CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE CILIA

Later in the afternoon, they moved Alistair to a regular room. Ahnna breathed a sigh of relief when they left the ICU behind. A regular room meant he was on the mend, was moving steadily out of danger. She watched happily from an out of the way corner of the room as they got him settled in bed. He was awake and with the ventilator gone, he could talk. He knew she was there. Her cup ran over and she smiled,grateful when she and he were alone again.

His voice was still hoarse and he wheezed and coughed from time to time, but it was still so much better than before. He still had several monitors connected to him by wires, as well as the IV and the cannula for oxygen. She had just gotten a chair pulled up beside his bed when the doctor came in.

"He's going to be all right now, isn't he?" she asked.

"He is definitely doing significantly better," the doctor nodded, "but we need to keep a close eye on him for a while longer."

"What do you mean?" She felt her body tighten.

"Four to five days after inhalation injury," he explained, "is when bacterial pneumonia often complicates matters." He didn't add that the additional cellular damage often caused significant mortality. "Your husband currently is showing no signs of that," he continued, "but it is something we must watch carefully."

"But I thought when he regained consciousness...when he was off the ventilator...I thought...."

"Don't go and worry about it yet, Mrs. Harris. We may not have to deal with it at all."

Her hand found Alistair's and she held on tightly. When would this nightmare be over? "Is...is there...anything...?"

"Hot tea and chicken soup," the doctor smiled. "What they say about them is very true in the case of smoke inhalation especially."

"Chicken...?"

"Yes, it's what he's having for dinner tonight. You see, the respiratory tract has millions of tiny little things called cilia that beat to remove foreign material out of the system. The chemicals in smoke impair their function, but large amounts of tea and chicken soup, stimulate them,make them active so they can do their job. When you get him home, I suggest you continue that for a time."

"When I get him home," she repeated, loving the sound of the words. "When, do you think, that might be?"

"Several more days at least, but if he doesn't develop pneumonia, it shouldn't be longer than that."  He checked a few things, smiled, and left.

"I promise," Alistair said.

"What, darling?"

"I won't develop pneumonia."

"Can I hold you to that?"

He smiled, a bit worn out from the change of rooms, his eyelids heavy. "Rest," she said, "I'll be right here."

He let his eyes close. "I'll be right here, too," he murmured as he drifted off.

She sat beside him as he slept, holding his hand the whole time. Early in the evening he was brought a tray with the chicken soup and the hot tea. Despite being still quite weak he thought he could probably have managed a spoon, but he saw that it gave her pleasure to feed him, so he sat quietly, opening his mouth as she lifted the soup to his lips. In truth, she did need the doing of it, the sense that she could help him in some way, do at least some little thing to make him better. Sitting so helplessly for so long beside the ventilator

had taken its toll on her. Reverend Todd stopped briefly by with some food from the cafeteria for her and to visit with Alistair now that he was awake.

That night Ahnna slept in the recliner in his room. The next day Alistair felt a bit strongerand was still showing no signs of pneumonia. They spent the hours quietly together, him napping from time to time, a few visitors stopping by, among them Maximus and Joimus.

She could feel her tension relaxing. He had promised. Alistair always kept his promises. She could take him home soon. Yes, she just knew she could.