De Humani Corporis Fabrica
Just pleurisy—what a relief to be afflicted by a word you’ve never heard before.
Ten days pass. You take classes, make music, share meals at odd hours with friends. Your inability to breathe fades, then returns midday, then fades by dinner, returns by Wednesday, a memory by Friday morning, just another rhythm built into college life. This is what it’s like sometimes; this is what the body does. Sometimes a mystery stays a mystery—sometimes it has a name. Just pleurisy. When your breath hitches and you need to sit down to catch it, maybe almost pass out, you think: Ah, so this is pleurisy. You smile and shake your head, take three Advil, wait it out. This will pass. This will pass. These things, they take care of themselves.
Your friends are less sure. You return to the nurse to appease their pleading. This visit is quicker; her concern radiates brightly in the bungalow. She refers you to the university hospital for a chest X-ray. You don’t have your license, but Jana is happy to drive.
The X-ray is an X-ray. You wear the heavy bib, sit straight against the wall, hold your breath. The technician says a doctor will call in the next couple of days with the results. You’re not concerned; you feel good today, breathing normally. Maybe it was nothing after all. Maybe the pleurisy worked through, like you thought. Jana says let’s get ice cream.
You’re only two red lights away when your flip phone rings. Hello?
Hello, this is the university police. Have you just visited the hospital? We received a call from the staff there; they’re looking for you.
Yes, you say. I’m on my way back to school right now.
They asked us to tell you to turn around and go to the emergency room immediately.
The officer can’t say why; he doesn’t know. He is simply passing a message along. He is doing a kindness. White fear starts to creep in from the back of your mind.