Chapter 3: Something is Wrong

Charlotte, North Carolina

November 19, 1998

It was a Saturday night and the weather in North Carolina’s largest city was pleasant. The skies were clear, the humidity was an almost reasonable seventy percent, and the temperature was a comfortable 54 degrees at 10:02 PM when Celia and her band finished up the second of two shows they performed at the Charlotte Coliseum just southwest of downtown. Like all of Celia’s shows, the performance had been sold out since two hours after the tickets had gone on sale. 24,218 people had crowded into the arena and were still cheering loudly as the band left the stage after the encore and the house lights came up.

Celia had put on her usual spectacular performance and had left the crowd wishing for more. But she was not feeling very good as she made the walk from the backstage through the tunnel to the dressing rooms. She was always sweaty during and after a show, but tonight she was feeling particularly overheated and the perspiration was running down her face quite freely. Her hair was saturated from the sweat and there were large stains in her armpits, on her back, and even down the front of the maroon sleeveless blouse she had worn for the show. She was also breathing a little heavier than normal. And there was this nagging little pain in her lower stomach. It was a sharp, throbbing pain, centered on the right side, just a little above and to the left of her hip. It was not an agonizing pain, nor a constant one. She had first noticed it this morning when she woke up and it had appeared and disappeared all day long at random intervals. At this point, it was simply annoying more than anything else and she did not think too much about it, nor did she associate it with the fatigue and the sweating she was now experiencing.

“You okay, C?” asked Liz the piano and keyboard player, who was walking next to her in the tunnel. “You look a little drained.”

“Yeah, I’m all right,” Celia told her. “Just a little road fatigue mixed with the humidity here.”

“That’ll happen,” Liz told her. “Drink a couple of bottles of Gatorade when we get back there before you have your shower.”

“Will do,” she said.

They made their way into the common area where their catered food and drinks had been set up. Larry Candid, the tour manager they had hired from Aristocrat’s tour division, was there, grinning his grin, telling them how great of a show they had put on even though he had not seen any of it.

“Thanks, Larry,” Celia said wearily, pulling a quart bottle of red Gatorade (red was her favorite, followed by green) from the ice trough. She spun open the cap and took a large drink of the rehydrating fluid. She drank enough to give herself a momentary brain freeze. She then looked back at the manager. “I need some Motrin or something. You have any in your bag?”

“Of course,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

“Just having a little nagging pain,” she told him. “Nothing big.”

“I’ll get it right away,” he said, heading over to said bag, which was sitting on a table near the doorway.

While the rest of the band grabbed their own Gatorade or bottles of water (Charlie insisted upon distilled water because it was the least likely to have glacial bacteria in it) she sat down in one of the chairs. The moment she stopped moving, the sweat began to run faster and the sensation of overheating began to get worse. She felt like she was sitting in an oven.

“Madre de Dios,” she muttered. “It’s so hot.” She reached behind her head and grabbed the back of her wet shirt. With a tug, she pulled it over her head and dropped it to the floor, leaving her naked from the waist up except for her white sports bra, which was also drenched in sweat and formed quite alluringly to her full breasts. All of the males in the room (except Charlie, who was currently going through a ‘gay phase’, as he termed it, and Eric, who was in a perpetual gay phase) immediately began to stare at her. Celia whipping off her shirt in front of them was not a typical event. In fact, it was unheard of.

“Sorry guys,” Celia said, seeing their interest. “I’m not looking to earn dollar bills. I’m just so hot.”

“Goddamn right,” said Miles the saxophonist in his Irish brogue. Celia gave him an irritated look and he turned his eyes away from her—though only for a moment.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Celia?” asked Larry, who was now standing in front of her, a white capsule in his hand. “You look kind of pale.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I just need to cool down a little. Is that the Motrin?”

“It is,” he said. “It’s a pharmaceutical eight hundred milligram pill. I do have some stronger stuff in the bag if you think you need it.”

“No,” she said, holding out her hand. “The Motrin is fine.”

He dropped it in her hand and she popped it in her mouth, washing it down with another large slug of Gatorade.

“Where exactly are you having pain?” Larry asked.

