This Crazy Rich Boy - Chapter 99

The doctor goes straight into the ICU room; he acts as if he doesn’t see Miguel and Claire standing there. Claire can see through the small glass window that everyone is attending to Gabriel quickly. The doctor’s barking orders and administering drugs.

“What’s happening?” Claire mutters.

Miguel says, “Don’t worry. They’re doing everything they can. The doctor knows what he’s doing.”

Inside the ICU, the doctor spends a long time talking to the nurses and updating Gabriel’s charts. Three nurses are in attendance, including one that Claire knows is the head nurse—Claire had gone to this same hospital months ago and spoke with the same head nurse.

“See? Even the head nurse is personally attending to him,” Miguel says, as if reading her mind. “The doctor is not taking any chances. And I’m telling you Gabriel is tough as nails. This would be nothing to him.”

If this were nothing, why did he even lose consciousness, is what Claire wants to scream. But she keeps her mouth shut. The last thing she needs is people losing control of their emotions. Not now.

When the doctor finally comes out of the room, Claire almost pounces on him. “Doc, what happened to him?”

The doctor gazes at them, in his hands some documents that seem to be printed-out results of Gabriel’s medical tests. He browses through them. “The big picture is that Gabriel’s fine,” he says. “But there’s a little caveat.”

The expression on Miguel’s face says, Go on, don’t play the big suspense game on us.

“Gabriel has an infection in his blood,” the doctor says. “It’s possible that he had been having it for the past few days or so. Didn’t he feel under the weather lately? He should have come in for a check-up and lab tests. It shouldn’t have come to this point.”

Miguel shrugs. “We had no idea.”

“He seemed fine,” Claire says. “There was not the smallest indication that he might be ill.”

“Are you sure?” the doctor says. “As his wife, you should have noticed the smallest of—”

–“I’m not his wife, Doc,” Claire says sheepishly. “Not even his girlfriend.”

“Oh,” the doctor mutters. “Then why—”

“She’s Gabriel’s executive secretary, Doc,” Miguel jumps in, while giving Claire a strange look. “She’s only with Gabriel during office hours, so…”

“I see,” the doctor says, gazing at Claire. “Well, the fact is, Gabriel had severe blood infection. He had it in the past few days, and something happened to him that allowed the infection to go overboard. Was he under some great amount of stress, lately?”

“Could running in the rain be a possible reason?” Claire regrets the question as soon as she says it.

“What do you mean run in the rain?” Miguel says. “Yesterday, we had a brief rainstorm. Did he do it, then?”

She hesitates. She says yes, it could lead to more questions from Miguel, who might eventually lead to the big confession. And honestly, she doesn’t feel like revealing these things right in this situation, not in front of this doctor. In the end, she just shrugs. “It’s possible that he did something yesterday that left him soaked up in the rain.”

Miguel stares at her questioningly.

“Yes, it’s possible,” the doctor says. “What happened to the patient is the bodily equivalent of a nuclear meltdown. His worsening infection found an opportunity to even go overboard when Gabriel’s body underwent an extraordinarily high level of acute stress.”

“So what are we doing now, in terms of treatment?” Miguel says.

“We have administered a medical equivalent of ‘shock and awe’. A big but safe dose of a certain antibiotic, as well as a host of other drugs to manage the symptoms. We’re watching his fever go down. If it doesn’t, certain medical protocols will kick in. If his fever goes down in the next twelve hours or so, then we can all take it a bit easy.”

“Is he still unconscious?” Claire says.

“Oh, he would have been, but some of the drugs he’s on have strong sedative effects. So he’s basically asleep, which is a good thing.” He turns to Miguel. “As you can see, your brother gets the best treatment possible here.”

Miguel nods his head. “Thank you for that.”

“So,” the doctor says. “I’ll let you know of any further development, okay?”

“Can I go in and talk to him?” Claire says.

The doctor sighs. “I wouldn’t advise that, for now. I suggest strongly to let him sleep. Maybe tomorrow morning, let’s see. But for now, it wouldn’t be good. He’s still in a vulnerable place, as far as his body’s immune system is concerned.”

Claire says nothing; inside, she wants to collapse. All these mumbo-jumbo seems meaningless if Gabriel’s on that bed. There’s something about what the doctor says that makes her feel like there’s a lot more he isn’t saying. How serious is a blood infection? What if Gabriel doesn’t wake up anymore? That he stays in that state forever? Claire wants to cry. In fact, the more she tries hard to look fine, the more her face contorts into a sob.

After the doctor leaves, Miguel says, “See? My brother’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Claire says nothing. She’s trying to contain her emotions. The scenes of the past few days flash in her head, and in all those scenes, she pictures Gabriel’s face, smiling at her—oh, if she only knew. She would have said a resounding yes. She would have given Gabriel everything he wanted—everything! She would have opened all the doors that lead to the core of her being. She would have kissed him all night long. But now, Gabriel’s in that God-forsaken room with strangers, attached to tubes and drowning in drugs.

Slowly, even as she holds back her emotion, a tear peeps out of an eye. Then she sniffles, which turns into a small sob, that grows bigger. Until, finally, she begins weeping.

“Oh, my God,” Miguel exclaims. “Claire? Stop it. Why are you crying? Gabriel’s fine! It’s not as if he’s actually dead!”

Claire cries even more.

Miguel panics. He rifles through his pockets and somehow finds a handkerchief. He gives it to Claire, who snatches it and blows her nose through it. She tries to give it back to him, but Miguel smiles. “It’s all yours, Claire.”

People passing by are looking at them, intrigued at the sight of a girl weeping loudly and so openly. “This can’t be happening,” she sobs. “This can’t be…”

A lady who is passing by stops in front of them, gazes at her and Miguel. She taps Miguel by a shoulder and mutters, “Please accept my condolences, mister.”

Miguel’s jaw drops. “No. I mean, thank you, but no one died.”

“Oh, sorry,” the lady says. “I thought…” She moves on, confusion on her face.

“Please stop it, Claire,” Miguel says. “Stop crying. Gabriel’s fine, I promise you that.”

“Look,” he says. “We’ve been here for hours. Let’s go and have a bite somewhere. Coffee, perhaps. Anything. Let’s just go.”

“No, I’ll stay here until he wakes up,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes. By now, Miguel’s handkerchief is completely soaked, but Miguel gazes at his handkerchief in Claire’s hand with envy and longing—how lucky Gabriel must be for a woman like this to cry over him?

“Are you sure, Claire?” he says. “Because he might not wake up soon. He might not wake up tomorrow or the next day. He might not wake up for one whole week, a month.”

“Then I’ll stay here,” Claire mutters, her voice broken, her eyes bloodshot with tears. “I’ll stay here until he wakes up. I’ll cry until I can’t cry anymore, but I’ll stay here and I’ll never leave him.”

Miguel says nothing; he gazes at her, his heart aching, his mind full of whys. Gabriel is in that room, deathly sick, but Miguel wants so much to be Gabriel right now, just so Claire would also cry over him like this; a woman so beautiful in her sadness.