Page 571 - A Little Life: A Novel

his eyes, but he has to ask Willem: “He wouldn’t do that to me, would he,
Willem?”
“No,” says Willem, and his voice is strained. “Never, Jude. Harold would

never, ever do that to you, not for anything.”
When he wakes again, he realizes he doesn’t know what day it is, and
when Willem tells him it’s Monday, he panics. “Work,” he says, “I have to
go.”
“No fucking way,” Willem says, sharply. “I called them, Jude. You’re not
going anywhere, not until Andy figures out what’s going on.”
Harold and Julia arrive later, and he makes himself return Harold’s

embrace, although he cannot look at him. Over Harold’s shoulder, he sees
Willem, who nods at him reassuringly.
They are all together when Andy comes in. “Osteomyelitis,” he says to
him, quietly. “A bone infection.” He explains what will happen: he will
have to stay in the hospital for at least a week—“A week!” he exclaims, and
the four of them start shouting at him before he has a chance to protest

further—or possibly two, until they get the fever under control. The
antibiotics will be dispensed through a central line, but the remaining ten to
eleven weeks of treatment will be given to him on an outpatient basis.
Every day, a nurse will come administer the IV drip: the treatment will take
an hour, and he is not to miss a single one of these. When he tries, again, to
protest, Andy stops him. “Jude,” he says. “This is serious. I mean it. I don’t
fucking care about Rosen Pritchard. You want to keep your legs, you do this

and you follow my instructions, do you understand me?”
Around him, the others are silent. “Yes,” he says, at last.
A nurse comes to prep him so Andy can administer the central venous
catheter, which will be inserted into the subclavian vein, directly beneath
his right collarbone. “This is a tricky vein to access because it’s so deep,”
the nurse says, pulling down the neck of his gown and cleaning a square of

his skin. “But you’re lucky to have Dr. Contractor. He’s very good with
needles; he never misses.” He isn’t worried, but he knows Willem is, and he
holds Willem’s hand as Andy first pierces his skin with the cold metal
needle and then threads the coil of guide wire into him. “Don’t look,” he
tells Willem. “It’s okay.” And so Willem stares instead at his face, which he
tries to keep still and composed until Andy is finished and is taping the
catheter’s length of slender plastic tubing to his chest.