Lisa tried to find a comfortable position, but each time she settled in, the baby vetoed her decision.
Daisy snuggled beside her, wagging her tail.
She tried singing again, but the baby became more active. Maybe he really doesn’t like my voice. She tried her controlled breathing and relaxation exercises, and the baby’s movement slowed. I can’t transmit all my aggravation to my baby, she thought.
Lisa and the baby slept poorly that night. They’d both tossed in an asynchronous ballet of chaotic movements, unable to get their acts together.
When Harvey Russo stepped into Roberta’s room the week before and looked at his daughter’s sleeping form, his mind raced back to the little girl who had grown up afraid to leave her mother’s side.
She’d been the perfect child and girl, so much that Harvey and Teresa had become concerned. When she had entered her teens, they were relieved at first, to see the spark of rebellion, but by the time she had reached fifteen, it flamed out of control. At first it was alcohol, and then marijuana. Her grades dropped, and they’d suspended her from school four times.
Harvey and Teri had talked with her, and had her evaluated by several psychiatrists. They tried everything from bribes to threats. Substance abuse programs, even an inpatient stay that lasted a month, did nothing to modify her behavior.
“You’ve got to stop the drinking and the drugs,” Teresa said.
“I don’t know why you make such a big deal about it.” Roberta stretched and scratched her head and neck. “Half the kids at school drink and do drugs. It’s no problem. It’s only for fun. I can stop any time I want.”
They became more alarmed when Roberta lost weight, and became unable to sleep at night. In the morning, they’d find her on the floor in her clothes.
Each exacerbation in Roberta’s drug abuse was followed by physical, emotional, and intellectual deterioration. They were unable to do anything, but watch.
“Look into her eyes, Harvey,” Teri said. “They’re the dead eyes of a lost soul.”
“I know. What else can we do?”
A week later, as Harvey sat in his office completing paperwork, his office manager said, “I have Teresa on the line. She says it’s urgent.”
Harvey felt an ache in his abdomen as he picked up the phone.
“It’s Roberta,” Teresa said. “She’s in jail, charged with possession of methamphetamine, and possession of methamphetamine for distribution and sale. You must get her out.”
“Get her out for what? So she can kill herself? Maybe it’s time to let her deal with the consequences of her actions?”
“Don’t talk about our daughter like you’re her social worker, or her shrink. She’s still our little girl. We must help.”
“That depends on how you define ‘help’, doesn’t it?”
Harvey drove downtown to the Oakland City Jail on Broadway. As he waited for his daughter, he sat and looked around the room. Men, women, and a few older children sat in partitions talking to their loved ones behind the glass no-contact barriers. The room smelled of cigarettes, stale perfume, and human body odor.
A husky guard brought Roberta into the room, removed her handcuffs and leg irons, and sat her in the chair across from Harvey. She was barely recognizable. Her straggly dark-brown hair fell across bloodshot eyes. Her face showed red scabs on her cheeks and nose. She twitched and moved continuously, unable to sit still.
“Daddy, you must get me out of here. I can’t stand it.”
She placed her head down and looked up at Harvey, her red eyes brimming with tears.
Harvey’s first instinct was to reach through the glass to caress his daughter—to ease her suffering.
“What happened?” he asked.
“It was all a mistake,” she said, placing a trembling hand against the glass. Her eyes darted away, unable to meet his. “It wasn’t my shit. I didn’t even know it was there.”
As he looked at her hand, Harvey noticed the fine tremor, and the fingernails chewed into the nail beds.
“I don’t know what to do. I think we need to wait until they arraign you, and then I’ll arrange for an attorney.”
Her eyes widened. “Don’t you understand that I’ve got to get out of here now?”
“I don’t think…”
“I’m crashing, Daddy—I’m crashing. Don’t you know what that means? I’ve got to get out.”
He watched in awe as Roberta’s agitation increased. She licked her lips, shook, and he noted several facial spasms— involuntary tics.
