“Mom?”
She pressed one hand against her chest.
David stood.
Claire crouched.
“Margaret?”
“I’m fine.”
David gave her a look.
“Apparently you learned nothing.”
Mom tried to smile.
Then her eyes closed.
“Mom.”
I grabbed her hand.
It was cold.
Claire was already moving.
“Medical kit.”
Another attendant brought it.
David picked up the intercom.
“If there is a licensed physician, nurse, or paramedic on board, please identify yourself to a flight attendant.”
My heart began pounding.
“Mom, look at me.”
She opened her eyes.
“I’m here.”
“What hurts?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you dizzy?”
“A little.”
Claire checked her pulse.
Then oxygen saturation.
Her expression tightened.
“Captain.”
David looked.
Claire quietly gave him the number.
I didn’t understand it.
David did.
He moved instantly.
“Get her oxygen.”
Mom shook her head.
“No drama.”
“Margaret.”
“David.”
“Today you don’t get a vote on whether people care about you.”
She stopped arguing.
A physician from row twenty-three arrived.
Dr. Patel.
Internal medicine.
He asked questions rapidly.
Diagnosis.
Treatment.
Medications.
Recent blood counts.
My mother answered most of them.
Then she became confused about the date of her last infusion.
I answered.
Dr. Patel checked her blood pressure twice.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He didn’t frighten me with guesses.
Good doctors do that.
“She may be dehydrated. Blood pressure is low. Oxygen is borderline. Given her treatment history, I’d prefer she be evaluated on the ground.”
David nodded.
“We’re forty-two minutes from Denver. Twenty-seven from Omaha.”
Dr. Patel looked at the readings.
“Omaha.”
David did not hesitate.
He went back to the cockpit.
The seatbelt sign came on.
Minutes later, his voice filled the cabin.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be making a precautionary medical diversion.”
A few passengers groaned.
I heard them.
Of course I did.
Mom heard them too.
Her eyes filled.
“I’m ruining everyone’s trip.”
I leaned close.
“No.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have come.”
“No.”
“This was selfish.”
I gripped her hand.
“Mom, stop.”
She looked at me.
“You spent six months surviving cancer treatment.”
My voice cracked.
“You’re allowed to inconvenience an airplane.”
Her mouth trembled.
Then someone behind us began clapping.
One person.
Then another.
I turned.
A woman several rows back.
Then an older man.
Then more.
Not everyone.
But enough.
Richard Collins was sitting across the aisle.
He wasn’t clapping.
He had his head down.
