The Invisible Black Woman

The results on the screen were unmistakable. Hell, blind man on the moon could see it. In normal lungs, all you should see were two dark upside-down triangles, for lack of a better explanation. You can make out the shape, but the lungs themselves are black because they’re filled with air. That’s not what I saw. There was a grapefruit-sized “white cloud” on one lung, spilling into the other.

Jesus, it’s back.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him. Better he have a few more moments in ignorant bliss that I wouldn’t get to enjoy. I just kept thinking it was a massive clot this time, based on what I saw. So I decided to distract us both for the time being by talking to him.

“How are you feeling? Stupid question, I know.”

He smiled.

“Sweetie, you were right. We should have gone when you said. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He’d been saying that a lot lately, “I’m sorry.” As if he had any say in the genetic lottery he got dealt. None of us did. I thought to myself how some folks will do this elaborate testing before they’ll even consider dating, let alone marry someone.

I thought about that and the question inevitably in my mind was, “if you knew then what you know now, would you still have married him?”

Without a doubt, yes. We have lived out every part of our wedding vows: through sickness and health, through richer or poorer. I couldn’t imagine life with anyone else, nor would I want to.

“Hey, I need you to do me a favor,” I said to him.

“Anything.”

“From now on, instead of ‘I’m sorry,’ I want you to say, ‘I love you.’”

That got a soft chuckle out of him.

“I mean it. You have nothing to be sorry for. Would you be expecting me to say sorry all the times I was in the hospital bed and you were watching over me?”

“No.”

“Okay then, it’s settled: no more sorries.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

About 10 minutes later, Alexis came back.

“Okay, so we’re going to send you for a CAT scan.”

I put on my most clueless face. Just like last time, the only reason they were doing the scan was a formality, to confirm what they saw on the chest x-ray—or more specifically, to put a name to it.

“It could be pneumonia. We just want to make sure.”

Riiiiiight. We would be so lucky that that’s what it was.

“We just need a closer look at what’s going on.”

Sure, whatever you say.

“The transporter will be here to take him down in 10 to 15 minutes.”

Twenty minutes later, we were still waiting.

Hubby was visibly uncomfortable. He couldn’t eat or drink anything, not even water. If he had to have surgery, it would need to be on an empty stomach. So despite his thirst, he’d have to wait.

“Okay, this is ridiculous. I’m going to see what the holdup is.”

I headed to the nurse’s station and scanned for his nurse.

“Ma’am, can I help you?”

I’m still not used to being called ma’am. It makes me sound and feel much older than I am.

“Sorry to bother you. I was looking for my husband’s nurse.”

I’d spent enough time working at a hospital that I knew approaching staff softly was always the better option. I’d get nowhere by talking to them any kind of way.

“I’m Annette, one of the techs on duty. What can I help you with?”

“Well, he was supposed to have a CAT scan done. We were told it would be 10 to 15 minutes about 20 minutes ago. He’s really thirsty and I know he can’t drink anything until after the scan.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that. I’ll have the nurse look into it.”

“Okay, thank you so very much for your help.”

I flashed her a big smile then headed back to the room.

Twenty more minutes passed and no updates. So I went back out. This time, I came across someone else at the nurse’s station. As luck would have it, it was hubby’s new nurse. I had forgotten it was change of shift and a new crew had taken over.

“Hi, how can I help you?”

“Yes, sorry to bother you, but my husband, he’s—”

“I was just coming to see you!”

“Oh, okay. He’s supposed to be going for a CAT scan but it’s been 45 minutes. Can you find out what’s going on, please?”

She punched in a few details into the computer.

“Oh yeah. That’s because he’s refusing to drink the contrast—”

The bewildered and confused look on my face must’ve let on that we were talking about two different people.

“I’m sorry, let me start over. What room is your husband in again?”

“Room 11.”

“Ohhhhhh. Hold on a sec. Katie! Can Room 11 go get his scan now? Any reason he can’t?”

She was yelling across the nurse’s station to the nurse at the other side. I’ve never been gladder to have had my husband identified by room only, and that it wasn’t some sensitive information she was bellowing.

“Nope, he’s good to go.”

“Okay, so he’s clear then? He can go to CT?”

“Yep!”

The nurse then punched in a few details into the screen, then turned to me.

“So sorry about the holdup. I’ve put in the request and a transporter should be coming soon.”

“Okay, thank you so very much for your help.”

I sincerely hoped that this time around, they’d make good on their promise to take him to get scanned.

I headed back to the room to share the good news with hubby. For as much as he could muster, he looked relieved—well, as relieved as someone who is in an emergency room struggling to breathe can be.

True to her word and 10 minutes later, they came to take him to radiology to get his scan done.

A tall, lanky gentleman with a vest came up to the room with a wheelchair.

“Sir, I’m here to take you to radiology. Do you want to stay in the bed or can you get to the wheelchair?”

“I think I can make it to the chair.”

“Okay, let’s do the chair then. They’re going to have you get out of the bed anyway, and the chair is easier to maneuver.”

Earlier on, I made sure to get a second gown from the nurse so he’d have some dignity and not have his back and boxers exposed.

He managed to get from the bed to the chair okay and for a moment I had a glimmer of hope that it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it was—but then my memory disabused me of it. This was the same man that walked around with a clot that wouldn’t dissolve on his own for months. The same person who had a heart attack and neither of us had any idea when exactly it happened. I thought I had a high threshold until I saw what he endured physically without either of us knowing until after the fact.

It forced me to have hope but not to sugarcoat things. I needed to be optimistic but still grounded. I wasn’t entirely sure I was doing a good job of it, but I took the fact I wasn’t a blubbering mess in front of him as a win.

A few moments later and he was ready to ship off to radiology.

“Okay, love. I’ll be right here.”

“Okay.”

As he got wheeled away and I got ready to wait in silence for however long he was gone for, I struggled with what exactly I was supposed to be asking of the universe. It was too late to ask for no whammies. The x-ray film had already burst that bubble. So what the hell exactly was I supposed to hope and pray and wish for?

Well, we’re already here. So, no point in hoping to go back in time. Maybe, if I’m not asking for too much, maybe just make it so it’s not as bad as it looks like right now. I’d be very happy to let this be one of those times where I’m making a mountain out of a molehill and he just has a really bad allergic reaction to something—anything.

I felt as ridiculous as I felt hopeless in that moment. Being alone with my thoughts while I waited for them to bring him back so we could find out the results together.