CHAPTER 72
It’s Sunday morning. I can picture Sandy over on the East Coast, sitting in the front row of her husband’s huge church. She’s wearing one of those floral-print skirts that rustles when she walks, and her hair’s in that long French braid, and she’s so busy worshipping God she’s not even thinking about my baby on a ventilator.
No, that’s not fair. She’s thinking about Natalie. I know she is. I texted her last night to tell her what was happening. The doctors got Natalie hooked up to her machine just fine. Her oxygen levels are holding steady. By the time I woke up this morning her fever was down to 102. Everyone says I made the right call.
I’m still not sure I believe them.
It’s one thing if Natalie’s on this ventilator for a day or two while they get her fever under control.
