied gravely.

  Rebecca shook her head. There had to be some mistake. She couldn’t have kidney problems. She’d been fairly fit most of her life and, until recently, thought herself in better health than most of her friends. And weren’t kidney problems usually associated with a drinking problem? She only ever drank on special occasions. ‘How did I get this?’

  Dr Chopra took this question. ‘Although the precise cause is unknown, it is believed that an insult to the blood vessels taking blood to and from the lungs occurs to trigger the syndrome. Insults can be caused by exposure to tobacco smoke, gene mutations, an influenza infection, sepsis, bacteraemia, to name but a few possibilities. The important thing now is treatment.’

  ‘So this is treatable?’ Slight relief followed the shock she’d just had.

  ‘What you have is end-stage kidney failure,’ Dr Chopra said, speaking slowly as if talking to a child. ‘So …’

  ‘End-stage? You mean … she’s going to … How can it be end-stage? This is the first we’ve heard about it. She hasn’t been sick. Well, not until recently.’

  As her daughter’s voice escalated, Rebecca’s own distress increased. Why had this happened to her? Was she destined to have a short life as punishment for what she’d done in her past?

  ‘Am I going to die?’

  ‘Of course not, love.’ Hugh rushed to her side and took hold of her hand. ‘She’s not, is she?’

  ‘We’re going to do everything we can,’ Dr Hodder promised, ‘to make sure that doesn’t happen. I know this is a shock but we also know you’ll probably have a lot of questions, so let’s give Dr Chopra a chance to explain exactly what we’re going to do and let you have some time to process it all.’

  Dr Chopra shot her colleague a grateful smile and then took a deep breath before speaking. ‘Your kidneys are no longer functioning well enough to meet the needs of your daily life. Kidney disease is usually progressive, however your illness is a rare variety that has reached the end-stage of kidney failure much faster. Our first step is to stabilise your body and this involves plasmapheresis, which basically means separating and removing the plasma from your blood to remove anti-GBM antibodies that are attacking your lungs and kidneys. Then we’ll return your red blood cells, white blood cells and platelets, along with a prescribed replacement fluid. To put it simply, we’re removing your old plasma and replacing it with a new one.’

  Rebecca nodded, unable to speak, wondering if this would hurt, then immediately thinking how stupid that thought was. A little pain would be preferable to the alternative.

  ‘In addition to the plasma exchange,’ Dr Chopra continued, ‘we’ll also start you on immunosuppressants. This first stage of treatment will take about two weeks. During this time, once your organs are stabilised, we’ll start you on dialysis.’

  ‘What does that involve?’ asked Hugh.

  ‘Dialysis does the job your kidneys are no longer doing—the unit removes waste, salt and extra water to prevent them building up in your body but keeps a safe level of certain chemicals in your blood, such as potassium, bicarbonate and sodium. It also helps to keep your blood pressure at a safe level.’

  ‘And that will make me better?’

  ‘No. Dialysis doesn’t cure kidney d
isease. Your condition means you will require dialysis for the rest of your life, or, if we can find you a suitable candidate, a kidney transplant may be an option.’

  Paige’s eyes lit up, the terror that had been scrawled across her face since Dr Hodder delivered the news lifting a little. ‘You only need one kidney. Don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ the doctors confirmed in unison.

  ‘So, one of us …’ Paige grinned, gesturing between herself and her father, ‘can give Mum one of ours.’

  ‘That’s definitely something we can discuss in due course,’ Dr Chopra said, ‘but the first step is stabilising Rebecca’s condition, so we’re going to start that treatment straight away.’

  ‘How long will that take? Can I take the drugs from home or …’ Her voice drifted off before she finished the question because the look on the doctors’ faces gave her the answer. This wasn’t some little head cold; this was serious.

  ‘You’ll be in hospital at least two weeks,’ Dr Hodder told her. ‘During that time, we’ll establish dialysis and work out a treatment plan going forward.’

  ‘Two weeks!’ She’d been here less than twenty-four hours and already felt like a prisoner. ‘But what about my piano pupils? And how are we supposed to be planning their wedding,’ she darted a glance towards her daughter and future son-in-law, ‘when I’m stuck in hospital that long?’

  The moment the words escaped her mouth she realised her colossal blunder. Whoops. She shot Solomon an apologetic glance. His brown skin meant it wasn’t overly noticeable when he blushed, but she swore his complexion darkened a little now.

  ‘What?’ Paige’s eyes grew wide as she turned to look at her boyfriend. ‘What wedding?’

  As if she wasn’t already feeling bad enough, Rebecca felt awful for stealing Solomon’s thunder. She looked to Hugh for help.

  He cleared his throat. ‘How often will Rebecca have to come to the hospital for dialysis?’ he asked the doctors.

  ‘Two or three times a week.’