We didn’t know what she meant. She left and came back with boy and girl twins. They explained that April didn’t know what to call an IV, only how it put water into your body. We had four IVs dumping in ice-cold Ringer’s Lactate as fast as your body would take it, which was exceptionally slow since your heart rate dropped to twenty beats a minute and your respiration was nearly indetectable. April said you didn’t need to be on a ventilator, but we intubated you anyway. Your little friend kept getting in the way as she tried to get where she could hold you. We don’t know how someone got box jellyfish venom in that amount or concentration. Still, I admit it was diabolical, given the number of jellyfish we pulled off after you rescued your daughter from the jellyfish. We identified that someone injected you with it versus a delayed reaction to your earlier stings. We gave you the antivenin, but it didn’t have any effect. Your temperature dropped to one-hundred-two. We got an urgent alert. “Um, did that trigger anything?” Maybe trigger wasn’t the right word, but ‘did it push you button’ wasn’t something I was stupid enough to ask. “Not for that little,” she laughed. Then she added more evenly, “nothing changed. I’m in a better mood though.” We didn’t bring it up again and our lives went back to normal. A couple of months later we found ourselves in another hotel bar after an office party. I’d had a few beers and needed to piss. There was a line, just me and this dumpy looking guy. We struck up one of those anonymous conversations. Halfway through his description of a bad plane ride out of London, an idea struck me. “Hey, bud, you wanna do me a favor?” I asked. He was game once I explained it as a practical joke on a friend. I even had the line, ‘Ask her if five hundred is enough.’ If he offered a thousand or forty-three, the gig would be up. Rachel would probably guess it was my game anyway, but I didn’t need to make it easy. “Let’s get a room,” she said when I got to.
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