13. Elle

THIRTEEN

Elle

Monday, July 15

2:08 pm

I blink my eyes open, squinting against the harsh fluorescent lights. Everything feels fuzzy and disoriented. As my vision clears, I see my mom's worried face hovering over me. She jumps up from a nearby chair and grasps my hand.

"Mom?" I croak, my voice raspy and my throat dry and sore. "What are you doing here?"

Her eyes fill with tears, glistening in the harsh hospital lighting. "Oh, Elle, honey. You're awake," she chokes out, her voice thick with emotion. "We've been so worried about you. Your father and I have been here since Thursday night, just waiting and praying."

She squeezes my hand tighter as if afraid I might slip away again if she lets go. I can see the exhaustion etched on her face, and the worry lines are more pronounced than I remember. It's strange seeing my usually composed mother so visibly shaken.

"What day is it?"

"It's Monday, July 15."

"Monday? What day did I come in here?" My mind is reeling. This is the weirdest feeling of losing days of my life.

"You came in before dawn on Thursday. You were intubated almost immediately. You were in an induced coma, Elle."

I frown, trying to process her words. "Intubate? What does that mean?"

"It means they put a tube down your throat to help you breathe," she explains, her voice soft but steady. "You weren't breathing deeply enough on your own, so they had to do it to ensure you got enough oxygen."

The idea of a tube down my throat makes me shudder. I reach up instinctively, touching my neck as if I can still feel it there.

I try to sit up but feel weak and achy all over. "Where am I? What happened?"

The last thing I remember is being with Shep on his patio, our bodies entwined under the stars. But I keep that part to myself.

Mom strokes my hair. "You developed a severe infection, sweetheart. Shep found you with a dangerously high fever and rushed you to the ER at UAB."

"Days?" I whisper in disbelief. "I've lost days I know nothing about?"

She nods solemnly. "You gave us quite a scare. You were on a ventilator for three days, and I have never prayed so hard in my entire life."

"Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry I scared you. I'm just pissed I keep missing all the fun. The ambulance ride after the accident and now the coma and the ventilator."

"Trust me, you don't want to remember the coma. I'll never forget what you looked like on those machines."

A tear falls down her cheek. I've only seen my mom cry one other time in my life, and I'll be fine if I don't see it again. It ripped my heart out.

"Your stats slowly started improving Saturday, and early this morning, they were ready to test your ability off the ventilator."

I struggle to process this information. "But how did you know to come?"

"Shep called us," Mom explains. "He tracked down our number somehow and let us know what was happening. We flew in right away."

My head spins, trying to piece together the missing time. How could this have happened?

Dr. Hampton strides into the room, a warm smile lighting up his face as he sees me awake. "Elle, it's great to see those eyes open. How are you feeling?"

He comes directly at my eyes with a pen light, moving it up and down.

I blink, still trying to orient myself. "Honestly, Dr. Hampton, I feel like I'm in some kind of time warp. Everything's a bit fuzzy. It's quite bizarre to go to bed in one place and then wake up in another days later."

He nods understandingly. "That's to be expected. Our brains are amazing organs. Any pain?"

"Not really," I reply, my voice still scratchy. "Just a sore throat."

"That's from the intubation," he explains. "It should improve soon."

Dr. Hampton begins a neuro exam, asking me to wiggle my toes and pinch his fingers with my free hand. As he works, I can't help but glance at my bandaged left hand.

"What about my hand?" I ask hesitantly. "Mom said there was an infection that started there, and that is what made me so sick."

"Elle," he begins, his voice steady. "You had an infection that started in your hand. It spread rapidly and caused your blood to become septic. The condition is called sepsis."

I nod slowly, trying to keep up. "What exactly is sepsis?" I ask, my voice still weak.

"Sepsis is a severe reaction to an infection," he explains. "When bacteria or other pathogens get into your bloodstream, your body responds by releasing chemicals to fight the infection. But sometimes, this response goes into overdrive, causing widespread inflammation. This inflammation can lead to blood clots and leaky blood vessels, which in turn can cause poor blood flow and deprive your organs of nutrients and oxygen."

