Trapped

by Lawrence Gold

  Lisa saw Harvey’s hand jerk back slightly. “I don’t think he likes being examined. He kicked me.”

  “Do you want to know?”

  “Know what?”

  “If it’s a boy or a girl.”

  “I already know. It’s a boy, he’s Mike’s son.”

  “I don’t know how you knew,” Harvey said, “but he’s well-endowed enough that it’s unequivocal. It’s a boy.”

  “Well,” Phoebe said, “we do have something else to celebrate.”

  “There’s little relationship between what’s between his legs now, and his ultimate endowment,” Harvey said. “Sorry.”

  “Well, that’s a damned shame,” Phoebe said.

  As Lisa grabbed her purse, she turned back to Harvey. “I haven’t heard from Roberta. I hope she’s okay.”

  “She’s not. She really enjoyed talking with you, and I suspect she respects and loves you, but her journey and lonely, and, I’m afraid that there’s little we can do.”

  “Give her my regards. Tell her to forgive me, but I love and worry about her.”

  After they left Harvey’s office, Phoebe said, “Let’s stop by Andronico’s. I need a few things.”

  “I love that place. They have the greatest food. I wish we had one in my area.”

  They drove down sunny Telegraph Avenue, and waited at the small lot until they found a parking space.

  Phoebe pushed her cart through the aisles, loading it with fresh produce, groceries, freshly baked breads, and several bottles of wine. Lisa carried a small plastic basket for the few items she’d chosen.

  As they approached the checkout register, Lisa suddenly felt pressure in her lower abdomen. She tried to ignore it, and then she felt herself begin to bleed. The pressure, now a pain, increased in intensity.

  “Phoebe, it’s happening again,” Lisa cried as she sank to the floor.

  Lisa couldn’t remember the two-mile ambulance ride to Brier Emergency. When she fully regained consciousness, Phoebe was standing by her side talking with Harvey.

  “What happened?” Lisa asked.

  “I’ll know in a minute,” Harvey said as he pushed the ultrasound machine to the side of her bed.

  Lisa grabbed Phoebe’s hand, and said, “I’m so frightened. This can’t be happening, not again. God—please—I can’t lose this baby.”

  Phoebe’s forced smile upset Lisa, as she said, “You’ll be fine, sweetie. You lost some blood, but the bleeding stopped.”

  “Something’s tight in there,” Lisa said as she placed her hands on her abdomen.

  Harvey ran the transducer over her belly, and said, “There it is. It looks like bleeding between the uterus and the placenta. We call that a subchorionic bleed. It seems to have localized.”

  “I’m so tired of this, Harvey. What next?”

  “I’m keeping you overnight for observation,” Harvey said.

  “Great,” Lisa said. She turned to Phoebe. “You’ll have to take Daisy for a day or so. Her food is in the pantry, and don’t forget to take her dog dishes with her.”

  “Don’t worry. We love Daisy, too.”

  Lisa turned back to Harvey. “What’s going to happen?”

  “My best guess is that the bleeding stopped on its own, and is now in the form of a clot. Over time, the clot will dissolve. The risk to the pregnancy is more bleeding, which could damage the placenta and put the baby at risk. You’ll need to be in bed for at least a week.”

  “A week?”

  “At least.”

  “I can’t be away from Mike all that time—I can’t.”

  “I’m right there in ICU, sweetie,” Phoebe said. “Nothing gets past me.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Lisa said, squeezing Phoebe’s hand.

  “We can get the visiting nurse in to help you until I get off work.”

  “No, that’s too much. I’ll call Sandy to help out.”

  Harvey repeated the ultrasound the next morning. “I see the clot. It’s the same size, and your blood count hasn’t changed. I’m sending you home, but I need you in bed for the next six days, and then I’ll do the unthinkable—make a house call.”

  “I hate staying in bed. I’m in such good shape, and I’d hate to let it all go. Can I do any exercise?”

  “Anything you can do on your back is okay, but don’t overdo it. Are you going to have help?”

