“No,” she smiled.
He smiled back at her. Mike enjoyed telling her his favorite jokes. “After a year, the dog is still glad to see you.”
Lisa had to admit that she had a special bond with Daisy, who sensed her moods, knew when she needed an emotional lift, and, yes, gave her unconditional love.
“Get your toy,” Lisa said, as she rolled out of bed and led Daisy to the sliding patio door, which admitted the intense streams of morning sunlight. Lisa slid open the door, and tossed a red rubber dog bone into the backyard.
While Daisy remained outside, Lisa performed a physical assessment on herself. She stretched, massaged her back, shoulders and neck, and then placed both hands on her belly, and said, “Good morning, sweetie. Mommy’s here. I love you.”
She felt the baby awaken and begin to move, gently twisting as if trying to find a comfortable position.
Could any position in the uterus be uncomfortable?
Lisa went to the bathroom and checked her pad; it was clean. A good start for the day.
She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and gargled with a cinnamon-flavored anti-cavity rinse, and then walked into the kitchen and pushed the button on the coffee maker.
“Oh, I would have made the coffee,” Sandy said as she staggered, bleary-eyed into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Mother.”
“Is everything…”
“So far, so good. No bleeding this morning.”
“What can I make you for breakfast?”
“Remember those buttermilk pancakes you used to make at home? I’d love that, with sausage.”
“Coming right up,” said Sandy smiling and setting to work.
Lisa picked up the phone, and then dialed directly into Brier ICU.
When Phoebe came to the phone, Lisa asked, “How’s he doing?”
“I sense that he’s more with it this morning. Lots of yes and no answers. He’s waiting for you to come in.”
Lisa felt her heart beating. “I’ll be right in after breakfast.”
Lisa heard Daisy scratching at the patio door, and started to get up.
“No, you rest. I’ll let the dog in.”
Sandy looked at Daisy through the heavy glass door. “Do you wipe her feet before you let her in? It’s dirty out there. We don’t want her bringing in germs.”
Germs?
“Please, Mother. Just let her in. Daisy’s no dirtier than the rest of us.”
Sandy sneered at that comment, gave a strong humph, and then opened the door.
Daisy forced her way in before the door was completely open, raced to Lisa’s side, and jumped into her lap.
“Easy, Daisy. Watch Mommy’s belly.”
As Lisa kissed Daisy’s snout, Sandy paled, and then turned away. “Boy, Daisy,” Lisa said, “you sure smell like an outside dog this morning.”
“How can you kiss that disgusting dog?”
“Please, Mother.”
Lisa grabbed the Contra Costa Times, placed Daisy in the seat next to her, and read.
Soon, the room filled with the aroma of pancakes and fried sausage.
When Sandy approached the table and saw Lisa and Daisy awaiting their breakfasts, she groaned. “You want me to serve the dog, and then eat at the same table with it?”
Lisa shook her head. “Let me give her a few bites, and then I’ll put her down. She’s just used to this. Mike loved having Daisy at the table, and so did I.”
“It’s bad enough that you sleep with that dirty beast, but this is too much.”
“Maybe it’s time for you to go back to Grass Valley, Mother.”
Harvey had just delivered the fourth baby of the night.
I’m getting too old for this.
I’m beat, he thought, as he headed for the Brier parking garage at seven-thirty a.m. One of his young partners had come in, so Harvey planned at trip home for breakfast and a shower.
As he entered the ‘Doctor’s Only’ section, he heard the sound of feet approaching from behind.
He turned in time to see a tattooed, black-jacketed, husky man turn into the space between his car and the one next to it, blocking any hope of escape.
“You Russo?” Growled the man as he approached, holding something behind his back.
“I’m Dr. Russo. What can I do for you?”
“Ain’t you done enough, you son-of-a-bitch?” The man muttered as he came closer.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now get out of my way before you get into trouble.”
“Me, in trouble,” he laughed, pulling an aluminum bat from behind his back. “That’s a laugh.”
“I still don’t know what this is all about. You’re making a mistake.”
“Some mistake. You know Edna-Sue—this is for her,” he shouted as he swung the bat.
Harvey stepped inside the arc of the swing, and delivered a solid kick into his attacker’s groin. As the man bent over to hold his genitals, Harvey delivered a blow to his neck. The man fell to the floor and remained still.
Harvey rolled him over, felt his pulse, and extended his neck to insure an adequate airway. He then pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911, and waited until the police arrived.
The man started to stir, as Berkeley’s finest arrived.
“You’d better take him to ER,” Harvey said, “before you lock him up.”
“We’ll need a statement from you, Doc.”
“I’ll be down to the station after I take a shower and have a bite.”
“And, Doc…”
“Yes?”
“Remind me to not get into a fight with you.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Phoebe was leaning across Mike’s bed talking to him when Lisa arrived in the ICU. When Phoebe noticed Lisa, she turned back to Mike. “Look who’s here.”
Lisa moved into Mike’s field of vision. His lids were open, and his eyes wandered up and down, and then they froze on Lisa.
My God—it’s Lisa! She’s a bit blurry, but it’s she.
