“You haven’t had sexual relations recently, or used something…”
Lisa laughed. “If only I had, and don’t think I haven’t been tempted, but the answer is no.”
“I had to ask.”
“And so you did.”
Harvey’s queries about Lisa’s sex life set her mind back to Mike. Beyond its pure erotic pleasure, sex shattered the final barriers to the emotional intimacy that she and Mike craved. In the moments after sex, in the warmth of each other’s arms, they had no secrets. With Mike’s uncertain future, she grew despondent.
Will I ever have those feelings again? She thought.
“I’m going to put you in observation until we get the results of your tests. If everything’s okay, and if the bleeding eases off, I’m sending you home.”
As Harvey opened the door to leave, Lisa heard Sandy’s high-pitched voice. “Let me in. She’s my daughter. I have a right to see her.”
“Oh, let her in,” Lisa sighed.
Sandy’s hair was a mess, yet her face was stony. “Are you okay, darling?”
“I’m fine. They’re doing a few tests, and if they’re okay, I’m going home.”
“Are you sure it’s safe to come home? You lost a lot of blood—so much blood. I’m not sure that you should come home. Maybe they can keep you in the hospital for a day or so.”
“She’ll be fine, Mrs. Cooke,” Phoebe said. “They won’t send her home unless it’s safe.”
Sandy stared at Phoebe, and then in a dismissive tone, said, “I want to speak with the doctor.”
Lisa’s mind now focused on, of all things, her mother. “Keep out of my business, Mother. I know what I’m doing.”
Sandy’s icy determination melted into tears as she turned and left the room.
Phoebe stared at her friend. “That was rough on your mother.”
“You don’t know the half of…”
Four hours later, Harvey poked his head through the curtains. “I must sound like a broken record. Your blood tests are fine. The ultrasound shows a healthy, growing baby with strong heart tones. The bleeding has lessened, so you’re out of here. Call me if there are any more problems, and call me, anyway, in the morning.”
Lisa sat up on the gurney, reached over, and kissed his cheek. Harvey blushed.
“Thanks for everything, Harvey. You’re the best.”
Before leaving for home, Phoebe pushed Lisa’s wheelchair up to the ICU. They sat next to Mike’s bed, while Lisa whispered to him.
On the drive home, Sandy said nothing as she gazed out the window.
Lisa broke the silence, “I’m sorry, Mom, for what I said in the ER.”
“You should be. That’s no way to talk to someone who’s trying to help.”
“I’d rather not get into it now, Mother. Just accept my apology.”
“Get into what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Let it go, Mother. I’ve had enough aggravation for one day.”
Sandy blew her nose. “We’ve been so close, and now you won’t talk with me.”
“Been close? Mother, you and I have never been close, and it’s too late, now.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“You want to help me, now, but where were you when Daddy beat the crap out of me? Where were you then?”
“Rudy, God rest his soul, worked hard to give us a decent home. I know he had problems—everyone has problems—but he loved you, sweetheart.”
Lisa looked at Sandy in disbelief, and, although she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t get angry, it was too late. “Don’t you dare to use the word ‘love’ when speaking of Rudy, my sweet father. He spent his life as a wife beater and child abuser. What’s the matter with you? Have you forgotten?”
“He had his bad moments, but he took care of us. It really wasn’t that bad. I think you’re exaggerating.”
Lisa pulled to the curb on Pleasant Valley Road, and turned to Sandy, all anger gone. Lisa saw in Sandy what she’d seen in interviews of abused women who lived their lives in cycles of violence and denial, blaming themselves for their abuse, and deluding themselves that “this time, he’s really changed”.
Looking at Sandy only made her feel sad.
Lisa knew that nothing could shake Sandy’s willful disbelief. “I love you, Mother. Life hasn’t been easy for either of us, so let’s try to put the past behind us.”
Sandy wiped the tears from her eyes. “If only your father was alive to see you, now.”
Fucking unbelievable, resounded through Lisa’s mind.
