I don’t know what it’s like to be the one with this illness, so I probably shouldn’t be judging her actions so harshly. I only know what it’s like to be the one to care for someone with this illness. I used to have to remind myself of that all the time. No matter how frustrated I get, it’s nothing compared to what she must go through.
It looks like I still need that reminder.
Maggie won’t even look at me the whole time we wait with her to see if her episode is over. She doesn’t even look at me when we’re convinced it is over and Warren helps her to her bedroom. It’s her way of giving me the silent treatment. She used to refuse to look at me when she was mad because she didn’t want to give me the chance to sign to her.
Warren gets her in the bed, and I take her generator back to the living room. Once Maggie is settled, Warren leaves her door halfway open while he comes back to the living room and takes a seat on the couch.
I’m still pissed that he lied about their phone call in order to guilt me into coming. But I also understand why he did it. The three of us do need to sit down and figure this out. Maggie doesn’t want to be a burden, but until she buckles down and makes her health her primary focus, she’ll never be as independent as she wishes she could be. And as long as she’s dependent, it’s the two of us who will be taking care of her.
I know we’re all she has. And I know that Sydney understands that. I would never walk away from Maggie completely, knowing how much she needs someone in her corner. But when you do things that continue to belittle and even disrespect the efforts of those in your corner, eventually you’re going to lose your team. And without your team, eventually you lose the fight.
I don’t want her to lose the fight. None of us do. Which is why Warren and I stay, because she needs a treatment. And that can’t happen until I repair her vest.
Warren watches TV for the next hour, getting up once to take Maggie a glass of water. When he comes back into the room, he waves his hand to get my attention.
“Her cough sounds bad,” he says.
I just nod. I already know. It’s why I’m still trying to work on this vest.
It’s after 2:00 a.m. when I finally figure out the issue. I found an old generator she used to use in her hallway closet. I switched out the power cords and can get it to kick on, but it won’t stay on unless I’m holding the cord with my fingers.
Warren is asleep on the couch when I take the vest to Maggie’s bedroom. Her lamp is still on, so I can see that she’s still wide awake. I walk over to her bed and plug in the generator and hand her the vest. She sits up and slips it on.
“There’s a short. I have to hold the cord while it’s powered on or it’ll cut off.”
She nods, but she doesn’t say anything. We both know this routine. The machine runs for five minutes, and then she has to cough to clear out her lungs. I run it for another five minutes and then let her take another coughing break. The routine continues for half an hour.
When the treatment is over, she slips off the vest and continues to avoid eye contact with me as she rolls over. I lay it on the floor, but when I look back at her, I can tell by the movement in her shoulders that she’s crying.
And now I feel like an asshole.
I know I get frustrated with her, but she isn’t perfect. Neither am I. And as long as we’re doing nothing but arguing and pointing out each other’s shortcomings, we’re never going to get her health on the right track.
I sit next to her on the bed and squeeze her shoulder. It’s what I used to do when I felt helpless to her situation. She reaches up and squeezes my hand, and just like that, the argument is over. She rolls over onto her back and looks up at me.
“I didn’t tell Warren on the phone that I was scared.”
I nod. “I know that now.”
A tear falls from her eye and slides down into her hair. “But he’s right, Ridge. I am scared.”
I’ve never seen this look on her face before, and it completely guts me. I hate this for her. I really do. She starts crying harder and rolls away from me. And as much as I want to tell her it wouldn’t be so scary if she’d stop acting like she was immune to the effects of her illness, I don’t respond. I wrap my arm around her because she doesn’t need a lecture right now.
She just needs a friend.
???
I made Maggie do a second treatment in the middle of the night last night. I’m pretty sure I fell asleep somewhere in the middle of her second treatment, because I woke up at eight o’clock this morning and realized I was on her bed. I know Sydney wouldn’t be comfortable with that, so I moved to the couch. I’m still on the couch. Face down. Trying to sleep, but Warren is shaking me.