I command my hand to move—nothing.
I’d give anything to feel her hand in mine.
She’s staring into my eyes. I think she’s trying to read my mind.
Lisa smiled as she stared into Mike’s eyes, and then moved her hand into his. “Is that what you wanted?”
She felt the warmth of her love for Mike as he blinked once for ‘yes’.
“Are you in any pain?”
No.
“You know that you’re in Brier ICU. You were hit by a car.”
Yes.
“The neurosurgeon says that your attention span may be limited at first, so give me a ‘no’ if I’m boring you, or you’re too tired.”
Yes.
“Yes, I’m boring you?” She smiled.
No.
Phoebe helped Lisa turn Mike so his eyes faced the side of the bed. Staring into his eyes, Lisa told him about the accident, his injuries, the surgeries and her undying hope. She tried to read something in his eyes, but could not.
“Do you want to hear more?”
Yes.
She reviewed the facts about the toxic megacolon and the possibility of surgery to remove his colon.
No—No—No!
Julie Kramer says it may be necessary to save your life.
No—No—No!
Lisa took a deep breath, and then asked, “You’ve heard of the locked-in syndrome?”
Yes.
“That’s what you have, and nobody’s sure about what to do, or how long it will last.”
I can’t spend the rest of my life this way. I’m frozen like the display of a prehistoric man in the Museum of Natural History. It’s the closest thing to death while still on earth.
I feel the seductive call of sleep.
“I think he’s asleep,” Lisa said. “I can only imagine what’s going on in his mind. Should I wake him up?”
“I think we’d better attend to his needs, rather than ours. Let him sleep.”
�
��Lisa, prepare to jibe,” I say, watching the mainsail of our Cal 39 sailboat.
“If you make me duck for my life again, Mike, then I’m reserving the helm position for the next ten years.”
“Nature made that decision for us, sweetheart. I’m so big that even with ten minutes warning, I still have difficulty in avoiding the boom.”
“A likely story,” Lisa said.
“Ready to jibe.”
“Ready.”
I push the tiller quickly to the opposite helm as the stern of the boat shifts, and the sail slams across the midline to the opposite side.
Lisa raises her head, then says, “Next time, let’s do a chicken jibe—yes, I’ll admit it; I’m the chicken.”
“If you brought the boom in more, the jibe wouldn’t be so violent.”
“I don’t know if you noticed it, Mike, but I’m not one of the guys.”
The sail filled on the new tack and the boat drove forward in near silence as the hull slid through the gray-green water with a soft hiss.
We slide between Peninsula Point on Belvedere Island and Stuart Point on Angel Island, and wind up in the lee of Angel Island just opposite China Cove where I move to the mast and drop the sail.
“I’m sure glad you’re not one of the guys,” I say as I take Lisa in my arms and we embrace.
“Mike. Can you hear me?” Lisa asked.
Yes, I respond—saddened that it was only a dream.
“You slept six hours. Are you okay?”
Yes.
“I have to go soon. Got to take Daisy out. You remember Daisy?”
Yes.
“I have one other thing I must tell you . . .”
What next? I think.
Yes.
I can feel Lisa grasping my hand. It’s warm.
Lisa bent over. She slid her cheek next to Mike’s, and whispered into his ear, “I’m pregnant. It’s a boy—your son. We’re having a baby boy.”
Lisa stared into Mike’s eyes, as tears flowed down both his cheeks.
Chapter Fifty-Three
“I won’t make this decision alone,” Lisa said, “Mike can make up his own mind.”
“This situation is deadly serious,” Julie Kramer said, as they stood at Mike’s bedside the next morning. “Each choice carried its own risk, and who’s in a position to guarantee that Mike’s participation under these circumstances is competent and informed? We can’t get into his head to be sure.”
“Lay it out, here at the bedside, Julie, for both of us, and then ask Mike what he wants to do.” She paused. “Afterward, you decide if Mike’s competent enough to make the decision.”
Julie reviewed Mike’s condition, the toxic megacolon, and the risks of waiting too long. “If the colon ruptures and he develops peritonitis, it may be too late to save his life.”
“Don’t talk to him in the third person, Julie. He understands.”
“I’m sorry. Delay could cost you your life, Mike. Do you understand?”
Yes.
“I’d like to put you on the schedule for late this afternoon,” Julie said.
No.
“You understand the risk of delaying?”
Yes.
Julie stared at Lisa, and then turned back to Mike. “You do want to live, don’t you?”
Lisa gasped.
Yes.
“Then let me do what I think is right.”
No.
Lisa grasped Mike’s hand. “Maybe he wants more time to get through this without surgery.”
Yes.
“How much time?” Julie asked.
“One day?” Lisa asked.
No.
“Two days?”
Yes.
“This is a mistake,” Julie said. “I learned a long time ago to not ignore my instincts. Right now, they’re screaming at me that delaying surgery is a tragic mistake.”
Am I really able to decide?
How much loss can any person take?
I’ve argued with families that they were letting their emotions get in the way of rational decisions—I did my best to not let that happen.