  “My mother’s coming down from Grass Valley, but I’m not sure what it will do to my mental health.”

  “I’m not worried about your mental health. See you in a week.”

  Phoebe picked Sandy up at the bus station, and drove her to the house.

  Sandy hugged Lisa, and said, “You’re going to listen to your mother this time, Lisa. I’m not fooling around.”

  “I need to stay in bed, Mother. I’m not dying.”

  Lisa tried to sleep, but failed.

  Staying in bed, she thought, is killing me.

  Lisa played her HHH visualization tapes, did her deep relaxation breathing exercises, and listened to music.

  “I’m trying to read, Mother. Can you keep the TV volume down?”

  “I only watch four programs a day, darling. I can’t miss what’s happening, but I’ll turn it down.”

  “What programs?” asked Lisa.

  “You know my programs: As the World Turns, One Life to Live… you know, daytime dramas.”

  “You mean the soap operas.”

  “Whatever. How do I get them?”

  Lisa pointer the TV remote, and pulled up the guide as Sandy pointed to program after program. “Are you sure that’s enough?”

  “Don’t be so smart, Lisa. I love them.”

  When not absorbed by the tortured melodramas, Sandy kept up a stream-of-consciousness monologue. At first, Lisa thought it was a conversation, but then she discovered that her contributions didn’t alter Sandy’s monologue one iota.

  Maybe she’s lived alone for too long? Maybe she has someone to talk with, or at, for a change?

  Sandy prattled on about who did what to whom in each of the daytime dramas. She shared with Lisa her grave concern about celebrity marriages, divorces, who’s sleeping with whom, and who entered or recently failed at their drug rehabilitation program.

  I’ll lose my mind if I hear too much more of this, Lisa thought. How many more days until I see Harvey and he grants my parole?

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Phoebe drove over the wet Berkeley Hills streets through the morning ground fog to Brier Hospital.

  “Maybe it’s not such a good idea for you to be taking care of Mike so much,” Beth Byrnes, the head nurse of the ICU, said, as Phoebe pulled off her coat in the nurse’s lounge.

  “You don’t want to have that conversation with me, Beth. I promised Lisa. If you see the slightest sign that my relationship with Mike or Lisa affects my work, I’ll bow out—maybe not gracefully, but bow out, I will.”

  After receiving report from the night nurse, Phoebe moved to Mike’s bedside. Each time she looked at his inert body, she struggled with the image of what he was then, and what he is now.

  If it’s this tough for me, thought Phoebe, imagine how it must be for Lisa.

  She performed her assessment, which revealed a questionably enlarged abdomen and a small amount of mucous diarrhea. As Phoebe did each time she came on duty, she shook Mike, and, in a loud voice, said, “Wake up, Mike. Wake up. It’s Phoebe. Wake up.”

  She exposed his chest and examined the two round red areas, the first degree burns, from the shock of the defibrillator paddles. She picked a clear area, placed the knuckles of her hand against his chest, and ground them, trying to use pain to arouse him. Nothing. Phoebe pulled the tape off Mike’s lids, and then shined her penlight into his eyes to check his pupils. They constricted normally. She instilled artificial tears, and replaced the tape.

  What’s that? Thought Mike, awakening.

  I feel that ripping sensation on my eyelids, and then blurry light—red, I think.r />
  My chest still aches from whatever happened before. When? Why? Where?—I don’t have the slightest. A distant voice is shouting something—what is it?

  I try again to move something, but nothing happens.

  What is this?

  What’s wrong with me?

  Things are happening around me—I know it—I’m alive, but never so alone.

  At noon, Phoebe pulled off Mike’s sheet, and gasped. The abdominal swelling had markedly increased to the size of a near-term pregnancy, and Mike’s temperature had increased to 101.6 degrees. His pulse raced at 140/minute, but his blood pressure was stable.

  “Page Dr. Byrnes, stat,” Phoebe said to the ward clerk. “I need him to see Dr. Cooper right away.”

  Phoebe took the phone from the clerk. It was Jack. “I’m in a meeting, Phoebe. What’s up?”

