Life in the camp is one of dust, sweat, and blood.
Under the shower, the jet of warm water takes everything down the drain.
The dust is the desert's and the sweat is mine; the blood is my father's. It's being washed away from my arms and hands, tainting the water, pooling between my hands and knees for a few seconds before rushing down the drain. It's already getting clearer. And now it's gone, as if it had never existed.
Tears flood my eyes. What did I do?
After seven months of being cooped up in our Jupiter, breathing a stale recycled air in the exclusive company of my family plus Don and our resident psychopath – Dr. Smith or Harris, whatever her true identity is – to feel the wind blowing on my face this morning was like being reborn. I was alive. I was thrilled. And I wanted to take a crowd bath, talk to every person I met, find my friends. No way I was going to stay with my father or have dinner with him. I had other plans: to resume my studies, to help in the ER, to have fun. I was finally free of the shackles binding me to my family.
Unfortunately, the return to civilization turned out to be quite a disappointment.
After downgrading me from doctor to first year intern, Dr. Luna sent me away from the hive of activity the hospital was to become a "restocking girl" in a secluded drill site in the company of grumpy workers. The chief of surgery and head of the internship program wouldn't even let me tell him about all the patients I had cared for while I was away, including Dad's last case of frostbite and asphyxiation.
My enthusiasm was ground to dust like everything else on this planet, any hope of taking control of my life back crushed. All I could see on the horizon was boredom, stretching like that dirt road in the desert, with no end in sight. And I was stuck with my father – again – in that chariot, doing a job any paramedic or nurse could do. There was nothing to learn from the task. It was just another wasted day in my life. One that couldn't get any worse. Because what can be worse than being underestimated and bored when you're 18?
I use the cover of the shower to get the crying out of my system but the dull pain in my abdomen doesn't go away.
That's the thin line doctors walk on, between the wish for action, to be useful, to work, even though that means people have to injure themselves to give us a reason to use our skills. Like the drill worker who got smashed under a pole, and like dad who got impaled on one.
"Judy?" Prisha calls from behind the bathroom door. "Is everything all right in there, sweetie?"
A weak, shaky croak escapes my throat as I struggle to collect myself. After taking a deep breath, I clench my jaw and tell her I'm fine.
"I put some of my clothes for you out on the bed, all right?"
"Thanks."
I wipe the water off my face, sucking air in a deep breath that triggers a cough and sends me retching, spitting a mix of saliva, dust, and bile. Sprinting across the desert to help dad clogged my lungs with thin particles. So much for fresh air!
Feeling stiff and achy, I sit up on my heels then slide to lean against the shower wall. For the next minute, I scrub myself with soap and wash my hair, shedding dust and dead skin while all the bad decisions I made today drop with a dreadful weight on my conscience.
Why did I risk going alone?
I should have known better than to rush headlong into the desert on an unreliable vehicle. Besides, aside from providing first aid treatment, what did I think I could do? Any perforating wound in the abdomen is serious. He would need surgery, in an operating room, with a team of surgeons and nurses and anesthesiologists. Dad's injury was way beyond the skill and care a first year intern in pediatrics can provide. I'd have been there with him all right, with two bags of sodium lactate solution and a few more shots of antibiotics, but without a blood transfusion to stabilize him and surgery to stop the bleeding, Dad would not have survived the night.
And he still might not.
Why didn't I recognize that I was way out of my depth? Why didn't I call for help?
It's too late now. It's too late…
There's a golden hour to treat any serious puncture wound, to keep the patient hemodynamically stable. That's why I rushed in: because there's no time to waste talking when every minute counts. But once his fever spiked to 103 and his systolic pressure dropped below 90, I knew he was fighting on two fronts: a septic shock and a hypovolemic shock. I should have called Victor right away instead of stubbornly trying to deal with this on my own. Victor would have flown his Jupiter to the drill site sooner, bringing him the epinephrine shot and antibiotics at least two hours earlier. Although Dr. Luna would not have been there with him because, earlier in the day, he was busy taking care of the severely injured patient I had just dropped off at the hospital. What if Victor had come alone? I would have been again alone when Dad had crashed during the short flight back to the camp.
I can't stop playing out all the different scenarios in my head, all the 'what ifs' and 'maybes'.
I'll never know if dad would have gotten better chances to survive if I had done differently. All I know is that once sepsis has begun, the rate of survival drops by eight percent with every hour that passes without treatment. And once more than 2 liters of blood are lost, no matter the resuscitation efforts, the patient dies from multiple organ failure. That's why it is called irreversible.
If I've learned anything from the tragedies that have beset our journey to Alpha Centauri, it's that doctors hold more than the patient's life in their hands. Because when their line flattens, it's not just one heart that stops beating.
