CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
With the rising of the sun on what promised to be a beautiful summer day in June in central Wisconsin, Ruby and Henry pulled into the hospital’s parking lot. It wasn’t easy leaving Connie the day before after hearing the great, great news that she had come out of her coma at long last, but Dr. von Hoerner, they felt, had spoken wisely. With a night of sleep behind them, although fitful with the anticipation of seeing the awakened Connie, they were ready to spend the entire day at her side.
At the doorway of Connie’s room, she looked exactly as she had looked for the last six months, eerily still and lifeless, although with a lot less gauze and bandages, plaster, and IV drips. Something was different, however, and the sunlight flowing into the room through the room’s only window masked the difference at first, but the mask didn’t hold up under scrutiny. Connie had more color to her. Gone was the pasty, white, translucence that had defined her being during the deep, deep sleep of the past six months.
Ruby and Henry slowly and quietly stepped farther into the room, wanting to be careful not to disturb Connie’s slumber. Their appearances had changed too. They were almost giddy from the massive amount of hope that was flowing through their being. Emanations of their love and their sudden vitality over Connie’s return filled the room and washed over Connie’s tiny, thin frame, a frame that had become diminutive. Even so, Connie definitely looked better, even though she didn’t stir. Ruby and Henry silently slid the two old chairs that they had been sitting in for months and months to Connie’s bedside once again, for nearly the two hundredth time. They could see, for the first time in such a long, long time, that Connie looked alive.
Two hours passed as they waited for Dr. von Hoerner’s expected appearance at eight that morning. In that period, one of the nurses silently stepped in, checked the equipment, the drips, and then signed the chart with what could only have been encouraging words and departed with a big smile. Like everyone on the floor, she had heard the news in every detail that was available.
The other visit was by a St. Agnes nun, Sister Mary LaVinia Philothea, who floated into the room shortly after that, nodded to Ruby and Henry, went to the foot of Connie’s bed, made the sign of the cross, bowed her head, and commenced with a silent prayer. This was part of her daily ritual and had been since Connie’s arrival in intensive care. Right after Sister Philothea signed off her prayer, Henry thought he saw her do a bit of a double-take when she noticed the empty space at Connie’s bedside, the space that had been perpetually occupied by Father Oliver, kneeling or not. It did seem funny that he wasn’t there, but he couldn’t be. At dawn, when Ruby and Henry had left for the hospital, Father Oliver had left for New York to return to his unfinished work there. He felt his work was finished in Chilton. Then, Sister Philothea left on the same current of air that had carried her in, and just as silently as when she had entered.
Ruby and Henry waited in silence. Henry looked at his watch, then he put his wrist in front of Ruby’s face so that she could see the time. It was eight o’clock, exactly. After Ruby looked at the face of his watch, she looked at Henry’s face, at which point, Dr. von Hoerner walked into the room and headed directly to Connie’s bedside, the one on the far side of the bed.
“Good morning, Ruby,” he said halfway into the room, and in stride, added, “Good morning, Henry. And,” he paused a beat, “good morning, Connie!” He went right to Connie and, as if on cue, Connie opened her eye and met Dr. von Hoerner’s eyes as he stood at her side. “Good to see you awake, Connie.” He let himself break out of his professional demeanor and smiled, putting the back of his hand tenderly to her cheek and then slowly withdrew it, still smiling.
Ruby and Henry were already to their feet and gathered themselves behind him as closely as possible, which put the threesome into Connie’s line of vision. Dr. von Hoerner took a step back to let them move in closer.
“Oh, Connie,” Ruby said, “Oh, my little girl—you’ve come back to us!” Ruby carefully cupped Connie’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead over and over again, dropping several tears onto Connie’s face before regaining her composure, which wasn’t at all easy to do, given the miraculous circumstances. Henry put his hands on top of Connie’s exposed hand on that side of the bedside, surprised suddenly by the warmth in her hand—warmth that he hadn’t felt in all those months.
Connie looked at both of them lovingly because that is all and everything she felt at the moment. She, too, shed a tear that quickly trickled to the base of her ear and then disappeared under the back edge of the bandage that covered her jaw.
Henry moved in to kiss her as well. She was his little girl too, in every way, although he wasn’t her biological father. His heart was bursting with joy that she was back, and his eyes filled with tears too. Henry moved closer to Connie, and just as he moved his lips to her forehead, his tear dropped onto her cheek, just below her eye and mingled with one of her own. Connie inhaled his fragrance, the fragrance of the cigars that he loved for so many years, a distinctive fragrance that was inseparable from Henry’s being.