Chapter Forty (Weeks 12 to 19)
The slow motion dream plays before my eyes as a bright yellow Hummer, with its left turn signal flashing approached. The driver’s face was flaccid and his eyes dead. He’s looking, but not seeing. The SUV on steroids moves on its mindless and immutable path toward me.
No—No! Not tonight. Not on our anniversary. I reach over and grasp Lisa’s gift-wrapped present and bring it to my chest. I feel the jolt. The shiny crash bar of the Hummer rushes toward me, and then…
A blackness unlike anything I’ve known before, a warm shadow of serenity surrounds me. It’s like the few moments before awakening from a pleasant dream, yet when I try to wake myself, I can’t.
Where am I?
How am I?
Am I dead?
I remember the seconds before the crash, but nothing more; no walking toward a bright light, no greetings by long-gone relatives, no looking down at my own dead body, no angels, and no God.
I can’t be dead. To be dead is to be nothing, yet here I am in some new state of being. I knew death was the end, and people who lived for a life beyond the grave were as delusional as martyrs expecting paradise and 72 virgins.
Yet, I’m self-aware.
I’m here.
Where?
Someone once defined life as the consciousness of existence. Now, I understand.
I never thought of myself as particularly courageous. I’m convinced that most bravery has its roots in the lack of imagination, and a willful disbelief in one’s mortality, yet I’m not afraid.
Due to Phoebe’s coercive efforts and the staff’s affection for Mike and Lisa, they bent the rules on visitation. At the six-week mark, they moved Mike into one of the private ICU rooms in the northwest corner of the unit.
Lisa stared at the bright early afternoon sun as it radiated across San Francisco Bay area.
People are out shopping, going on picnics, traveling to see friends and family, she thought. Just an ordinary Sunday for them.
Lisa held Mike’s hand, while Nora and Mike’s sisters sat around the room talking in hushed tones.
“You guys have been great,” Lisa said. “I know it hasn’t been easy to get over here. Mike and I really appreciate all your efforts.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nora said. “It’s Michael. We love him, and there’s nothing we wouldn’t do to get him through this.”
“You’re with him every day, Lisa,” Lilly said. “Have you seen any changes?”
“Not really. Sometimes, when I talk with him, or read to him, I have the sense that something’s getting through—wishful thinking, I’m afraid.”
“What about his tests?” Sally asked.
Lisa rose, and gestured for them to follow. In the small anteroom, with the door closed to Mike, Lisa said, “I don’t like to talk about him in his presence.”
“He can’t hear us, can he?” Emma asked.
“I don’t think so, but there’s no reason to take that chance,” Lisa said. “Dr. Byrnes works full-time in ICU, and it’s surprised him more than once, when comatose patients recalled the details of a bedside conversation. Imagine how destructive that could be.”
“It’s been nearly two months,” Emma said. “How long can this go on?”
“It’ll go on as long as it takes,” Lilly said. “We can’t give up.”
“Each time I see Michael lying there like this,” Nora said,
“I flash back to Aaron’s coma, and his death.”
“You didn’t waste any time pulling the plug on Daddy,” Sally said. “We’re not going to let that happen with Mike.”
While Sally stared her challenge at her mother, the room remained silent.
“How dare you.” Nora shouted. “How dare you. After all these years, you question my judgment?”
“Mother…” Sally tried.
“Aaron was dead at the time we made that decision. By every neurological parameter he was brain dead. His brain waves proved it, and all the doctors agreed. What more do you want from me?” Nora placed her hands over her face, and sobbed.
“We were young, Mother,” Lilly said, “and we’ve never really talked about it all these years.”
“I’m trying to be sympathetic,” Lisa said, shaking in anger, “but this is Mike, not Aaron. “Mike’s alive, and his brain waves are that of a normal awake person, not a brain-dead one. I resent the comparison. I won’t have it! Do you understand?”
The women stared at Lisa in dismay, and then Lilly walked up and embraced her. Lisa stiffened, then yielded to Lilly’s arms, and cried.