I think of the drill worker's sister that I quickly met in the waiting area before I even knew that dad's situation had gotten worse, my mother, Penny, Will, all of them. In a weird way, when I was running across that desert to dad's rescue I was holding all of our hearts in my hand. Even now, it feels like my own is holding on by a thread above the ground, waiting to be rescued or thrown to the dirt to be crushed to dust.
Because unlike the drill worker's sister this morning, I know the odds against him. I could quickly reassure her but I can't do the same for me. That's impossible. It's one of these instances when knowledge is a curse.
While I was assisting Dr. Luna to stabilize Dad in the Jupiter, I was not thinking about all this. But now that the adrenaline is wearing off, reality is sinking in, and it is crude, cold, and lonely.
I feel like I'm dangling.
I feel like I'm dangling above a dark abyss and the rope that is holding me secure is starting to unravel.
No matter how much I resented against him for abandoning us those three years, now I realize that our lives are still connected and that this connection is about to be cut, definitively. An essential part of my soul, of who I am, is about to be amputated.
What am I going to tell Mom? I can't even think about her and Dad without crying.
Why did he have to try to climb his way out?
My nails dig into my palms as I struggle to breathe through the sobs.
Dad is strong. If there's someone who can survive this, it's him. And thanks to Victor, he has a chance. Even a meager one is better than none.
As the last image of Dr. Luna's team carrying my father away in the orange halo of the neon lights bathing the entrance of the ER imposes itself in my mind, my mouth starts tingling and my tongue thickens.
Save for breakfast, I haven't eaten all day and running across the desert has depleted all my reserves, which makes me a textbook case of hypoglycemia. Congrats, Jude, you got at least one diagnosis right today. Now let's see if you can take care of yourself before you lose consciousness in the shower.
After allowing the water to wash my face a last time, I turn off the tap with a shaking hand, wrap myself in a towel, and walk into Victor's and Prisha's bedroom.
Except for the pictures on the nightstand, it could be my parents' room. Those Jupiter units disturbingly lack any kind of personality. Or is it we colonists who are all the same bunch of overachievers, arrogant people who don't care about mundane things like interior decoration? Although right now, I could be in a prize winning showplace and I wouldn't care. What am I going to tell Mom? It's all I can think about.
Black spots invade my vision. I need to put food in my stomach a.s.a.p..
Prisha is sitting alone in the hub, drinking from a mug at the table when I step inside on wobbly legs. As she sees me enter, she stands up and reaches out to me. "Come and sit down, Judy."
I lean on a headrest and slide into the closest chair. There's a tray with a ration in front of me.
"I'm sorry, that's all we get down there. They are keeping the fresh produce for the children on the Resolute."
With no appetite, I swallow small pieces, taking pauses between two, my tongue too furry to take any pleasure in food. In the seat next to me, Prisha is staring at me with concern.
"We survived on potatoes, corn, peas and lentils for months while we were stuck on that planet. I had dreams about eating a ration."
Victor's wife smiles thinly at me. "We're so glad you found your way back to us, Judy. Life here is hard, but at least, the atmosphere is breathable."
"How so?" I shoot back. Decoration doesn't get my interest but this does.
"What?"
"There are no trees, no ocean, so what is producing oxygen?"
"We think the ring of metal running along the equator could be involved, but all our resources and efforts have been directed on finding water and repairing the Resolute."
While I eat and talk, my mind clears and my appetite comes back with a vengeance. Although eating too fast or too much doesn't seem wise considering all the stress, the dehydration, and the heat of the day. So before my stomach and my brain get their signals crossed, I put down my fork and stand up.
"Leave it there. I'll take care of it later."
"I don't mind," I say, heading for the kitchen with the tray. "Thanks for coming to our rescue today. You gave my dad a chance. You gave us all a chance..." My voice trails as emotions threaten to overwhelm me again.
"Your parents would have done the same for any of us." Prisha rubs my back in a soothing gesture. "Victor is at the hospital and will call me as soon as he knows anything. You can rest here, get some sleep if you want. You look exhausted, Judy."
"Thanks, but I prefer to wait there."
"I understand, sweetie. I'll go with you, okay?"
As I nod, Prisha gives me a heartfelt smile and walks with me out of the hub.
After sweating all day, goosebumps cover my skin as I step outside. As with all deserts the night is cooler. That's a good thing Dad's here then, because there were no warming blankets in the supplies I transferred to the drill site this morning. Only dusty ones on dusty cots. Dust and open, infected wounds don't go well together. What was I thinking? I should have requested a Jupiter right away.