But it had. The bug had turned out to be real flu after all, then niggling discomfort in Rory’s ribcage had grown into severe chest pain and breathlessness. Always super-fit, he’d become too exhausted to take more than a few steps at a time. By the time Tasha had succeeded in persuading him – typical man – to see his GP, the virus had worsened and so had the chest pains. Urgent admission to hospital had followed and the diagnosis had been made.
Most people caught viruses and felt a bit unwell for a few days, then the body’s wonderful immune system magically dealt with the virus and everything returned to normal. But in Rory’s case, the virus had ruthlessly attacked his heart muscle. It was a rare complication, but it occasionally happened and he’d been one of the unlucky ones.
Rory had myocarditis, and not the mild kind. His signs and symptoms were severe, including a fast, irregular heartbeat, tiredness, shortness of breath and pyrexia. Following admission to hospital, he’d undergone a torrent of chest X-rays and blood tests, an echocardiogram, ECGs, and an endomyocardial biopsy. As the results had come in, the medical staff’s expressions had grown more sombre. This was serious, far more so than they’d initially thought.
And it just kept on happening, like the worst kind of nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. Tasha, desperate to lean on Rory for support, had to manage on her own, because Rory was so ill it was as much as he could do to lie there in the bed and carry on breathing. Pain medication and sedation meant that most of the time he didn’t have the energy to speak. His body was covered in wires and tubes, and surrounded by hospital machinery. Other people in the cardiac ward were similarly accessorised; some awake, some not. Most of them were older than Rory.
And then there were the hospital staff, all incredibly hard-working and kind. They explained everything they were doing and encouraged Tasha to take regular breaks and look after herself. They were lovely, but the one thing they couldn’t do was promise her that everything would be fine and Rory would make a full recovery.
Which was really the only thing she wanted to hear.
Tasha swallowed; it wasn’t only her who wanted to hear it. Everyone who knew Rory was willing him to get better. His parents might be dead, but his Aunt Mel, the one who had broken her leg just before Christmas, was beside herself and visiting daily. As was Joe, who had been an absolute rock and would be here again – she checked her watch – any minute now. Initially the staff had been reluctant to allow him on to the unit, until Joe had said with feeling, ‘You let brothers in? Well, we’re more than that; we’re closer than any brothers. You have to let me see him.’
Truthfully, she didn’t know what she would have done without Joe. His support meant so much. Her mother was always there at the end of the phone, but the many animals she cared for at her home in France, with no one else available to look after them in her absence, meant she was unable to fly over to be with her during this horrible time.
And here was Joe now, being buzzed into the ward, washing his hands in the sink next to the entrance, then drying them and cleaning them again with a squirt of alcohol gel. There were whole new routines to learn in a hospital, that seemed weird to begin with but within days became unthinking second nature. You didn’t take any chances when one slip could be fatal.
Then Joe was giving her a brief hug and Tasha breathed in the clean outdoors smell of him.
‘How’s he doing?’
‘I don’t know. Same, I think. Sometimes the heart thing gets more irregular.’ She pointed to the electronic readout on the machine opposite them. ‘They’re waiting for more test results before they decide what to do next.’
Joe nodded and clasped his big hand around Rory’s wrist. ‘Hey, it’s me. I’m here with Tash. Are you awake?’
After a couple of seconds Rory nodded, just slightly.
‘You OK?’ Joe kept his gaze fixed on his friend’s face.
They waited, then Rory licked his lips and whispered, ‘Never better.’
‘You’ll be out of here soon. I’m going to take you heli-skiing,’ said Joe. But this time there was no response; Rory had drifted off once more.
In all the times she’d seen the two of them together, the laughter and joking around had been virtually non-stop. Now it was absent. Joe had never looked more serious. Tasha watched the muscles tighten in his jaw as he stroked Rory’s forearm with the backs of his fingers, silently letting him know he was still there.
‘Have you eaten anything?’ said Joe.
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘You really should, you know.’