“It’s just my stomach,” she said. “It’s not that bad. The heat and the sweating is bothering me more.”

“Where in your stomach?” he asked.

She pointed to the right lower quadrant with her finger. Her belly was smooth and sexy looking, glistened with sweat, and was quite appealing to look at in its current state, but Larry did not seem interested in the view. He looked concerned. “Have you ever had your appendix out?” he asked. “I’m guessing you haven’t since you have no scars.”

“No,” she said. “I’ve never had any surgery.”

“Right lower quadrant pain is the primary symptom of appendicitis,” he said.

She shook her head. “It’s not appendicitis,” she told him. “Really, the pain is not that bad. It comes and goes and it’s mostly just annoying. The Motrin will handle it and once I rehydrate and cool down, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he said doubtfully. “But let me know if it gets worse.”

“Will do,” she promised. She then took another large drink of her Gatorade.

Liz and Celia, being the only two females in the band, used the home team’s locker room—where the Hornets changed and showered—to clean themselves up and change. Celia, naked except for a pair of shower shoes (a few nasty cases of athlete’s foot early in her career had taught her to never walk barefoot in a sports team’s locker room) stood for an inordinate amount of time under the spray after finishing her actual soapy cleanse. She stood there for so long that Liz (who was strictly heterosexual but still enjoyed looking at Celia’s naked body when they showered together after shows—she was that beautiful) started to get a little concerned. Especially when she saw the lack of steam coming up and the hard nipples and realized that Celia was using only cold water.

“C? You okay, girl?” she asked her carefully.

“Just having a hot flash from hell,” Celia told her. “This cold water feels heavenly. I’m just going to stand here for a few more minutes.”

“Okay,” said Liz, who was by now fully dressed. “Just give a shout if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Celia told her.

Everyone else was already showered and dressed (the guys all used the visitor’s locker room) and the groupies had been brought back by the time Celia finally joined them in the common area. Eric and Charlie each had a male groupie for their entertainment needs while Miles and Coop each had two female groupies to attend to theirs. Celia greeted the groupies politely but briefly and then moved quickly away. This was her usual practice. She then poured herself a glass of cold chardonnay. This too was usual. But she did not go to the food table to fill a plate. This was not usual. Ordinarily she was famished by this point after a show. Now, however, she had no appetite whatsoever. She found herself a quiet little corner to sit in and sipped her wine. Even it, however, did not taste very good and she had only consumed a few swallows by the time Larry told them the limo was ready to take them back to the hotel.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Celia?” Larry asked, obvious concern on his face at this point. “You didn’t eat a single bite.”

“Just not hungry tonight, Larry,” she told him.

“Did that pain in your stomach go away?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, mostly truthfully. She was not having it at that particular moment. “The Motrin worked. Thanks.”

“You really should eat something,” he said.

“I’ll call room service later,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

He let it drop. He and the band and the groupies then piled into the stretch limousine and made the fifteen-minute trip to the Charlotte Marriot Hotel in the heart of downtown. Celia began to feel a little better by the time they made it there. She felt well enough, in fact, that she joined Liz and Little Stevie in the hotel bar for a drink. She had a vodka and tonic and was able to put the entire thing in her empty stomach and actually catch a slight buzz from it (the male bartender was a fan and had been rather generous with the Grey Goose when constructing the drink) so she ordered another one as well as a plate of hot wings with blue cheese to dip them in.

“It’s good to see you eating,” Liz told her with a smile. “I was getting a little worried about you for a bit.”

“Just having an off-day,” she told her with a smile.

She ate the wings and drank her second drink, increasing her buzz to therapeutic level. She began to feel sleepy so she said goodnight to the guitarist and the keyboardist and headed for the elevator. She rode up to the top floor and then walked to her suite. Once inside, she stripped down to her panties and put on a long t-shirt to sleep in. She peed and then climbed into bed. There was no need to set an alarm or arrange a wakeup call. Tomorrow was a travel day and there was no show. Though the road crew would be driving to Jacksonville tonight, the band and Larry Candid would not be flying out until 1:00 PM. She could sleep in until 11:00 if she wished. And as tired as she was, she figured she would do just that.