  She repeated her findings and concerns, and he rattled off a series of blood tests. “Call radiology and have them do abdominal films, stat. I’ll take a look at them, and be up in about twenty minutes.”

  After his meeting, Jack Byrnes went to the x-ray department and studied the digital images. He entered the radiology reading room, and switched the screen to Mike’s images for Bernie Meyers, Brier’s best radiologist.

  Bernie magnified the image. “You’ve got big problems, buddy. What’s the story?”

  “It’s Mike Cooper. He’s been in ICU for months with one problem after the next. He hasn’t come out of coma, yet, and now this.”

  Bernie use the image measuring tool and and placed it across a large dilated segment of what could only be Mike’s transverse colon, the part of the large intestine that crosses in the upper abdomen.

  “It’s fifteen centimeters, Jack. Greater than six is enough for the diagnosis.”

  “Shit,” Jack said.

  “An appropriate expletive.” He pointed to several other features, including the presence within the colon of soft tissue masses. “It all fits with antibiotic-induced inflammation of the colon that’s progressing to toxic megacolon. It’s going to rupture if you don’t do something, and soon.”

  Jack rushed back to the ICU. He quickly examined Mike, put his stomach tube on suction, and ordered intravenous antibiotics specifically to control this toxic bacterial overgrowth in his colon.

  He called surgery. “Tell Julie Kramer that I need her in ICU as soon as she finishes her procedure.”

  Jack signaled for Phoebe to join him at the nursing station.

  “It’s toxic megacolon. It’s caused by infection in his colon, which we commonly see after antibiotics. Usually, it’s simple to treat, but this extreme form is dangerous.”

  Phoebe paled. “I must talk with Lisa. She’s at home on bed rest due to bleeding. I don’t know how much more of this she can take.”

  “I’ll see her,” Jack said.

  “Let me do it. She’s going to freak, and it’s better if the bad news comes from me.”

  When Sandy answered the door, it surprised her to see Phoebe. “Oh, Phoebe, we didn’t expect you.”

  “I must talk with Lisa. It’s important.”

  “What is it?” When Phoebe didn’t answer, Sandy said, “She’s in bed. Go in.”

  When Phoebe entered the room, Lisa bolted upright. “What’s wrong? Why are you here? Mike—is he okay?”

  “I want you to stay calm. Mike’s having some problems, but it won’t do anyone any good if you compromise your own health.”

  “Phoebe!”

  Phoebe paraphrased everything that Jack had told her about toxic megacolon, while Lisa listened in silence.

  When she finished, Lisa said, “I’m going in to be with Mike. Don’t try to stop me.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Phoebe said. “Use your head. There’s nothing you can do for him that we can’t deal with over the phone.”

  “‘Over the phone.’ Don’t be ridiculous, Phoebe. I need to be with him. He needs me—I can’t leave him alone this way—I won’t do it.”

  “Lisa…”

  “Don’t ‘Lisa’ me. I’m going, with or without your help. I want to be there when Julie comes.”

  Phoebe shook her head. “Let me help you get dressed. I’m putting you in the wheelchair, and there you’ll stay, or I’m taking you back home. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  When they arrived at Brier, Julie Kramer had completed her pre-op assessment. She bent over to kiss Lisa, and said, “I’m so sorry. You two deserve so much more than this.”

  “I don’t want your condolences. I just want Mike—I want him back. He’s got to live to see his baby.”

  Julie pulled up a chair, and sat by Lisa. She grasped her hands. “Here’s my plan; if we don’t see improvement within the next seventy-two hours, I’m operating. If he ruptures his colon, I’m going in.”

  “I know, but what does that mean?” Lisa asked.

  “If circumstances force me to operate, I’m going to remove Mike’s colon.”

  “His whole large intestine?”

  “All of it.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven (Week 26)

  Phoebe dragged Lisa away from Mike’s bedside at ten p.m.

  Lisa slept poorly, and called the ICU several times. Although the cramps had tapered off, she continued to bleed, saturating three pads before morning.