“I’ll do the best I can. Maybe I can talk with the jail physician and get help for you during withdrawal.”
“Are you fucking insane?” She screamed, and then paused, trying to control herself. The guard approached, but Harvey raised his palm to show that everything was under control. “I’m so sorry, Daddy, but you don’t understand. I can’t stay here. I can’t go through this cold turkey.” She stood, and then threw herself against the glass, banging against the thick pane with both fists. Two guards grabbed her from behind, placed her in cuffs, attached them to her waist chain, and reapplied the shackles to her ankles.
“Daddy! Daddy!” She screamed, as they dragged her from the room.
Harvey sat stunned for a moment, trying to digest the nightmare he’d witnessed. He spent his life helping others, but now found himself unable to help his own daughter.
Chapter Fifty-Five (Week 30)
Lisa was still tired when she got up the next morning. She poured a mug of decaf thinking, God, I’d love the real thing.
The phone jarred Lisa as each ring foretold disaster.
She felt instant relief when she heard Harvey’s voice. “What’s happening, Lisa?”
“Nothing much. I’m completely drained. It’s like living on a tightrope.”
“As long as there’s no stress,” Harvey said, laughing at his own joke.
“You always make me feel good, Harvey. Teresa’s a lucky woman.”
“Tell her that the next time you meet. Any bleeding?”
“Just pink staining from time to time.”
“Great. Let me see you any time you can break away from the ICU in the next week. We’ll take another look at your passenger.”
“You don’t expect anything, do you?”
“No. I only want to check the placenta and the site of bleeding,” he paused. “I’m being ultraconservative, Lisa. I’m finagling for Godfather.”
“You got it, Harvey. And you deserve it, too.”
When Lisa arrived in the ICU shortly after noon, Phoebe chatted away at Mike as she was straightening up his IVs and monitoring lines.
She walked away from the bed and hugged Lisa. “This is a mixed blessing for me, a captive audience for my skilled chitchat, but one who can only respond by rolling his eyes.”
“That never stopped you before.”
“And it never will.”
“How is he?”
“Jack Byrnes and Julie Kramer were in this morning,” Phoebe said. “The gist of things is that’s he’s not any worse. That sounds like good news to me, but those two are a hard sell. It’s as if saying something positive will jinx the situation.”
“If it works for them, it works for me.”
“Have you heard from Nora or Mike’s sisters?”
“Lilly, the family peacemaker, called last night. They’ll be in today.”
“How’s the baby?”
“He’s great. It’s funny, Phoebe, since this is a first for me, I never fully understood the depth of feeling and the intimacy I feel with this baby. He knows me, my moods, my frustrations, and I’m sure he knows when I’m angry. It’s weird in a way. Did you feel any of that?”
“Not much. Mostly, I felt that it was time to ditch the freeloader. That started at month three, and became more urgent until I delivered the little urchin.”
“Don’t talk about Max like that. He’s a darling boy.”
“Make me an offer, and he’s yours.”
Lisa smiled, and grasped Phoebe’s hands. “You’re so full of shit.”
Lisa walked to the bedside, bent over Mike and kissed him on the lips. “Good morning, baby. Are you okay?”
Yes.
Phoebe grabbed a thick folded manila sheet and opened it. “I found this in the supply room. It’s an alphabet board for patients who can’t speak. I want to try it on Mike.”
The white board had black numbers and letters set up in the typical QWERTY configuration of a keyboard. The right corner contained a green ‘yes’ box, while the left had a red ‘no’ box.
Phoebe sat on one side of Mike, and Lisa sat on the other. They cranked the bed up thirty degrees and propped the board in front of him.
“Mike, can you see the figures on this board?” Lisa asked.
Yes.
“I’ll move my finger over each row,” Phoebe said. “When you see the letter you want, give me a ‘yes’.”
I’m excited, angry, frustrated, elated, and a hundred other emotions, but I indicate a ‘yes’.