I feel a chill run through me as he continues. "In your case, the infection in your hand entered your bloodstream and moved quickly. Once sepsis sets in, it can spread rapidly throughout the body. It affects the internal organs, potentially leading to organ failure if not treated promptly. Your heart, lungs, kidneys, and liver are all at risk."

"That sounds terrifying," I whisper, my mind racing.

"It is," Dr. Hampton agrees. "Sepsis is a medical emergency. The longer it goes untreated, the higher the risk of serious complications and even death. Many people don't realize they need medical attention until too late because the symptoms can initially seem like those of other illnesses."

He pauses, letting his words sink in. "You're very lucky, Elle. Dr. Duncan—Shep—noticed the signs and acted quickly. He ensured you received the necessary treatment right away. Without that prompt action, your situation could have been much worse."

I swallow hard, the weight of his words settling over me. "So, Shep saved my life?"

"In a way, yes," Dr. Hampton says, nodding. "He recognized the urgency and immediately ensured you got the care you needed. Sepsis moves fast, and every minute counts."

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing thoughts. "Dr. Hampton, what caused the infection in the first place?"

Dr. Hampton pulls up a chair and sits beside my bed, his expression serious yet compassionate. "A variety of factors can cause infections after surgery, Elle," he begins. "Despite all precautions, bacteria can sometimes enter the surgical site. This can happen during the surgery itself or afterward.

"Common bacteria, like Staphylococcus aureus, live on our skin. If they enter the body through a cut or surgical incision, they can cause an infection. It's also possible for bacteria from the environment, instruments, or even the hands of medical staff to be involved, despite rigorous sterilization protocols."

I swallow hard. The reality of how fragile our bodies can be sinks in. "Is there any concern it could happen again? Or how can I prevent it in the future?"

Dr. Hampton smiles reassuringly. "The risk of it happening again is relatively low, especially since we'll monitor you closely and you're on the strongest antibiotics available. To prevent future infections, following all post-operative care instructions is crucial. This includes keeping the surgical site clean and dry, taking any prescribed antibiotics as directed, and watching for signs of infection like redness, swelling, or fever. Always call if your hand feels unusually tender."

I swallow hard, trying to process this information. "So... what's the status now?"

"Right now, you're going to focus on healing. Once we feel you're over that hump, we can talk about the next steps. But first, rest, fluids, and more rest."

My mind reels at the implications. I look down at my heavily bandaged hand, trying to imagine what lies beneath.

3:29 pm

I'm drifting in and out of sleep when I hear a familiar voice at the door. My eyes flutter open to see Shep standing there, still in his scrubs, his hair slightly disheveled. My heart skips a beat, and I can't help but smile weakly.

"Hey there, fighter," he says softly, approaching my bed. His eyes are filled with a mix of relief and concern.

My mom, who's been sitting vigilantly by my side, stands up. "Shep. I mean, Dr. Duncan," she greets him, her tone warmer than I expected. "We are so thrilled our girl is awake. Thank you for all you did to save her life and for coming to check on her."

Shep nods, his gaze shifting between us. "Of course. I just got out of surgery and heard the good news. How are you feeling, Elle?"

"Honestly, I feel good," I croak, my throat still sore. "A little out of it, but I don't have any pain. And I'm alive, thanks to you."

He shakes his head modestly. "I'm just glad I was there and was able to spot the signs quickly. You gave us all quite a scare."

My mom places a hand on his arm, surprising me. "We can't thank you enough, Shep. Who knows what we would be dealing with if you hadn't recognized the signs and acted quickly? I can't go there. I want you to know how grateful her father and I are."

I watch as Shep's eyes soften at my mom's words. It's strange seeing them interact like this; they are almost friendly. The last time I brought up Shep's name to Mom, I could feel her rage toward him through the phone.

"Anyone would have done the same," he says, but I can see the emotion in his eyes as he looks at me.

"And it can't be understated, thank you for calling me. We wouldn't have known this was happening if you hadn't. And I would have been a nervous wreck if I couldn't reach her."

"I knew Elle would have wanted you to know. And it is proven that having a loved one by your side while going through this helps pull you through. So, I'm happy I was able to find your number."

There's so much left unsaid between us still. But right now, in this moment, I feel a connection to Shep that transcends our complicated past.

The way he's looking at me, with such genuine concern and care, makes my heart flutter in a way I thought it never would again.

He makes me feel safe.

