I’d avoided the ER the first time. The second time I was actually just a little bit relieved to have access to oxygen and a nebulizer. I’d coughed so hard and so much every muscle in my chest and abdomen hurt. Brendan came into the cubicle they’d installed me in about an hour and half after we had gotten there. He looked pale, exhausted and soot stained as he flopped into the plastic chair beside my bed.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, filthy and smelling like an ashtray but I’m fine. They still have you on oxygen. Do they think you have lung damage?” He reached out and took my hand.
“I think it’s more a precaution. They sucked a batch of blood and apparently there were detectable amounts of carbon monoxide and hydrogen cyanide, so I think that’s why they still have the oxygen going.” I