Nora and her daughters stood in the parking garage by their cars after their visit.
“Think of what Lisa’s going through,” Lilly said. “Mike, and her pregnancy, a troubled one, at that. It’s a lot for anyone.”
“We can’t change reality,” Nora said, “regardless of how we try. At some point in time, Lisa, with our help, may need to make decisions that today seem incomprehensible. We need to be ready.”
As Lisa entered her third month, she feasted on the fast-food facts of fertility. Of the many things that trouble women during pregnancy, one is the concern about maternal instinct. Do I have it? Will I get it? What if I don’t? For Lisa, this was a given. She’d played with her extensive doll collection as a child, had loved babysitting, and had volunteered at several child care centers when she was a teenager. She loved contact with children and had known that she wanted to be a mother.
“Not another baby book,” Phoebe said as they sipped cappuccino by the window of the local Barnes and Noble bookstore. They’d drawn the shades against the bright afternoon sun.
“One can never know enough,” Lisa said, smiling.
“You read several dozen, already. All that contradictory information must confuse you.”
“I pick and choose. I get a little from each. Maybe afterward, I’ll write my own book. Don’t tell me you didn’t read anything before you had Max.”
“I read some articles in Pregnancy Magazine and American Baby, but beyond the basics, like eating well and exercising during pregnancy, as well as how to keep Max alive, I couldn’t keep it all straight. I can’t use a checklist of what I should and shouldn’t do, so I do what feels right to me. Like Jason, Max is stuck with me for better or worse.”
“Both your guys are lucky.”
“Since what I learn may influence my baby,” Phoebe said, “I also read Popular Mechanics. With Jason’s and my mechanical skills, we’re going to need someone who can handle a screwdriver.”
Phoebe grasped Lisa’s hands. “How are you feeling? What week is this?”
“I’m about twelve or thirteen weeks, and I feel great.” Lisa hesitated. “I’m so happy about our baby, but I can’t avoid the loneliness. If it wasn’t for you, Phoebe, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“This is one of the times that I wish I could find some pithy aphorism to make it all better.”
“You can skip the pith,” Lisa said. “As a matter of fact, I have to take a pith right now.”
Phoebe laughed. “Well, at least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“Seriously,” Lisa said, “it’s enough that you’re here with me.”
“We don’t talk about the ‘what if’ question,” Phoebe said. “It's as if discussing the future, might influence it.”
“I can’t think about losing Mike—it’s too painful.”
“You’re young and full of life, and, now, there’s going to be a baby. That’s pretty good, I think.”
They stood to leave. Lisa hugged Phoebe. “Why don’t you bring the guys over tomorrow night. I’m cooking up some Lasagna.”
“You’re on. I love any excuse to not cook.”
“You’re so domestic, Phoebe. I can’t stand it.”
“Bruce Bryant’s secretary called,” Harvey Russo’s receptionist said. “He’d like to meet with you this afternoon at five-thirty.”
“Tell him that it’s okay.” It was the Edna-Sue Jones case, he knew.
Harvey called Jackie Barnes. “Brier’s CEO, and probably the hospital attorney, wants to meet with me this afternoon. What do you think?”
“It’s early for the rats to be deserting the ship, but I’m sure that’s what’s happening. I’ll be there. Where and when?”
“The administration offices at five-thirty. They didn’t invite you, Jackie.”
“Good. Then we’ll pleasantly surprise them.”
They walked the three blocks to Brier. The sun was setting, and the west wind carried the salty smell of the bay a few miles away.
They crossed the street to Brier Mansion. The cobblestone driveway was lined with ancient Redwoods, many five or six feet thick. They entered the ivy-covered building through the ornate portico, and arrived in the administration’s reception area at exactly five-thirty p.m. After a fifteen-minute wait, Bruce Bryant showed up, and escorted them into his office.
As they settled in front of Bruce’s desk, Alan David, the hospital attorney, entered. Bruce made the introductions.
“I didn’t know Ms. Barnes would be joining us, today,” Al David said.