Phoebe’s and Mike’s eyes were joined as she moved her hand over the board.
“T e l l L i s a I l o v e h e r ,” took about a minute.
“You tell her. She’s right here.”
Mike’s eyes welled with tears.
“Get me out of here. I can’t stand this. Do something. Do anything.”
Their eyes filled as each new letter assembled into a new word and a new meaning. The whole process was difficult.
“You’re going to get better,” Lisa said, sniffling and blowing her nose.
No.
“Don’t do this. We’ve been through so much. You can’t give up, now.”
No.
“We have a baby boy on the way. Our son, Mike. I know you wanted a son.”
“I’m tired,” he spelled as his lids closed.
When Nora and Lilly arrived early that evening, Lilly hugged Lisa, while Nora extended her hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Lisa said, boiling.
Lisa took a deep breath, and then brought them up to date on Mike’s condition. “We’re talking with him using the alphabet board. It’s slow and frustrating, but we can finally communicate.”
“Can we talk to him now?” Lilly asked.
“I think so. He’s been asleep for three hours.”
Lisa shook Mike, and said, “Are you with us?”
Yes.
“Nora and Lilly are here. They’d like to talk with you.”
Yes.
“He doesn’t have much lateral movement of his eyes, so you’ll need to take turns in his field of vision. In addition, he can’t see the alphabet board and any of us at the same time.”
Nora took her place in front of Mike. “You don’t know how frightened we’ve been. We thought we lost you.”
Lisa brought the board into place.
“You have, Mother. There’s nothing left to save.”
Nora choked over her tears, and then said, “I can’t do this, I just can’t.”
Lilly moved in to replace her mother. “Please forgive her. She’s been a wreck since your accident. Don’t question for a moment, her love for you.”
“I don’t want this. It’s a living death.”
“You’re depressed. Anyone would be,” Lilly said, “but this isn’t the time to talk about death.”
“I’m already dead. The only thing that remains is my funeral.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
When Lisa returned from Brier Hospital, she was exhausted.
She took Daisy out for a walk, made a snack, and then collapsed in front of the TV, hoping for some mindless distraction that could divert her attention away from her problems.
Lisa nodded off while watching a rerun of Friends. The baby hadn’t moved in a few hours. She massaged her belly and felt him start to move and stretch.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said to her belly. “I was worried.”
This is ridiculous, Lisa thought, as she awoke to find her program over. I should go to bed.
She drank a glass of milk, removed her makeup, washed her face, and brushed her teeth. She climbed into bed, and picked up a book, but after a moment absorbing nothing, she finally decided that she was too tired to read. She turned off the light and sank into deep sleep.
Lisa knew that this must be a dream, as she detected Mike’s distinctive scent.
She opened her eyes, and then sensed his arms around her, holding her close. She felt his warmth.
“Oh, Mike, I missed you so much. How could you leave me this way?”
He put his arm around her back, and then brought his head between her breasts.
“Do you think I’d have forsaken this? I live for our time together. I love you, Lisa. I’d give anything to be with you, once more.”
She kissed him, and, for the first time in months, felt herself flush and become moist as her body prepared to join with his.
They made love, and, when it was over, Lisa knew her love for Mike was eternal, and that it would outlast the physical limitations of their world. She rolled over, caressed her belly, and was fast asleep.
Lisa couldn’t believe it. She’d slept from two in the morning to seven. For the first time in weeks, she felt fully rested. Maybe it was that erotic dream?
As she lay in bed, looking over her enlarging abdomen, ripples moved across the belly as the baby awoke. He must have had a good night, too.
“Good morning, sweetie,” she said as she caressed her belly, feeling his movement.
The phone shattered Lisa’s tranquility.
“You’d better get over here,” Phoebe said with an uncharacteristically wavering voice.
“What is it?”
“Something’s happening to Mike. Jack and Julie are losing it.”
