With Every Heartbeat(35)

I quickly learned that where my best friend was shy on details, everyone else at the center was overflowing with them. I’d done some online research about all this, but what I learned in that first ten minutes left me reeling.

I learned that Cora had bypassed the home hemodialysis option, where she could’ve taken a machine back to her apartment and learned how to treat herself multiple times daily. Instead, she’d opted for the in-center hemodialysis where a trained professional administered the treatment and she only had to go in three times a week on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays at midday.

Each treatment lasted three to five hours. I had no idea how she managed to hide four hours a day three days a week from all her friends—Quinn especially—but she seemed determined to make sure no one else found out about it.

“We’re going to send your dietitian in to talk to you while they’ll clean your access,” Petey, the first guy to meet with her, announced before he left to check on another patient who was already hooked up and halfway through his treatment.

As I watched him check the monitors on the machine, I leaned in toward Cora where she was sitting up on a gurney. “Access to what?”

Cora glanced at me, her expression bland. She looked so calm and collected, while my heart wouldn’t slow down. I was worried about everything they were going to do to her.

“Access to my fistula,” she finally said.

“Oh.” I nodded. Five seconds passed. And then I couldn’t contain my curiosity a second longer. I leaned in again. “What’s a fistula?”

She sighed and lifted her arm to expose the flat inside part she’d so carefully covered with concealer yesterday before the car wash. “It’s this tube thing they implanted in here to access my blood and flush it through the dialysis machine to clean it.”

With a gulp, I stared at her arm, not realizing there’d been anything surgically implanted under the skin. She’d had to go through a lot more than I was aware of for her dialysis treatments. But as soon as she had the transplant, she’d never have to worry about them again.

The sooner I handed over my kidney, the better. I didn’t like knowing she had to spend so much time in this place. It smelled like antiseptic and sickness.

“Food police,” a cheerful voice jerked me from my thoughts. When a small, spritely woman bounded toward us, she glanced at Cora before turning her attention to me.

“Melissa,” she greeted, holding out a hand. “And you are?”

“Uh...Zoey.” I shook hands with her. “I’m Cora’s friend.”

“Great.” Melissa pulled up a rolling seat and propped herself next to Cora on the other side of the bed as me. “I’m the dietitian, and it’s my job to make sure Cora here is getting a healthy diet and taking care of herself. And now you can help me keep an eye on her when she’s away from here.”

A sick smile lifted the corners of my lips as I glanced at Cora. I already knew there was no way I was going to be able to help her eat right. She sent me a passive smile that felt more threatening than reassuring, then she turned back to Melissa and lied through her teeth. The only thing she’d been honest about was the strawberries she’d had with her pancakes this morning. She even took credit for the egg whites I’d gagged down for her the day before.

I probably should’ve called her out and told Melissa what she’d really been digesting, but I didn’t want to get Cora into trouble, especially when Melissa warned her that abusing alcohol could make her ineligible for a transplant.

I don’t think I was able to breathe again until Melissa left and another technician returned, this one named Claire.

Claire was a lot more laid-back, and a lot less intimidating, so I was able to relax around her.

As she sprayed something on Cora’s arm, right where Cora had showed me her fistula was, I leaned in to watch. “What’s that?”

“It’s an anesthetic to numb the skin,” Claire answered easily, grinning at me. “Our Cora here doesn’t like the needle pricks.”

I smiled weakly, feeling even worse for my best friend. Cora hated needles, and yet she had to endure them three times a week. “Who would?” I said, studying Cora’s face as she turned away as if bored. But I saw her flinch as the first needle was inserted.

I flinched with her.

Claire chuckled. “Oh, you’ll get your turn to be stuck plenty if you’re going to be her donor.”

Great. Unease swirled through my stomach, but after four hours of sitting there watching Cora’s kidneys get flushed out through her arm, I was more certain than ever that I wanted to be her donor. No one should have to go through this.