For a fleeting moment, she felt she was at home and she was a little girl, but that moment quickly dissolved as Ruby and Henry stepped back, making way for Dr. von Hoerner’s return to the forefront of her vision. She looked at von Hoerner, and all of the heart-heavy questions she’d had in the still of the night rushed back. She couldn’t move her jaw yet, so she couldn’t talk. She couldn’t move anything yet, except her fingers and possibly her toes. She wasn’t sure about her toes. She looked to Dr. von Hoerner to lead the way with answers to her questions. Hopefully, he’d give them to her.
Dr. von Hoerner grasped Connie’s right hand in his right hand. His other hand was empty—he didn’t need the chart to remind him of her status or of what she had gone through. “Connie,” Dr. von Hoerner began, “I believe you can understand what we’ve been saying, but to make sure, please squeeze my hand if you can hear me and understand me.” He didn’t have to wait a second to feel Connie’s squeeze. This was a good sign. It made him think that her mental capacity was undiminished, and whatever fear he had about serious brain damage quickly disappeared. He continued, “I’m going to ask you several questions, and I want you to squeeze my hand once if the answer is yes and twice if your answer is no. Okay?”
Connie squeezed once.
“You were in a terrible car accident last December.” He spoke slowly, in an even tempo, careful in choosing his words. “That,” he continued after skipping a beat, “was six months ago. Today is June 15, 1947. It is a miracle that you survived.” This he said modestly, as Ruby and Henry knew how much he had put into saving Connie’s life and caring for her every minute of her ordeal. For his next question, he wanted to be careful because he didn’t know if Connie knew that Carl was dead, and he chose to probe her understanding before to decide what he could say or not say. “Do you remember the accident at all?”
Connie squeezed once.
At this point, Dr. Hoerner had to ask if she knew that Carl had been killed. Had she indicated “no” to the previous question, then he probably would have put that information in abeyance. If she remembered anything, as she had indicated that she did, then the stress—or the suspense—of not knowing for sure about his status, he felt, should be dealt with immediately. If she knew the truth—that Carl was dead—then the question would be moot. Von Hoerner moved forward, exercising an acute sensitivity in bedside manner, which had been carefully cultivated for over thirty years. “Do you know about Carl?”
Connie squeezed once. A tear ran down her cheek.
“I’m sorry, Connie,” he said, “deeply sorry.” At this point Ruby went to the other side of the bed and gingerly held Connie’s left hand. Henry remained behind and to the right of Dr. von Hoerner, still in Connie’s line of sight. Connie could see Ruby when she glanced to her left, which she had already done a couple of times. There would be more emotional pain, and it would be extensive momentarily, he was sure of that. “Connie,” he s
aid lowering his voice, “did you know you were pregnant at the time of the accident?”
Connie squeezed once. Another tear and another after that in quick succession ran down her cheek. She closed her eye, trying to prepare herself for what she now expected the doctor to tell her. She knew the truth—it had come to her in the dark—but she needed to hear it from him to give it wings.
“You lost the baby, but I’m guessing you know that, don’t you?”
Connie squeezed once. Her eye remained closed, but that didn’t stop another tear from running down her cheek.
Dr. von Hoerner looked at Ruby and saw the tears running down her face as well. “I’m so sorry. This is so difficult… but it is necessary to get on with the healing.” Connie’s eye remained closed.
“Are you with me, Connie?” von Hoerner asked.
Connie squeezed once, but not right away.
“It is my duty, however it saddens me, to tell you now about the extent of your injuries, at least with regard to your condition at the moment. Over these past six months, you have been a very good healer and made it through many of your injuries, especially internal ones, although miraculously, with a strong prognosis for no permanent damage to your vital organs, and you’ve made it through many surgeries. It appears you’ve gotten through this period without debilitating head injuries, even though the trauma to your head was enormous. Part of the head trauma, included the loss of your left eye.…” He paused for everyone’s benefit, as this list, which had only just begun, was already taking a toll on everyone’s emotions. “I’ve already talked to specialists who can help you. They are confident that you’ll be able to get a good prosthesis, and the orbital damage can be repaired with some success. It has already healed quite a bit. Are you with me, Connie?”
Connie squeezed once. She didn’t know that she had lost an eye. This was news, and it explained the hollowness that she had been feeling on the left side of her face. Before she could dwell on it, Dr. von Hoerner was speaking again.
“You’ve been on a feeding tube for the past six months. This has caused considerable weight loss and atrophy of your muscles, but you will likely return to your normal weight once you are out and about. It will be another month or so before you will be able to eat any solid foods. Your jaw was traumatized with numerous breaks, and considerable dental work is ahead of you. Even so, as I said, you’ve been a great healer. A lot of progress has been made in this area.” He paused again and then said, “Are you with me, Connie?”
Connie squeezed once. She opened her eye and looked at von Hoerner. He took this as a good sign, that she had the inner strength for him to continue.
