Natural Disaster (Book 3): Storm

by Lou Cadle

  When she was done, Greg said, “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “Is she going to wake up?”

  “I’ll let the doctor talk to you.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me? You probably know every bit as well as he does!” Greg fought to keep his anger under control.

  “I’m sorry, but I really can’t. I understand how frustrated you are. How afraid. I see that every day, and I really do know.”

  She probably did, at that. She’d probably seen worse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

  “I’ll call the neurologist right now.”

  Greg checked his watch. Probably she’d be waking the doctor, but he was no doubt used to it. Greg felt a sudden—and not entirely welcome—rush of affinity for the nurse and doctor. They had similar enough jobs to his own—never seeing people at their best, woken out of sound sleeps, having to calm down hysterical people. The nurse was already out of the room, but he said, “Thank you,” and hoped she had heard it.

  “When’s the last time you ate?” his aunt asked.

  “I don’t know.” He had to think about it as he continued to bend over Holly, watching her closely. Was that a twitch of her eyelid? “Food, right. I had a bologna sandwich last night, I think.”

  “I’m going to go see if I can get you a real breakfast. It might take a few minutes. Is that okay?”

  “It’s fine.” He tore his eyes off his daughter and tried to give Sherryl a smile. “I mean, thank you. That’s thoughtful.”

  “I’m hungry too. I’ll find something here if I’m lucky. If not, I may pop out to a fast food joint.”

  “Sure. Anything is fine.”

  After Sherryl left, Greg pulled the uncomfortable chair closer to the bed so that he could touch Holly and watch her more carefully. Her legs moved and, once, her hand with the IV in it flopped over. He took it and turned it back over, making sure that the needle was still in there. Her eyes stayed open, and he kept expecting it to mean she was awake, but it didn’t. They were just propped open. She blinked from time to time.

  The doctor arrived, yawning, about forty minutes later. “Sorry I haven’t shaved yet. I wanted to get right in,” he said.

  “I appreciate it.” Greg got up and moved away from Holly to let the doctor examine her. But he couldn’t stop himself from asking, only a minute later, “Is she waking up?”

  “Give me another couple minutes here,” the doctor said.

  Greg bit his lip to keep the words he wanted to say from coming out. He wanted to beg, to demand that the doctor say something positive. Knowing that was irrational didn’t stop him from feeling that way.

  It took ten minutes for the doctor to run through his tests. When he was done, he turned to Greg. He wasn’t smiling.

  Greg’s heart fell.

  “I’m guardedly optimistic.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Her Glasgow is up. I’m going to have her MRIed again this morning, to be sure, but at this point, I doubt she’ll need surgery.”

  That was something. “Why are her eyes open?”

  “Sometimes, they are.”

  “But how long could she stay like that, in a coma, with open eyes?”

  “Years, I’m afraid.”

  Greg was expecting him to say something like “two days,” and this answer was a blow. He groped his way back to the recliner and sat down. He realized he was breathing hard.

  “But, as I say, we have reason for hope now. Any change—and these are positive changes—tells us that change is happening inside her brain.”

  Greg was still stuck on the concept of years. Years of a coma meant something awful. “How long do we have? Until there’s permanent damage.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Duncan, but there’s just no way to know the extent of the cognitive damage until she wakes up.”

  “Guess.”

  “I really can’t. But I can tell you children seem to recover at much higher rates than adults.”

  The reality of it was starting to force its way through his guilt and fear. He could imagine the future, now, Holly needing years of rehabilitation. Or losing the sunny personality of his daughter altogether, having her at home, dull-witted, unable to manage regular school. And him a single parent, trying to cope with it. After that, a lifetime of menial jobs for her. His thoughts were a rising flood of despair.

  “I know it’s hard to be patient. Impossible, really,” said the doctor. “But there’s no reason to quit hoping.”

  “If she wakes up, what will you be looking for. In her—cognitive function,” he said, fumbling with the doctor’s cold term.

  “If she can talk, that would be great. Anything else—or, almost anything—can be rehabbed. If she can see you, recognize you, and say words even at an earlier stage of language, that would mean good things.”

  “Give me a number. What are her chances? Of waking up and living a pretty normal life? Walking, talking?”

  The doctor sighed, as if he had been through this many times before. And he probably had. “Fifty-fifty.”

  Greg wasn’t sure to be horrified or relieved.