"Well," my mom says, breaking the moment, "I should go grab some coffee. I'll give you two a minute."

As she leaves, Shep takes her place by my bedside. He hesitates momentarily, then gently takes my uninjured hand in his. The touch sends a warmth through me that has nothing to do with my recent fever.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Elle," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He pulls my hand up to his lips and leaves it there for a moment. "When I realized what was happening, I jumped into action, scared of losing you. I've never been so scared in my life."

I take in all this beautiful man sitting beside me, sincerely concerned about me. In a span of less than a week, I've gone from feeling despondently alone to feeling like I have someone standing beside me who truly cares about me. A flood of emotions washes over me.

Maybe it's the near-death experience, or perhaps it's just been building up all this time, but I suddenly feel connected to him in a way I haven't let myself before now. Slowly, I've eroded some of the safety barriers that have protected me from him.

I am vulnerable, and I don't feel scared. For once, I have a deep urge or need to address our past. He's tried before, but I stopped him, not wanting to open those floodgates. But now, I feel ready.

"Shep," I start, my voice barely above a whisper, "I am ready to talk about what happened between us. At least address the elephant in the room."

He nods, squeezing my hand gently. "I've been thinking about that a lot the last few days, too. There are so many things I've wanted to say to you about how I handled things, how I wish I could go back and change some things."

I take a deep breath. "We both could have handled things differently back then. But I want you to know that I don't blame you anymore. I used to think our demise was all your fault, but I realize now that wasn't fair. You didn't deserve to shoulder all of that."

Shep's eyes widen slightly. "Elle, I... I was so selfish. I should have tried harder to make it work. I should have considered your dreams as much as my own."

"We were young," I say, feeling a weight lift off my chest. "We both had big ambitions. I could have made some different choices, too."

He shakes his head, his grip on my hand tightening. "No, I need to own this. I could have looked into med schools that would have allowed us to stay closer. I could have talked to you about it instead of just... pulling away. I was so focused on becoming a doctor that I lost sight of what mattered."

I feel tears welling up in my eyes. "I appreciate you saying that, Shep. It really means a lot."

He leans in closer, his voice low and intense. "Coming so close to losing you... it's made me realize how much I regret letting you go. How much I've missed you all these years."

My heart races. "I've missed you too," I admit softly. "I let anger deceive me into thinking I didn't still care about you. I couldn't acknowledge that I missed you. It would have been too painful."

Shep brings my hand to his lips again, this time placing a gentle kiss on my knuckles. "I know this isn't the best time or place, but I want you to know I'm here for you in every way you want me to be. And if you're willing, I'd like a chance to make things right between us. I know we have both made lives several hundred miles apart, but I'd like to try."

I look into his eyes and see the sincerity and love there. Despite everything we've been through, I feel a spark of hope igniting in my chest. Can I do long-distance? Is that something I want to try? With him, of all people?

I'm not sure I can say yes with complete confidence. But what I am confident about is this: I am falling for Shep Duncan. Again.

I watch Shep's face as he speaks, his eyes never leaving mine. "Elle, I want you to know that I'm here for you, but I also respect that your family is here now. We should continue this conversation when you feel better and have more time to process everything."

I nod, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment. "I'd like that," I say softly.

He squeezes my hand gently. "I'll be here as much or as little as you want. Just let me know, okay?"

"Okay," I whisper, my throat suddenly tight with emotion.

Shep stands up, his tall frame towering over my hospital bed. "I've got surgery in a few minutes, but I'll check on you later. Is that alright?"

"Of course," I say, managing a small smile.

"Do you promise to tell me if I'm overstepping my bounds?"

I nod, a goofy grin pasted across my face. I'm sure I look like a love-sick, wet chihuahua.

As he turns to leave, I marvel at him while he walks away. His broad shoulders fill out his white coat perfectly. And even in his hurried stride, there's a grace to his movements that I'd forgotten about.

He pauses at the door, glancing back at me one last time. Our eyes meet, and he gives me a crooked grin. I can't let go of the thought that he literally saved my life... And seems genuinely concerned about my well-being. That in and of itself tells me so much more than I can articulate, even to myself.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. It's as if my body remembers the pain of our past separation—even as my heart yearns for the possibility of a future together.