“While you lie here with a cast supporting your pelvic region and both of your legs, the stability of your left leg, in particular, is still in doubt. It was severely damaged—almost severed—but re-attachment seems to have worked, at least for the time being. We can’t be sure at this point, but it appears that you have severe bilateral leg peripheral nerve injury and, for the present time, there’s a likelihood that you won’t be able to walk.” On this note, von Hoerner glanced at Henry. “There are certain therapies we had to put off while you were in a coma. Now that you’re conscious, we can look into these possibilities. However, I think you should know that recovery is… well, frankly… the prognosis isn’t good. You will leave this hospital in a wheelchair… and… may be confined to one the rest of your life, but we can’t be sure of that yet.” Von Hoerner sighed and ran his fingers over his eyes as if they were tired, but he was actually wiping away the moisture of budding tears caused by this news. This prognosis was tough to deliver, and he had to sublimate his memories of the young Connie Ortlieb, Chilton’s golden girl, who could outrun the boys at any distance and climb higher in trees than anyone else. “Are you with me, Connie?”
He waited for the squeeze. None. Connie was looking at Ruby with a look of a lost little girl who wondered if she’d ever find her way home. Dr. von Hoerner thought he saw a little terror mixed in with that look, as well. He couldn’t be sure, as he waited for Connie to respond. Several moments passed before he repeated himself, “Connie, are you with me?”
Connie squeezed once and looked upward to the ceiling, with a gaze that was meant for infinite space. She hoped she wouldn’t hear any more from Dr. von Hoerner, but there was more to come; she could tell. What other news could he possibly deliver that could make her feel any worse than she already felt? The weight of despair had returned. And it was growing, and it was already bigger than a truck.
“Your pelvic area and legs went through a lot. The femur along with the tibia and fibula—you know, the big upper and lower bones in both legs—were broken in half. Both of them have a total of ten to twelve pins in them to support the bone structure but, as I said, it appears the bones have done quite a bit of healing in the past several months. That’s actually the good news. The same with your pelvis—the damage to it will also present some complications in your rehabilitative efforts to walk again, but the fractures appear to have healed as well, although the decrease in mineralization—you know, calcium in particular—from being sedentary for so long has been extensive. Your bone mass has diminished considerably.”
He continued after a deep, slow breath.
“The damage was extensive and, we think, may include considerable nerve damage below the pelvic region. Let me say something about that nerve damage,” he continued, “We don’t know if the nerves were transected or not, you know, destroyed or not. If they were severed, you might not be able to walk again. If the nerves are merely injured—for example, crushed—you could be okay someday. Time is the determinant here, and subsequent physical therapy will be vital to your recovery.”
He paused here, not wanting to deliver this final prognosis, although it was the last point he would make regarding her condition. He continued, “Unless there is considerable improvement in all of these areas, it’s not very likely that you will ever walk again, and it could mean that you could never have children. Having children, frankly, might put your life in jeopardy.” Ruby gasped, having heard this news for the first time. Connie closed her eye—it almost snapped shut, sending a sudden gush of tears down her cheek. “Connie, are you with me?”
There was no response. He waited for what seemed forever, but it couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds. “Connie?” he repeated, and then he felt her squeeze.
Connie squeezed his hand with a surge of strength. This time, she squeezed twice, and kept on squeezing Dr. von Hoerner’s hand. It was her way of screaming no! The possibility that she might not be able to have children was something that had never occurred to her. It was this possibility that upset her the most and the one she felt would be the most difficult to live with.
Dr. von Hoerner had covered what he needed to cover. Clearly, the news was very difficult to take, but he had to deliver it, professionally and personally. He needed to tell Connie these things so that she could begin the healing process. Connie’s eye remained closed. He squeezed her hand, let go, and told her that he would leave her now with Ruby and Henry. He looked at them and said, “Stay with her as long as you’d like, of course.” After making a notation on the chart to increase the level of Connie’s sedatives, he walked out of the room. He figured Connie needed a lot more sleep to get her through the anguish. He’d let the nurse know at the front desk when he walked by, thinking, the sooner the better for Connie.
Ruby and Henry stayed the entire day, even though Connie slept through it, as the sedatives took effect. At six o’clock that evening, they went home. As difficult as it had been to listen to von Hoerner’s report, they knew it had been necessary. They would all have to pull together if Connie was ever to return to a life that looked anything like normal.
We human beings wouldn’t have gotten this far in our development on this amazing and, sometimes, hostile planet had it not been for an undeniably powerful drive to procreate. The strength of that drive in human beings is the essence of the lif
e force. Those humans who wanted to have children more than anything else are the very ones who have kept our species tumbling forward on the evolutionary trail through every catastrophic event Man and Mother Nature could throw at us. Not every human being has the urge to merge—that unquenchable desire for children—but I can think of one person in particular who did: my mother.
∞
A Love Story with a Little Heartbreak Page 31