“Tell me. I’m getting dressed, and I’ll be on my way in five minutes. Don’t make me get crazy with speculation as I race into Brier. A one minute summary, please, I need that much.”
“They think he’s septic. He’s not responsive, and they’re sure that it’s all from the toxic megacolon. They want it out—they want it out now!”
“How sure are they?”
“That’s why you need to be here. I’ll tell them you’re on the way.”
Lisa raced through the house. She filled Daisy’s dog dishes with food and water, then threw on yesterday’s clothes, and rushed to the car.
When she arrived at the predictable rush hour traffic jam at the Caldecott Tunnel, she couldn’t remember anything after starting the car. Her mind screamed with frustration, as cars jockeyed for vital inches and the best position as six lanes became four. When she emerged from the right bore of the tunnel, she exited onto a foggy Tunnel Road, and was at Brier ten minutes later. Since she had Mike’s car with a physician’s permit, she parked on the first floor.
When the elevator doors opened, she rushed into the ICU. Phoebe was standing by Mike’s bed.
“He’s not responding to me,” Phoebe said. “It started when I came on this morning. His temp’s up to 102.2.”
Lisa went to the bedside, grasped Mike’s hand, squeezed it, and said, “Mike, it’s Lisa. Can you hear me?”
Phoebe had taped his lids closed.
“Did you have to do that?”
“Yes, I did. Take the tape off. It’s okay.”
Lisa hated the tearing sound of the tape being pulled off the thin skin of his lids. She raised them with her thumb and middle finger of her left hand, and she stared at Mike’s eyes. “They’re moving, Phoebe, and they’re moving fast, like typical REM (rapid eye movement) sleep.”
“Let me see,” Phoebe said.
They watched Mike’s eye movements as they moved both vertically and horizontally.
“Could he be asleep?” Lisa asked.
“Let’s ask Jack to order an EEG. We’ll know, then,” Phoebe said.
The ward clerk came over. “Dr. Byrnes and Dr. Kramer want to meet with you, Lisa. They’re in the nurse’s lounge.
”
“I’m coming, too,” Phoebe said. “I’ll get someone to cover for me.”
When Lisa and Phoebe entered the lounge, Jack stood, looked at Phoebe, and said, “I see you brought your consigliere.”
“Then you know my friend, Phoebe,” Lisa said.
“Please,” Julie said. “We must talk.”
“Shoot,” Lisa said.
“We’ve screwed around too long. It’s time we took Mike to surgery. We must assume that the bacterial source of Mike’s infection, under these conditions, has to be the colon. Jack and I feel that it’s too dangerous to leave an infection in place when it can only make things worse.”
“How?” Phoebe asked. “You’re going to treat it, either way, aren’t you?”
“Of course we’ll treat the infection, but you can’t clear it up if it’s coming from damaged intestines. It will stay there, hiding and waiting for the next opportunity to spread into Mike’s blood stream.”
“He doesn’t want surgery,” Lisa said. “He made that perfectly clear.”
“Do you really know what he’d decide right now if we posed the question?” Jack asked.
Lisa paused for a moment in thought. “Do you think it's easy for me to fight with two physicians that I trust and admire? Believe me, it isn’t. As best as anyone can know another, I know Mike. Even before this unthinkable tragedy, he would never have opted for such extreme treatment as removing his entire colon when the quality of his life is…” She hesitated. “You know well enough what that’s all about.”
“Are you ready for Mike to die?” Jack asked.
“That’s a horrible question, Jack. I can’t believe you asked it. We’ll write it off to stress.”
“That may be the net effect of a decision to sit by and wait,” Julie said.
“Isn’t it possible,” Phoebe asked, “that the source of infection isn’t in his colon, but elsewhere? I understand that if you operate, you’ll simply remove his entire colon. You won’t inspect it to be sure?”
“We can’t explore his colon for infection,” Julie said. “It’s grossly distended, and fragile. I won’t touch it, except to get it out in one piece. He could have a focus of infection anywhere.”
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