But her sleep was uneasy and restless. She would doze off and then be awakened an hour or so later by the sensation of overheating or the pain in her right lower abdomen. A few times she felt nauseous as well, although never quite enough to advance to actual vomiting.

What in the hell is the matter with me? she wondered at 4:15 AM after waking up and finding herself freely perspiring again. She took off her sweaty nightshirt and tossed it on the floor. She then lay atop the covers instead of beneath them but continued to perspire anyway. She tossed and turned for a bit and then rolled onto her side. Finally, just before 5:00 AM, she drifted back off and managed to drop down into REM sleep for a bit.

She was jerked rudely out of her deepest slumber of the night at 6:13 AM when the pain in her right lower abdomen flared up with an intensity she had not experienced to this point. It felt like someone had stabbed her with a large knife and was now twisting it back and forth in the wound. Pain rippled away in all directions, radiating down her right leg, up to her right shoulder, through to her back. Her eyes opened and she moaned with the pain, her hands instinctively going to the center of the pain and clutching there. She was once again drenched in sweat and it felt like she was having a hard time taking a deep breath.

Something is definitely wrong here, her mind informed her fearfully. This is not indigestion or a period cramp. This is something serious.

She rolled over and got out of bed. The shift in positioning caused the pain to flare even brighter, gripping her so hard that she had trouble catching her breath for a few moments. She felt dizzy and lightheaded as well. She sat back on the edge of the bed of the bed and put her head down toward her knees. This made the dizziness better and the pain slowly faded down to the original intensity that had wakened her.

Wow, that was intense, she thought, taking slow, deep breaths now. Maybe Larry was right. Maybe I do have appendicitis.

She put out her hand and picked up the phone handset from the bedside. She could not remember what suite Larry was in tonight so she called the operator and asked to be connected. Larry did not have a hotel name since nobody outside the tour even knew who he was. She heard a click and then the phone began to ring. It only rang twice before it was picked up.

“Larry Candid,” he said into her ear.

“It’s Celia, Larry,” she said. “That pain in my stomach has gotten a lot worse. I think maybe it might be appendicitis after all.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I’ll be right over to your room.”

“Bring Liz with you,” she told him. “If she’s not in her room, she’ll be in Stevie’s.”

“Will do,” Larry said.

She took a few more deep breaths and then leaned down and picked up her discarded t-shirt from the floor. It was no longer damp with her sweat but it did not smell particularly pleasant. She did not care. She would be damned if Larry Candid was going to get a look at her chichis. She pulled it over her head and then carefully put her arms in. She then stood up briefly so she could pull it down. The dizziness returned when she stood and then resolved again once she sat back down.

Nearly five minutes passed before there was a knock at the door. It was then that she realized she was going to have to walk into the main room of the suite to open it. Neither Larry nor Liz had a key card for her room. Bracing herself for the dizziness, she stood up again. The dizziness washed over her and for a moment she thought she was going to pass out. Things started to go gray. She continued standing despite every instinct telling her to sit back down and, gradually, the dizziness faded some. She took a few more breaths and then started to walk toward the front door.

It was a trek that seemed as arduous as summiting Mount Everest. As she pulled herself along, step by step, sweat began to pour from her body again, although this time it was a cold sweat instead of a hot one. Several more knocks on the door were issued and Larry’s voice called out to her, becoming increasingly anxious in tone with each repetition. Finally, she made it to the door. She pulled it open with the last of her strength and there stood Larry and Liz, their faces alarmed and worried. Larry was wearing dress slacks and a dress shirt—his typical outfit—and was holding his medical bag in his hand. Liz was wearing the jeans and t-shirt she had donned after her shower at the arena. Her hair was in disarray and she was exuding the odor of sexual musk.

She must have been in Stevie’s room, Celia thought knowingly, a slight smile coming to her face despite the pain and the dizziness.

The expressions of alarm on their faces deepened when they got a good look at her.

“Celia,” Liz said. “Jesus Christ!”

“You look terrible,” Larry said. “You’re so pale!”

“I feel like shit,” she told them. “I think you’d better take me to the hospital.”

