A Walk Along the Beach(32)

First thing in the morning, she bundled me up and drove me to the clinic to see Dr. Annie. I’d been to a foreign country. I’d eaten the food, such as it was. The obvious conclusion was that I’d picked up a bug. Tests were run and I was given a prescription to kill whatever had infected me.

    The office visit and following tests felt like they took half the day. I was weak and eager to get back home and in bed. Willa drove me, changed my sheets, and tucked me in. Again, she fed me broth and stayed at my side.

Knowing I was keeping her away from Bean There weighed heavily on me. As hard as it was to admit, I needed her. My temperature hovered at about one hundred and three for two more days, even with the antibiotics. Normally by now I would have checked in with my parents.

On the third morning, Willa called Dr. Annie. “This is something more, something worse,” she said. “His fever hasn’t gone down and he isn’t getting any better. Something is terribly wrong.” She sounded desperate and her voice wobbled with emotion. I realized she was afraid. Her fear fueled my own. Could I be dying? I’d never been this sick before, and I had to wonder.

Lost in my thoughts, I was unable to hear the rest of the conversation. The next thing I knew, Willa got me out of bed and into her car, explaining that we were headed to Aberdeen.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Dr. Annie called a friend of hers who’s an infectious disease doctor. She’s agreed to see you right away.”

By this time, I was willing to do anything to end this constant pain and misery. If antibiotics weren’t helping, I had to wonder what would.

On the ride into Aberdeen, Willa kept muttering to herself. “I should have followed my instinct that first night,” she said angrily.

“I’m sorry, Willa.” I hated that she had to see me like this. Frankly, I didn’t know what I would have done without her.

“I’m not mad at you, Sean. I’m furious with myself. You’re much too sick for this to be a minor infection. And you’re not showing the symptoms of some easily killed normal bug. This is far and away more than that.”

    “Maybe not. I—”

“I’m no dummy,” she said, cutting me off. “Do you even know how many hours I spent in the hospital with Harper? Of course you don’t. From what I learned when she was sick with leukemia, I could be a consultant to the medical team.”

If I’d had the wherewithal to respond I would have. When we arrived in Aberdeen, Willa shepherded me into the medical offices. As soon as she gave the receptionist my name, we were ushered into the exam room.

The infectious disease doctor gave me a thorough examination and drew my blood. I answered a hundred or more questions and she put me on a ten-day course of Cipro with warnings that this was a powerful drug that often came with dangerous side effects. While we still didn’t have any answers, whatever bug I’d picked up wasn’t something that could be handled with a Z-Pak.

This was serious.

Willa was silent on the way home. I’d infringed on her long enough. It was time to call in family. My chest tightened and I reached for my phone.

“Who are you calling?” she asked, as we neared Oceanside.

“My parents.”

“Good idea. Do you want me to talk to them?” she asked, when she noticed how violently my hand shook.

“Maybe that would be best.”

Willa got me into the house. After spending nearly four days in bed, it was the last place I wanted to go. “Let me sit up for a bit,” I said, when she tried to steer me back into the bedroom.

“Okay.” She set me down in the chair and brought an afghan to tuck around me before bringing me a cup of warm chicken broth. I was about to explain what I wanted her to say to my parents when the phone rang.

    Caller ID said it was the Oceanside Clinic. I answered and put the phone on speaker.

“Sean, this is Dr. Annie Keaton. The test results came back from the stool samples we took.”

“Is it a parasite?” I asked.

“No, Sean, you have typhoid.”





CHAPTER 13





Willa


The news that Sean was dealing with typhoid fever was a shock and at the same time a relief. I’d felt something similar when we learned Harper had leukemia. First the shock, followed by a sense that at least we knew what we faced and could prepare for the battle.

What I didn’t know was how serious this news was. Typhoid fever was nothing to fool around with. Dr. Morgan, the infectious disease doctor, recognized within a short amount of time that this wasn’t your normal, run-of-the-mill infection. She’d prescribed Cipro with caution, explaining how powerful this drug was.

As he asked me to do, I contacted Sean’s parents and spoke to his father. Within twelve hours of our conversation his parents were on a flight from Phoenix, where they are retired, to Seattle. I was with Sean the morning they arrived.

His mother burst into the house like a freight train shooting into a tunnel, nearly bowling me over in order to get to her son. “Sean Patrick O’Malley…typhoid fever,” she cried.

    Sean groaned and laid his head back against the overstuffed chair where he sat. “Mom, please, I’m fine.”

Sean looked at me and I read the apology in his eyes. I understood better than he realized. Had it been my mother she would have reacted the same.