Can I be rational when I’m brain damaged, depressed, and overwhelmed by loss?
I will my body to move—my hands—my feet—anything, but still it’s only my eyes and lids. I open and close my lids several times.
“What is it, Michael?” Lisa asked.
What’s the use?
I feel myself drifting toward sleep, the one place where I’m just like anyone else.
“I’m not finished with you two,” Julie said, smiling, and then giving Lisa a hug. “I’ll be back this afternoon. Remember, I don’t give up easily.”
My condition, my damaged brain—I really love that concept. At times the distinction between dream and reality is vague, but, having the option, I prefer my dreams. I know when I’m dreaming, and resist surfacing into the sea of deadly reality.
I understand suicide as an altered assessment of some reality, real or perceived. I understand the chemical imbalances that lead to despair and hopelessness, synaptic aberrations in search of the right chemical fix:—Prozac—Zoloft. What’s the chemical fix for my reality?
Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
That’s a joke—how couldn’t I feel that way?
Lisa’s still at my side.
A baby—a son—I’ll make one hell of a dad.
It’s not asking that much is it to move a finger or a toe. I focus my attention, visualizing the small finger of my left hand—move damn it, move.
Nothing.
I live in dark despair. It covers me—I can’t breathe. I’m gasping—gasping.
“Something’s wrong,” Lisa said. “His pulse is racing.”
Phoebe pulled off Mike’s sheet, first making a general assessment, and then going on to check his vitals, wounds, drains, etc. No change.
Together, they drew the tape-measure around his abdomen, and pulled it tight.
“Thirty-nine inches,” Lisa said. “That’s better.”
“Don’t,” Phoebe said.
“Don’t what?”
“You’re pulling it too tight. That won’t make him any better.”
“You do it,” Lisa said.
“Forty inches,” Phoebe said. “Maybe a little better, but no worse, for sure.”
“Do you think…?”
“Don’t. Let’s wait for Julie.”
“Should we wake him up?”
“Go ahead.”
Lisa shook Mike, and then said, “Are you there, sweetheart?”
That’s a dumb question—where the hell else can I be?
“Can you hear me?” Lisa asked with a louder voice.
I’m not deaf. Dumb for sure, but not deaf.
“He’s not reacting,” cried Lisa. “Something’s wrong.”
I like this—affecting the world by doing nothing. That’s something, isn’t it?
I feel suddenly at ease. I have nothing to prove—no responsibilities.
My thoughts sink below the horizon of my conscious mind, and escape from the hideous reality of my life. I seek, and then embrace, the serenity of sleep.
Chapter Fifty-Four (Week 29)
When Julie returned that afternoon, she came with an attitude.
“You called me, Lisa, because you respect my opinion,” Julie said, “yet you continue to ignore it.”
“I don’t want to be flippant, Julie, but I’ll tell you what Mike would say.”
“And that is?”
“Welcome to the practice of medicine. All we can do is recommend and maybe coerce to some degree, but we can’t make the decision for anyone else.”
“I don’t want him to die,” Julie said.
“And I do?” Lisa said, turning red.
“Let me call surgery and make arrangements.”
“No. Mike was clear about his desires, and I won’t disregard his wishes.”
Lisa was mentally exhausted from hours at Mike’s bedside, the fight with Julie, and her own misgi
vings. She arrived home at 9 that evening. After Daisy’s greeting routine, Lisa walked the dog, and tried to calm her mind, but it was impossible.
When she returned, the phone was ringing.
“Lisa, it’s Lilly. I’m sorry to call so late, but I wanted to catch up.”
Catch up? Lisa thought.
“I haven’t seen anyone from the family in a few days,” Lisa said.
“We want to know what’s going on.”
“Not enough to call or come to the hospital.”
Lilly remained silent.
“I’m sorry,” Lisa said. “This situation has overwhelmed me. I’m not thinking straight.”
“There’s a lot of that around. How are you feeling?”
“I’m tired all the time, and emotionally drained.”
Lisa brought Lilly up to date on Mike’s problems, the possibility of surgery, and details of the locked-in syndrome.
Lilly began crying.
Lisa joined in.
“This may sound ridiculous, but Mike’s alive. We can communicate. He’s participating in his own care. It’s a miracle, and, if we’re lucky enough, we’ll find another one.”
“Can I talk with him?”
“It would thrill him to see his sisters.”
“And his mother?”
“Of course, but…”
“I know.”
“From every imaginable aspect, this is a hell of a situation. Everyone involved in Mike’s care is acting in his interest, and if Nora sticks her nose in our business again, or tries to control our decisions, I’ll bar her from seeing her son. I don’t want to do that, but I will.”
“We’ll be over tomorrow.”
Try as she might, she couldn’t erase the memory of Lilly’s words and Nora’s disdain.
What can I do about Nora?
Am I being rational?
Doesn’t she only want the best for Mike, for me and the baby?
Why did I let her get to me?
It was neurotic, Lisa knew, but she couldn’t let go of the clash with Nora. What’s wrong with me? First, I have a crappy relationship with my own mother, and now with Nora.
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