They stepped into the room. Larry immediately grabbed her by the upper arm and began to steer her toward the nearest chair. “Come on,” he told her. “Let’s get you sitting down.”

“Good idea,” she breathed. She allowed Larry and Liz to escort her to the plush couch and sit her down. The dizziness faded considerably once she was off her feet. The pain and the cold sweat did not.

Larry took her pulse at her wrist and frowned when he did the math. “You’re tachycardic and your pulse is kind of weak,” he told her.

“How tachycardic?” she asked.

“A hundred and twenty,” he said.

“I’m really dizzy,” she told him. “Can you get the limo here so we can go to the hospital?”

“I’m going to call 911,” Larry said.

“911?” she asked, shaking her head. “That’s not necessary.”

“I think that it is,” Larry said. “You’re pale, cool, sweaty for no good reason, and you’re having right lower abdominal pain. I really think you’re having acute appendicitis and that it might be rupturing. This is a medical emergency, C.”

She felt a flash of fear wash over her at his words. Ruptured appendicitis? People died from that, didn’t they? “Okay,” she said. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

“It is,” he said. He went over to the phone.

“What can I do for you, C?” Liz asked. “Do you want some water?”

“No water,” she said, shaking her head. “But can you go get my sweatpants and my shoes out of the room. I don’t want to go to the hospital with my legs bare.”

“Right away,” she said. She rushed off to the room.

By the time she came back, Larry had finished his phone call. “They’re on the way,” he told her. “Do you want me to give you a shot for the pain before they get here? A little Demerol maybe?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Here you go, C,” Liz said, holding up her black sweatpants. “Let’s get these on you.”

It was a little bit of a process, but they got her sweats, socks, and shoes on before the knock at the door came five minutes later. Larry opened the door and beheld a crew from the Charlotte Fire Department’s Engine 4 and a paramedic and EMT from Medic Ambulance, the EMS contractor for the Charlotte metropolitan area. The firefighters were all male. They were wearing their blue shirts and their turnout bottoms held up by red suspenders. The EMS crew was a male and a female. The male was the paramedic. He was in his early thirties perhaps and was considerably overweight. The female was the EMT. She was in her mid-twenties and quite attractive.

“Hi, guys,” Larry told them. “Come on in. She’s right over here.”

The five of them entered the room, the EMS crew pushing a gurney that had various supplies strapped onto it, the fire crew carrying nothing but a clipboard in the hands of the oldest of them. Everyone’s eyes took in the sight of their patient. The males all looked at her appreciatively despite the fact that she was hardly looking her best at the moment. The female EMT looked at her with dawning recognition.

“This is Celia,” Larry told them. “Celia Valdez.”

Everyone paused for a moment. “The Celia Valdez?” the firefighter with the clipboard asked.

“That’s right,” Larry said. “The Celia Valdez. I’m Larry Candid, her tour manager. She is experiencing right lower quadrant abdominal pain since just after the show last night. It suddenly became worse a little while ago and is now accompanied by diaphoresis, tachycardia, and dizziness. You can see how pale she is. I suspect she may have acute appendicitis.”

“Are you a doctor?” the paramedic asked.

“No,” Larry said. “I do have considerable medical training, however. Now, how about you folks do what you do and get her to the hospital?”

“Right,” the paramedic said. He looked at his partner. “Lori, get me some vitals right away.”

“You got it,” she said.

“I’ll take the vitals,” one of the firefighters offered.

“No, I’ll get them,” said another.

“I will get them,” Lori the EMT said firmly. She began to rummage in one of their bags.

The paramedic stepped forward and stood before Celia. “Hi, Celia,” he said. “I’m John. I’ll be taking care of you until we get to the hospital.”

“Nice to meet you, John,” she said.

John then asked her a serious of questions about her pain and other symptoms. One of the questions was, “Is there any chance that you could be pregnant?”

“No,” she told him, shaking her head. “No chance.”

“Fair enough,” he replied.

While Lori took her blood pressure and her pulse, John palpated the area where she was having pain with his gloved hand through her shirt. He asked her if the pain got worse when he pushed on it. It did not.

