A Time to Die

“C
OME ON
, K
ARA
. Stop fidgeting. I’m almost through with your treatments,” Christy Lawrence said as she thumped on Kara Fischer’s back.

Kara stopped squirming. She knew that Christy, her respiratory therapist, was doing her job as quickly as possible, but it didn’t make Kara any happier about the procedure. “Sorry,” Kara apologized. “I’m just anxious to get out of here. I wish I was home already.”

Christy’s cupped hands beat in a constant rhythm against Kara’s back for two minutes, then moved to press against her chest. “Just another ten minutes and you can start packing.”

Kara grimaced and coughed, clearing from her chest the thick phlegm that the therapeutic pounding had dislodged. “You know how I hate
being in the hospital,” Kara said. “It’s a good thing Dr. McGee said I was well enough to go home today, or I might just have checked out without his approval. School starts next week.”

“I know you’re longing for school to start. I was like that when I was your age,” Christy said. “Most sixteen-year-olds have to be dragged back to the classroom. That’s why we need to finish up your treatments—so that you’ll be in good shape for the first day. Okay—upsy-daisy.”

Christy paused while Kara coughed. Then Kara bent over a mound of pillows on the floor of her hospital room. She felt the rush of blood to her head. Kara especially hated the treatments that had to be administered while she was upside down. She told herself that she should be used to it by now. She’d been receiving postural drainage therapy—“thumps,” kids like her called them—two to three times a day for her cystic fibrosis since she was three years old. The vibrations from the therapeutic pounding helped to dislodge the thick mucus that clogged her lungs.

“I’m not giving you a hard time,” Kara insisted. “You know I love you. It’s CF I hate.”

“I’d say you got over this lung infection pretty quickly. Only two weeks in the hospital this time. That’s good.”

“Even two hours is too much,” Kara grumbled after inhaling acloseof aerosol antibiotic mist from the mask Christy handed her. “And I lost all the weight I worked so hard to gain this summer, too.”

Christy helped Kara sit upright. “You’re still adorable. Listen, have a milk shake on your way home. My treat!”

The mere mention of food turned Kara’s stomach. If only she had an appetite. Eating was no fun these days—it seemed like a chore. She coughed hard and spit into a small basin.
Gross
. CF was so gross. Over the years, Kara had devised techniques for controlling her coughing and perpetual throat clearing when around other people, but during her thumps, she tried her best to clear her bronchial passages of the thick, choking mucus that was the curse of CF. “Are we through?” she asked, wiping perspiration from her forehead.

“I just want to put you on the dilator to measure your lung elasticity. While we’re doing this test, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“A favor from me? Just name it.” Kara sat in a nearby chair while Christy set the dials of the portable machine and placed the end of the tubing in Kara’s mouth.

“Now that I’ve got you where you can’t say no,” Christy teased, “I want to tell you about my brother, Eric. Have I mentioned him to you?”

Kara knew a lot about Christy because throughout the two years Christy had been her therapist, they had become close friends. She knew that her twenty-four-year-old friend, with the soft brown hair and green eyes, had grown up in Texas, had moved to Nashville and received her training there, and now lived alone in an apartment not too far from Kara’s neighborhood.

Whenever Christy couldn’t afford to go home for the holidays, Kara’s parents invited her over. They had all grown dependent on one another, not just because of Kara’s CF, but because they genuinely liked each other. In some ways, Christy had become the sister Kara always wished she’d had.

Kara also knew that Christy longed to be a doctor, but though they never discussed it, Kara suspected that money was a big problem. Christy was smart and talented enough to get into the medical school at Vanderbilt, but becoming a doctor was a long and expensive endeavor. Secretly, Kara was relieved. If Christy ever went back to school, Kara would lose her as a therapist.

Christy adjusted the dial as Kara puffed deeply into the flexible tube. “Actually, I’m coming to the aid of my parents. Eric’s your age. He plans to come live with me this school year and will be going to Central High, same as you. I need you to keep an eye out for him.”

Christy removed the tube from between Kara’s lips and jotted notes on a medical chart. “Forty-five percent,” she said with a frown. “I’m afraid this last infection’s taken its toll.”

Kara hardly heard the comments about her medical condition. “Why’s he living with you?” She was brimming with questions about Christy’s brother.

“Let’s just say he needed a change from Houston.” Christy answered while she busied herself with the equipment.

“Does he have two heads or something?”

Christy smiled. “No … Eric’s had some clashes with Mom and Dad. We decided everybody could use a little vacation from each other, so he’ll move in with me for the school year. Can you introduce him around so that he won’t feel like a stranger? He’s really a pretty great guy, when he wants to be.”

Kara was surprised by Christy’s evasive tone. “How will I recognize him? Do you have a picture of him?”

Christy dug in her pocket and pulled out a school-size photo. Kara saw the family resemblance instantly. Eric was smiling. He had gorgeous blue eyes and shaggy brown hair that fell across his forehead, and he was
definitely
good-looking. “I’ll be able to pick him out in a crowd,” she said as nonchalantly as possible. “But he shouldn’t have any trouble fitting right in. He looks perfectly harmless.”

“Anything you can do to make him feel less like a stranger would be a big help. Changing schools in his junior year could be a drag—even though I know he wants to come here.” Christy glanced at her watch. “I’m running behind. Listen, tell your mother I can resume our regular schedule as soon as school starts, if that’s okay. Now, don’t forget that milk shake on your way home, and I’ll see you soon.”

Kara nodded. The regular schedule consisted of her parents’ administering her postural drainage therapy first thing in the morning and last thing
at night. Christy came to Kara’s home for her treatments in the late afternoon. Kara hated the routine, but at least she had Christy. Besides, the clearer she kept her lungs, the better chance she had of avoiding infections and staying out of the hospital. “I’m going to pack up my stuff and be all ready when Mom gets here during her lunch hour.”

Christy paused at the doorway. “Vince wants you to stop by to see him before you go home.”

Kara smiled. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye to my buddy Vince.”

C
HRISTY WAVED AS
she dashed off, and Kara finished packing her small suitcase. She headed down the hall toward Vince’s room. She paused in the doorway and peeked inside. Seventeen-year-old Vince Chapman lay on the bed, his eyes closed. An IV line was attached to the back of his hand, and a plastic oxygen mask stretched across his nose and mouth.

Kara tiptoed to his bedside. She watched his chest rise and fall, hearing the familiar rattle of congestion deep inside his lungs. Vince had CF also, and was a patient of Dr. McGee’s. They had first met when she was twelve and he thirteen. The community of CF teenagers was small, even in a city the size of Nashville Kara considered it
fortunate that she and Vince should end up attending the same high school.