With Cassi back home from her stay in the hospital, Thomas felt better than he had for many days. He even looked forward to surgery, hoping it would be a challenging case. But before he could be on his way, he had one more job: to see his mother.
Thomas rang her bell and waited while Patricia came down the stairs. She was pleased to see him until he told her he was returning directly to the hospital.
“I brought Cassi home today,” he said.
“Well, you know Harriet’s off. I hope you’re not expecting me to look after her.”
“She’s fine, Mother. I just want you to leave her alone. I don’t want you going over there tonight and upsetting her.”
“Don’t worry. I certainly won’t go where I’m not wanted,” said Patricia, contrary to the last.
Thomas walked away without saying anything more. A few minutes later, he climbed into his car and, after wiping his hands on the rag he kept under the front seat, started the engine. He looked forward to the drive back to Boston, knowing there would be very little traffic. Carefully he eased the powerful car out into the crisp afternoon air.
Arriving at the hospital. Thomas was pleased there was a spot next to the attendant’s booth. He called a loud hello as he climbed from the car. He went into the hospital and took the elevator directly up to surgery.
As evening approached, Cassi let the pale, wintry light fade without turning on the lamp. She watched the windswept sea change from pale blue to gunmetal gray. The airplane tickets still in her lap, she hoped that once they were away she and Thomas could honestly discuss his addictive problem. She knew that recognition and acknowledgment were more than half the problem. Trying to take a positive attitude, Cassi closed her eyes and conjured up visions of long talks on the beach and the beginning of a whole new relationship. Still tired from her ordeal in the hospital, she fell asleep.
It was completely dark when she awoke. She could hear the wind rattling the storm windows and the steady beat of the rain on the roof. True to form, the New England weather had made another about-face. She reached up and snapped on the floor lamp. For a moment the light seemed glaringly bright, and Cassi shielded her eye to look at her watch. She was surprised to see that it was almost eight o’clock. Irritated at herself, she tossed off the comforter and got to her feet. She did not like to be so late with her insulin.
In the bathroom, Cassi noted that she was showing two-plus sugar. Returning to the morning room, she went to the refrigerator and took out her medicine. Carrying the paraphernalia over to her desk, she meticulously drew up the correct amounts, fifty units of the regular and ten units of the Lente. Deftly she injected herself in her left thigh.
She carefully broke off the needle and dropped the syringe into the wastebasket, then put the insulin containers back into the refrigerator. Cassi kept the regular and Lente insulins on different shelves just to make sure she did not confuse them. Then she unpacked her eye medication, removed her eye patch, and managed to put the drops in her left eye. She was on her way down to the kitchen when she felt the first wave of dizziness.
She stopped, thinking it would pass quickly. But it didn’t. Cassi felt perspiration break out on her palms. Confused as to why eyedrops would cause such a rapid systemic effect, she returned to the morning room and checked the label. It was an antibiotic as she’d suspected. Putting the eye medication down, Cassi wiped her hands; they were drenched. Then her whole body began to sweat, accompanied by a rush of unbelievable hunger.
Cassi knew then that it wasn’t the eyedrops. She was having another insulin reaction. Her first thought was that she’d misread the calibration on the syringe, but retrieving it from the wastebasket proved that to be false. She checked the insulin bottles, but they were just as they’d always been, U100. Cassi shook her head, wondering how her diabetic balance could have been thrown off so much.
In any case the cause of the reaction was less important than treating it. Cassi knew she’d better eat without delay. Halfway down the hall to the kitchen, she felt streams of perspiration began to run down her body and her heart began to beat wildly in her chest. She tried to feel her pulse, but her hand was shaking too much. This was no mild reaction! This was another overwhelming episode like the one in the hospital.
In a panic Cassi dashed back to the morning room and threw open the closet. The black leather doctor’s bag she’d gotten in medical school was somewhere there. She had to find it. Desperately she pushed the clothes to the side, searching the shelves in the back. There it was!
Cassi pulled the bag down and ran over to her desk. Undoing the catch, she dumped out the contents, which included a container of glucose in water. With shaking hands, she drew some up and injected herself. There was little or no effect. The shaking was getting worse. Even her vision was changing.
Frantically Cassi snatched up several small IV bottles of fifty-percent glucose which had also been in the doctor’s bag. With great difficulty she got a tourniquet around her left arm. Then with a spastic hand managed to jam a butterfly needle into one of the veins on the back of her left hand. Blood squirted out of the open end of the needle, but she ignored it. Loosening the tourniquet, she connected the tubing from the IV bottle. When she held the bottle above her head, the clear fluid pushed the blood slowly back into her hand, then started to run freely.
Cassi waited for a moment. With the glucose running she felt a little better and her vision immediately returned to normal. Balancing the bottle between her head and shoulder, Cassi put a few pieces of adhesive tape over the site where the butterfly needle entered her skin. The adhesive did not stick too well because of the blood. Then, taking the IV bottle in her right hand, she ran into the bedroom, lifted the telephone receiver, and dialed 911.
She was terrified she would pass out before anyone answered. The phone was ringing on the other end. Someone answered, saying “911 emergency.”
“I need an ambulance…” began Cassi, but the person on the other end interrupted her, saying, “Hello, hello!”
“Can you hear me?” asked Cassi.
“Hello, hello!”
“Can you hear me?” screamed Cassi, her panic returning.
Cassi could hear the person on the other end of the line say something to a colleague. Then the line went dead.
Cassi tried again with the same result. Then she dialed the operator. It was the same maddening problem. She could hear them, but they couldn’t hear her.
Grabbing the second IV bottle in her left hand and carrying the running bottle above her head, Cassi ran on wobbly legs down the corridor to Thomas’s study.
To her horror his phone also wasn’t working. She could hear the other party vainly saying hello, but it was obvious they couldn’t hear her. Bursting into tears, she slammed the phone down and picked up the second IV bottle.
Cassi’s panic mounted as she struggled to descend the stairs without falling. She tried the phones in the living room and kitchen without success.
Fighting against a powerful drowsiness, she ran back through the hall to the foyer. Her keys were on the side table, and she clutched them along with the unused IV bottle. Her first thought was to try to drive to the local hospital, which wasn’t far-ten minutes at most. With the IV running, the insulin reaction seemed to be controlled.
Getting the front door open was an effort that ultimately required Cassi to put down her IV bottle for a moment. Blood backed up into the IV but cleared again when she raised the bottle over her head.
The cold, rainy night seemed to revive her as she ran for the garage. Juggling the IV, she managed to open the car door and slide behind the wheel. Tilting the rearview mirror, Cassi slipped the ring of the IV bottle over it she pushed the key into the ignition.