“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “Are you absolutely sure you couldn’t be pregnant?” he asked.

“I am absolutely sure,” she assured him. “I am on birth control pills for one, and I have not had much of a sex life of late for two.” Well ... except for that little bit of fun back in New York with Jake and Laura, she thought. But that was like a month ago.

“Okay,” John said. “Sorry for getting so personal. It’s just that this does not exactly present as classic appendicitis. The location is off a bit and there’s no rebound tenderness to palpation.” He shrugged. “Still, that’s the most likely explanation if you’re not pregnant.”

Lori deflated the blood pressure cuff on her arm. “Eighty-eight over forty,” she announced. “Pulse is one eighteen.”

The firefighter with the clipboard wrote that down on it. The paramedic frowned. “You’re hypotensive and tachycardic,” he said. “That’s not good.”

“Exactly,” said Larry, impatience clearly in his tone. “That is why we called you to take her to the hospital. Now, why don’t you do that so she can receive the medical care that she needs.”

“I need to start an IV and start running some fluid into her first,” John said. “Lori, set me up a liter bag with blood tubing on it.”

“Right,” Lori said.

“I’m sorry,” Larry said, “but I must insist that you get Ms. Valdez to the hospital now. Time is of the essence here. Every second may count.”

“Which is why I need to start an IV on her and start putting in some fluid,” John told him firmly, his eyes locked onto the manager’s face.

“Now listen to me...” Larry started.

“Larry,” Celia interrupted impatiently, glaring at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Did John here come into this room and start telling you how to run our shows?”

“Uh ... no, of course not,” Larry said.

“Then don’t tell him how to do his job,” she said. She turned back to John and held out her arm to him. “Let’s do this.”

John did it. He put a sixteen-gauge catheter into the large antecubital vein in Celia’s left arm. He then connected the IV bag to it and opened it wide, letting it flow freely.

“Maybe you should put her on the cardiac monitor,” one of the firefighters suggested. “I can do that for you.”

“No! I’ll do it,” said the other firefighter.

“Uh ... no, that won’t be necessary,” John said. “Let’s get her on the gurney.”

The two firefighters who were not holding the clipboard practically fell all over themselves to rush to Celia’s side. Despite her insistence that she could stand and sit on the gurney, they picked her up, one of them grabbing her around her chest (and getting a decent feel of her braless breasts with his forearm) while the other (the slower one) grabbed her around her knees. They set her down on the gurney while Lori carried the attached IV bag and then hung it on a pole.

“I want Liz to come with me,” Celia told John.

“Is she family?” he asked.

“She’s my keyboard player,” Celia said.

“Our policy is that only family can ride if we’re going to go with the lights and siren,” John told her.

“She is also my sister,” Celia said without missing a beat.

John looked from Celia to Liz for a moment, taking in the obvious age difference and contrast in skin tone and facial features. “Uh...”

“We’re not going to have an argument over this, are we, John?” Celia asked him plainly. “I’m in a strange city and undergoing a medical emergency and being rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. I want my sister with me.”

“Uh ... sure,” John relented. “She can sit up front.”

“What about me?” Larry asked.

“You take a limo,” Celia directed. “And stay out in the waiting room and don’t bother the staff asking for information. Liz will keep you updated. But before you come to the hospital, you need to call Pauline and tell her what’s going on.”

“Right,” he said.

“And call Jake,” she said. “Make sure he knows too.”

“I’ll make sure,” Larry promised.

They went downstairs and out the lobby doors. The ambulance and the fire engine were parked in the red zone directly in front of the doors. Celia on the gurney was placed in the back and John the paramedic climbed in after her. Lori helped Liz into the passenger seat and then climbed in the driver’s seat. She drove them to the Carolinas Medical Center emergency room with the red lights flashing and with occasional blasts of the siren. The trip took about seven minutes. During it, John started another IV—an eighteen gauge in her left forearm vein—and hung another bag of IV fluid. He then called the hospital on a radio and gave a report on what he was bringing in, painting a good picture of a thirty-six-year-old female with right lower quadrant abdominal pain, hypotension, and poor skin signs, but giving no hint whatsoever about who the thirty-six-year-old female was.

