It’s too soon for another moaning call from Rita.
I pull the phone out of my pocket and look at the caller ID.
I answer the phone, “Hey, Danna. What’s up?”
“Hey bro,” she says, “I kind of need your help here a little bit.”
My blood turns cold.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
The last time she told me she needed help, she was in the hospital for a week. The time before that was just before she was diagnosed.
“I kind of lost my balance and I’m finding it a little difficult to move, well, at all,” she says, trying to mask the fear in her voice. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to dial a number when your hands aren’t working?”
“I’ll be right there,” I tell her, “or do you need me to call an ambulance?”
“Uh, the way my foot is starting to turn colors, I think you should probably just call an ambulance and meet me at the hospital,” she says.
“Hang in there,” I tell her. “You’re going to be just fine, all right? We’re going to figure this thing out in no time.”
“You know,” she says, “for such a famous actor, you’re not very good.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up and let me call an ambulance,” I tell her.
“That sounds more like you,” she says. “You’re probably going to have to do the hanging up on this one. I had to press the call button with my nose and you have no idea how many times I had to go back and delete or re-enter numbers—it’s a pain in the ass.”
“Love ya, sis,” I tell her. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
I hang up and call 911.
After quickly explaining the situation, I tell the dispatcher that my sister will be waiting inside the house, but unable to answer the door, and that, because I’m not close enough to home to make a difference, if they need to break down the door, they have my permission.
I really liked that door, too.
The dispatcher is kind enough to keep me on the phone until paramedics arrive at the house and get Danna on a stretcher. Before the dispatcher hangs up, I ask which hospital they’re taking Danna to, hoping that I’ll luck out and not have to chase her down, but the nearest hospital isn’t this one.
I get in my car and fumble with the keys for a minute before I manage to work the right one into the ignition.
This isn’t the first time Danna’s had an episode. It’s not even the first time she’s had an episode since she’s been staying with me.
They’re not fatal in most circumstances—the exceptions generally being someone falling and hitting their head on something—but they’re terrifying, not only for Danna, but for me.
This sounds like the worst one yet. She’s been unable to get up before, but she’s never lost the ability to move all four of her limbs at the same time.
I get to the hospital and find Danna as she’s being wheeled through the emergency room. The doctor talks to me a little as he and some nurses push her into a small room and transfer her from one gurney to another.
“It looks like she’s got a broken leg,” he says. “When she collapsed, she must have fallen onto something or over something, because there is a definite fracture on the lower portion of her tibia. She’s breathing all right, though she’s very fatigued. We need to run some tests, but we’ll keep you posted. If you’ll just wait outside in the waiting room…”
With that, one of the nurses grabs both of my arms and physically turns me toward the door.
“You all right, Danna?” I call over the doctor’s shoulder.
A weak voice amid all the movement and commotion replies, saying, “I’m just faking it to get out of work, boss.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” I call back to her, and now, with that out of the way, I gladly walk out and find the waiting room.
* * *