“I’m sorry,” Harvey said, “I thought this meeting concerned the Jones litigation.”
Bruce looked at Al, and then continued, “As a matter of fact, it does. Our insurance carrier suggested we put this whole thing to rest. It won’t take too many bucks to do so.”
“Are we looking at the same lawsuit?” Jackie asked. “Those claims for the support of this child add up to lots of money. Besides which, Dr. Russo will not settle this case under any circumstances.”
“Jurors are going to love this case,” Al said. They’ll relish the opportunity to stick it to a group of rich doctors and fat cat Brier Hospital. Think of it: a poor girl comes to the famous Brier Hospital, nearly dies, loses her uterus, and winds up with a damaged baby.”
“Just a minute,” Harvey began. “We didn’t…”
“I know, Harvey,” Bruce said. “This woman was as irresponsible as a pregnant woman could be. She’s at fault, but will a jury refuse to help her and her sick baby boy?”
“We don’t like the odds,” Al David said. “Settling is the smart thing to do.”
Jackie stood. “I think it’s time to go, Harvey.”
Harvey looked at her, confused.
“Wait a minute,” Al David said. “What’s going on here?”
“You guys have been poorly advised. You may think you know Dr. Russo, but I guarantee that you don’t know me. I’m advising my client that we may have a conflict of interest—notice that I use the word, ‘may’—with Brier Hospital. I don’t think you want Dr. Russo to point the finger at Brier, but he certainly doesn’t want Brier dumping their liability on his shoulders.”
Bruce turned ashen. “We have no such intention. We want what’s best for the doctors and the hospital.”
“Thank you, Gentlemen,” Jackie said as Harvey opened the door for her. “You guys talk about it. We’ll be in touch.”
Outside, back in the sun, Harvey said, “You’re too much, Jackie.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. It’s people like those two who keep trial lawyers in business. They think only in the short term, and throw open the coffers every time a patient sneezes. It makes me sick.”
Chapter Forty-One (Weeks 12-19)
I awake in darkness, feeling relaxed and at peace. I try to stretch my arms and legs, but nothi
ng happens.
This reminds me of my isolation tank adventure. I remembered entering the tank after fighting my feeling of clautrophobia. It looked like an enormous iron lung, and sat in the middle of a dimly lit room. It took me several minutes to feel confident as I floated in the warm fluid. With the door closed, only the barest trace of light outlined the opening. Soon my perceptions were limited to the sensations emanating from my own body, my heartbeat, the groans and squeaks of my intestines, the movement of air through my nose and upper airway, and I swore I could hear my eyelids open and close. My breathing was so loud that it reminded me of ‘HAL’, the computer in Kubrick’s movie, 2001. I drifted into my mind, a trance-like state, unsure if I was awake or asleep.
That’s how I feel now.
It’s then that I notice that I’m not breathing. I have no sense of inhaling or exhaling.
Under normal circumstances, these peculiar observations would make me uneasy. Instead, there’s an emotional disconnect, as if I was watching someone else, or a potent tranquilizer was muting my reactions. I feel curious without a hint of anxiety.
I can’t be dead. This must be a dream.
Lisa sat at the breakfast table reading the San Francisco Chronicle as the bright morning sun streaked through her window. She felt at ease as she sipped her steamy morning mug of Starbuck’s Columbia Supremo. She’d channel-surfed this morning, deliberately avoiding the dreadful morning news programs, especially the local reports that specialized in murder and mayhem. She settled on the local PBS affiliate, having their umpteenth pledge drive, and playing parts of the Bee Gee’s Live Concert. She’d seen it many times before, but the music brought back vivid memories of times past.
As she leaned back to relieve the discomfort in her lower back, she felt something. She knew she was hungry by her gurgling stomach, but this was something else. Suddenly, there it was again. He’d moved. She placed both hands on her still-flat abdomen, and then there it was again. Something moving or twisting inside her. He’s moving, she thought. For no reason other than that it felt right, she referred to her baby as ‘him’.
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