John took her blood pressure one more time as they backed into the ambulance bay. He now had more than a liter of fluid onboard and it had come up to ninety-six over forty-four. Her heartrate was still tachycardic, she was still sweating profusely, and was still pale as a ghost. They pulled her out of the ambulance and wheeled her through a sliding door and into a large emergency department that was bustling with activity despite the fact that it was only 7:10 AM on a Sunday morning. Gurneys with patients on them lined every hallway and every room that Celia could see had someone in it. Nurses, doctors, and other staff wearing scrubs circulated around, all of them seemingly on missions of their own. At the end of the main entry hallway was a station manned by a harried looking nurse. A line of four other ambulance crews and their gurneys were waiting their turn to be checked in and assigned beds.

“Is this the code three abdominal pain with hypotension?” asked the nurse when she saw them wheeling up.

“That’s right,” John said.

“Go directly to room twelve,” she directed. “Maureen will triage you in there.”

“Sounds good,” John told her.

They took her deeper into the chaotic emergency department, making a few left and right turns until Celia was thoroughly disoriented. Finally, they came to a room enclosed by walls and a large sliding glass door. The number 12 was printed above it in black. A thirty-something year old Asian featured nurse was waiting for them in there. Her eyes widened a bit when she got a good look at her patient.

“Wow,” she said. “You look a lot like Celia Valdez.”

“She is Celia Valdez,” John told her.

Maureen’s eyes suddenly got dramatically wider. “The Celia Valdez?”

“That’s me,” Celia said tiredly.

“Oh my God!” Maureen gushed. “I was at the show on Friday night! You were incredible!”

“Thanks,” Celia said.

Maureen then noticed Liz. “You were the lady on the piano!” she said.

“Yeah,” Liz said. “My name is Liz. And while we appreciate your praise, can we get on with this thing?”

“Oh ... sure, right,” Maureen said. “Go ahead and move her to the bed. I’m going to go get the doctor so she can hear the story.”

“Sounds good,” Celia said, wiping the sweat away from her forehead.

John and Lori put their gurney next to the hospital gurney and matched elevations. They then pulled Celia over to the hospital gurney using the sheet that she was laying on. By the time they got her settled in, Maureen was back. She had a mid-forties, tall, willowy blonde woman with her. The woman wore green scrubs, had a stethoscope around her neck, and a tab under her name badge read PHYSICIAN. Trailing behind was a young man in dark blue scrubs. He was carrying a clipboard with a form on it. His name badge read REGISTRATION.

“Hey, doc,” John greeted. “This is Celia Valdez—the Celia Valdez. She is thirty-six years old and developed right lower quadrant abdominal pain yesterday, intermittent throughout the day. She performed her show last night with no major issues except for feeling hot and perspiring more than usual. After the show, the pain began to get more frequent. She went to bed, had trouble sleeping, and then was awakened with a severe escalation of the pain just after zero-six hundred. The pain was accompanied by diaphoresis and postural dizziness. As you can see, she is pretty pale. No previous abdominal surgeries. Denies possibility of pregnancy and is currently not sexually active. Last menstrual period unknown as they have been irregular for the past few months while she’s been touring. No vaginal bleeding or discharge. Pressure on scene was eighty-eight over forty and tachy at one-eighteen. I’ve got about fifteen hundred cc’s of fluid onboard now and the last pressure was ninety-six over forty-four, no real change in heartrate. I didn’t want to give her any morphine because of the hypotension. Pain is eight on a ten, no rebound tenderness, and it’s almost in the pubic region rather than the abdomen. Abdomen is soft to palpation. No medical history, no medications except birth control pills. She took eight hundred of Ibuprofen last night. No nausea or vomiting.”

“Okay,” said the doctor. “Thanks. Good report.”

John nodded and then he and Lori took their gurney out of the room and closed the door behind them.

“Hi, Celia,” the MD greeted. “I’m Doctor Mather, one of the ED physicians here. I’ll be taking care of you. I’d just like to say before we get started that I’m a big fan of your music. I wasn’t able to go to either of the shows this weekend, but I would have if I hadn’t been working.”