CHAPTER 106: EVERY HOUR COUNTS

"I don’t... I don’t understand sir. Does that mean she’s not done with the surgery?"

He nodded slowly, like he’d heard this kind of plea before. "No more surgery for now. The operation was technically a success, your mom has her new lungs. That’s the good news."

My chest started aching. "And the bad news?"

"She’s stable," he said, "but stability after a transplant is fragile. The first twenty-four hours after a transplant are the most dangerous. If she can maintain stable vitals, breathe without the ventilator’s full support and her body accepts the lungs and doesn’t reject them, then we can say she’s in the clear. But until then, she’s not out of danger."

"What danger?""

He glanced at his chart again before looking back at me. "There’s a risk of infection... because her immune system is suppressed to prevent rejection, she can’t fight bacteria the way most people can. If she stays stable for the next day, her chances of recovery go way up."

"So... you’re saying she could still..." I couldn’t even finish.

Dr. Sato’s eyes softened again. "Mr Rivera, the operation was successful. But right now, we’re in the most critical period. Every hour counts."

Dominic’s arm tightened protectively around my shoulders, and I could feel his breath against my hair. "He’s saying she’s still fighting," Dominic murmured. "And she’s going to win."

I just knew I had to brace for whatever comes next. Whatever the dream...the nightmare I just had, I hope it’s nothing serious.

My throat felt tight. "Can... can I see her?"

Dr. Sato shook his head slightly. "Not inside the room, no. She’s in a sterile isolation environment right now to protect her new lungs from any possible infection. Even the smallest exposure...someone’s breath, a bit of dust, could put her at risk, and cause a life threatening infection."

I blinked at him. "So I can’t... talk to her? Hold her hand?"

"We’ve moved her to a post-transplant ICU. Only fully sterilized staff in protective gear are allowed in for the next twenty-four hours. Even then, entry is kept to the bare minimum. We’re giving her body the best possible chance to adjust to the transplant without complications. You’ll be able to see her through the observation glass. It’s the safest way right now, for her."

Dominic’s arm tightened around me. "We don’t mind seeing her through the glass." He nodded.

"Alright then. I can walk you through what you’re looking at, so it’s not so overwhelming."

My lips trembled. "Okay," I whispered.

He gave me a small nod and gestured toward the corridor. "Come with me. I’ll take you there now."

The walk to her new room felt longer. Dominic stayed beside me, his hand kept brushing mine every few steps, like he knew if he let go, I might break apart.

When we stopped, I froze. The hallway was quiet except for the low hum of machines.

Through the thick glass window, I saw her. My mom.

She was lying so still.

Nurses moved around her in special outfits, checking lines, adjusting drips, watching numbers on screens.

Dr. Sato stood beside me. "This is the ventilator.... right now it’s doing most of her breathing. Those numbers there are her oxygen levels. And this," he pointed gently to another monitor, "is her heart rate. Everything is stable at the moment."

I couldn’t answer. My forehead pressed lightly to the glass.

Tubes and wires ran across her body, connecting her to monitors that beeped softly. A ventilator’s plastic tube was taped at her mouth, helping her new lungs breathe while they "learned," as Dr. Sato had put it, to work in her body. Her chest rose and fell in slowly.

My knees almost gave out. Dominic’s arms came around me from behind, steadying me before I slid to the floor.

I pressed my forehead against the glass. My voice shook as I whispered, "Mom... don’t stop fighting. Please. You’re almost there."

The words pulled me back to the dream I just had. I’d screamed for her not to turn away, not to stop.

"This isn’t the end of your journey," I murmured, my breath kept fogging the glass. "It’s just the hardest part. You’re so close. Please... come back to me."

"She can hear you, Ash. I know she can. She’s fighting her way back."

I stayed there, staring through the glass.

Dr. Sato glanced at the wall clock, then back at us. "I’ll get going now. I have a post-op briefing with the transplant team. A nurse will be here in a few minutes to escort you out. She’ll make sure you’re settled back in your room. Try to rest if you can, it’s going to be a long day."

He gave my shoulder a light squeeze, and walked away.

A nurse in light blue scrubs approached and spoke quietly. "You can follow me. I’ll take you back to her assigned room."

Dominic stayed close as we followed her through the quiet corridors. My eyes felt heavy, my body drained, but I couldn’t stop replaying the image of Mom behind that glass.

When we stepped into the empty waiting area outside my mom’s room, Dominic finally broke the quiet. "It’s almost six," he said, checking his phone. "I should go home for a bit, get some rest."

I turned to look at him, and he looked exhausted...his hair was a bit messy, his eyes were red from being awake all night.

He stepped closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face with the back of his fingers. "I’ll be back later this morning... maybe the afternoon. But if you need anything....anything at all, you call me. Immediately. Okay?"

My chest tightened. "You’ve already been here all night. You don’t have to..."

"I want to," he cut in. "You’re not going through this alone."

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sting in my eyes. "...Okay. Thank you."

He leaned down just enough that I could feel his breath on my face. "Get some rest too, Ash. She’s still fighting... and so are you."

When he stepped back, I wanted to reach for him again. "I love you," I said. My throat felt tight again, but not from panic this time, just from how much I needed him here.

Without a word, Dominic pulled me into a hug. He didn’t let go until I did.

I stepped back. "I’ll see you later," I whispered.

He smiled faintly, gave me one last look and smiled before walking away. I waved goodbye, watching him disappear down the hall.