As soon as the operator answers, I’m bombarded with a list of questions that I don’t know the answers to. I give her the address, because it’s the only thing I know, and she begins firing more questions I don’t know how to communicate to him.
“Is she allergic to anything?” I say to Ridge, repeating what the operator is asking.
He shrugs and shakes his head, not understanding me.
“Does she have any preexisting conditions?”
He shakes his head again to tell me he has no idea what I’m asking him.
“Is she diabetic?”
I ask Ridge the questions over and over, but he can’t understand me. The operator is firing questions at me, and I’m firing them at Ridge, and we’re both too frantic for him even to read my lips. I’m crying. We’re both terrified. We’re both frustrated with the fact that we can’t communicate.
“Is she wearing a medical bracelet?” the operator asks.
I lift both of her wrists. “No, she doesn’t have anything on her.”
I look up to the ceiling and close my eyes, knowing that I’m not helping a damn bit.
“Warren!” I yell.
I’m off my feet and out of the bathroom, making my way to Warren’s bedroom. I swing open his door. “Warren!” I run to his bed and shake him while I hold the phone in my hand. “Warren! We need your help! It’s Maggie!”
His eyes open wide, and he throws off his covers, springing into action. I push the phone toward him. “It’s 911, and I can’t understand anything Ridge is trying to tell me!”
He grabs the phone and puts it to his ear. “She has CFRD,” he yells hastily into the phone. “Stage two CF.”
CFRD?
I follow him to the bathroom and watch as he signs to Ridge while holding the phone in the palm of his hand, away from his ear. Ridge signs something back, and Warren runs into the kitchen. He opens the refrigerator, reaches toward the back of the second shelf, and pulls out a bag. He runs with it to the bathroom and drops to his knees next to Ridge. He lets the phone fall to the floor and shoves it aside with his knee.
“Warren, she has questions!” I yell, confused about why he tossed the phone aside.
“We know what to do until they get here, Syd,” he says. He pulls a syringe from the bag and hands it to Ridge. Ridge pulls the lid off of it and injects Maggie in the stomach.
“Is she diabetic?” I ask, watching helplessly as Warren and Ridge silently converse. I’m ignored, but I don’t expect anything different. They’re in what looks like familiar territory for both of them, and I’m too confused to keep watching. I turn around and lean against the wall, then squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to calm myself. A few silent moments pass, and then there’s banging at the door.
Warren is running toward the door before I can even react. He lets the paramedics inside, and I step out of the way, watching as everyone in the room around me seems to know what the hell is going on.
I continue to back out of everyone’s way until my calves meet the couch, and I fall down onto it.
They lift Maggie onto the gurney and begin pushing her toward the front door. Ridge walks swiftly behind them. Warren comes from Ridge’s bedroom and tosses him a pair of shoes. Ridge puts them on, then signs something else to Warren and slips out the door behind the gurney.
I watch as Warren rushes to his room. He reemerges with a shirt and shoes on and his baseball cap in hand. He grabs his keys off the bar and heads back into Ridge’s bedroom. He comes back out with a bag of Ridge’s things and heads for the front door.
“Wait!” I yell. Warren turns to look at me. “His phone. He’ll need his phone.” I rush to the bathroom, grab Ridge’s phone from the floor, and take it back to Warren.