  Just as Sandy brought in her large mug of coffee, the phone rang.

  “How was your night, Lisa?” Harvey asked.

  “I’m still bleeding, but no cramps.”

  “What’s happening with Mike?”

  “God, Harvey, it’s awful, just awful. He’s so sick. On top of everything, he developed toxic megacolon.”

  “He’s a tough guy. If anyone can make it, it’ll be Mike.”

  “I’ve got to be with him—I know this isn’t what you want, but Harvey…”

  “Let’s use some common sense, at least. The bleeding doesn’t surprise me, and it’s good that the cramping is gone. If everything stays the same, let me see you in two days. I’ll tell my staff to get you in, and we’ll repeat the ultrasound.”

  “What going to happen?” she whispered, turning away from Sandy.

  “I don’t know, Lisa, but the odds are still in your favor. Some pregnancies continue threatening until the baby’s old enough to deliver or you go into labor.”

  “I don’t think I could spend the next few months in bed, Harvey. I must deal with Mike’s situation, and I know confinement will kill me, or I’d wind up murdering my mother. Can I take my baby to jail with me?”

  “Well, at least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

  “Oh, you think I’m kidding,” she said in a monotone.

  Harvey laughed, “See you Wednesday—and please be sure to bring your mother with you so I know she’s still alive.” Harvey paused, and then said, “I’m going to drop by to see Mike. If nothing else, I can provide moral support.”

  As Lisa set the phone down, it rang again.

  “It’s Lilly. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m still bleeding, but no cramps. Dr. Russo says that’s a good sign.”

  “Is there anything I can do? I can only imagine how difficult this is for you.”

  “I’m okay. Sandy’s here, and Phoebe—she’s a miracle.”

  “I’ll be over to see Mike tonight. Will you be there?”

  “I can’t. I’m confined to bed, but I’m planning a jailbreak.”

  “Don’t do anything…”

  “I won’t.”

  “I don’t like being in the middle, again, but Nora wants to know if it’s okay for her to visit Michael?”

  “That’s exactly the kind of crap I don’t need now. I have real problems, not the bullshit, daytime soap opera kind that Nora concocts. I’d never interfere with her, or anyone who cares about Mike, from visiting. What I can’t stand is her negativity, her pessimism, and, if you’ll excuse me, her moral superiority. It’s destructive, and I won’t tolerate it.”

  “Tell me what’s going on, then, s
o I can work with her. She’s not easy, you know.”

  “This problem with Mike’s colon is dangerous. The next two or three days are critical.” Lisa began crying, and then after a minute, she took a deep breath, and blew her nose. “He could need major surgery again. My God, that’s the last thing he needs. They might have to remove his colon. I don’t know how much more he can take.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Lisa…”

  “Please, Lilly, not you, too.”

  “We’re worried about his brain. How much damage is intact? Will he go on this way? We need some frame of reference to help us through this.”

  “I spend every day asking the same questions. Here’s what I know, something is keeping him in a coma, yet we can’t find anything to suggest permanent brain damage, or even a persistent vegetative state. If you superimpose the fact that Mike’s kind of brain injury, trauma, has the best prognosis for recovery, and that improvement can occur up to, and possibly beyond a year, we have reason to hope.”

  “I know you’re hopeful, Lisa, but are you being realistic?”

  “I’ve had my moments. I’m human, after all, and it’s difficult to resist being drawn into the shadow of sorrow.” She paused. “And other people’s negativity. You may think I’m crazy, but I believe that hope is a self-fulfilling prophesy. I embrace it, and reject anyone or anything that interferes.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Lisa’s mind was everywhere but on her driving. She jerked away at the last second to avoid a collision as a car pulled into her path when the lanes into the Caldecott Tunnel converged from four to two.

  What else can go wrong? She thought.

  When she arrived at Mike’s bedside, Phoebe was measuring his abdomen. “It’s forty-two inches,” she said, “slightly more swollen.”

  “Has Julie been in this morning?”