  “And what are the chances she’ll never recover? That she’ll die or be a vegetable?”

  The doctor hesitated. “This is pure statistics, you know.”

  “Okay. I know you aren’t making promises. I get it.”

  “Twenty percent.”

  Greg moaned and closed his eyes.

  “But that’s based on her initial Glasgow. She’s higher now. So there’s really no reason to despair. I know it’s hard to wait and see, but that’s what we have to do.”

  “Do you have children?”

  “I do. Two boys, 12 and 15.”

  It made Greg feel better, stupidly enough. He was probably a good doctor. He certainly had to be intelligent. He had come in before shaving or probably eating to check on Holly, so he wasn’t heartless. “Thank you. I know you’ll do everything you can.”

  “We all will. There are no better peds nurses in the city, I promise you.”

  Greg felt a tear run down his cheek, and only then knew he was crying. He wiped it off. “Sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about.” With that, the doctor left.

  There was everything to be sorry about. Most awful, that moment when the wind ripped Holly from his grip. He should have held on to her. He should have held her differently. Somehow, he could have prevented this.

  He moved to Holly’s side. Her hand had a red mark where the doctor had been pinching her again, trying to test her reaction. He kissed it and said, “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I failed you.”

  She said nothing to that. What he’d give if she had—ten years off his own life, an arm, anything at all. Even if she looked at him and said, “That’s right. You’re a horrible father. I hate you!” How he’d love to hear even that.

  Five minutes later Sherryl came in with Styrofoam cartons with breakfast. Greg had no appetite, but he knew the day might get busy, so he choked it down anyway. “Thanks,” he said, looking at the empty container and wondering what it was he’d just eaten.

  He filled Sherryl in about what the doctor had said, and about his own fears.

  She listened carefully, then nodded. “I know you want to worry, but see if you can’t just keep your attention in the moment. Whatever happens tomorrow, or six months from now, you can’t control. Just be here, and appreciate that she’s still breathing and that there’s a good chance she’ll recover.”

  Unlike Jim, who wasn’t still breathing. He felt bad for wallowing in his own worries. “Thanks. You’re right.”

  “I’m going to take off now, if you can spare me. Do you want me to get you anything after I see the funeral director and my minister? I could run by a Walmart and get you clothes that fit.”

  “That’s awfully kind of you.”

  “It’s really no trouble at all. I’m glad to have something to do to help you.” She turned to leave an
d stopped herself. “Damn, I almost forgot. Your mother is flying back.”

  “From Australia?”

  “Yes.” She checked her phone. “She should be boarding about now.”

  “How long does it take? To get here?”

  “Almost 24 hours.”

  Greg checked his watch. “Do I need to go get her when she arrives?”

  “She has her car in the long-term lot. Your job is to be here. And to take care of yourself.”

  “And work. I can’t lose my insurance now.”

  “And work, though I don’t know why you can’t have compassionate leave.”

  “Maybe soon. It’s still pretty crazy in town.”

  “I suppose I’ll see that for myself.” She smoothed out her jacket. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  He went to her and pulled her in for a long hug. “Thanks. Really, I mean it. For everything.”

  *

  The day dragged on, with Greg watching every little movement of Holly’s. They took her away for an MRI, and Greg got out his phone and caught up on messages. He remembered to call Malika, and her little sister answered. “She’s in the hospital.”

  “How is she?”

  “Awake. Okay, Momma says. They’ll let me see her tomorrow.”

  “No school today for you, eh?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know which hospital?”

  She named the one he was standing in.

  “Thank you. Take care, now.”

  He checked with the nurse at the main station and asked how long Holly would be. When she said at least thirty more minutes, he asked her to locate Malika in the hospital and give him directions to her room.

  He found himself in a crowded room. Both beds were filled. Two adult women and a teenage boy he’d met before were around Malika’s bed. Malika politely re-introduced them. He stayed for five minutes, and when Malika asked about Holly, all he said was, “She’s hurt, but I’m sure everything will turn out fine.”

  “I’ll pray for her,” Malika said. “And for you.”

  “Thank you,” he said, summoning a smile.

  *

  By noon, Holly’s restlessness had increased to the extent that the nurses strapped the arm that had her IV to the side of the bed, so she wouldn’t dislodge it.

  Greg kept talking to her, hoping to bring her awake. He found himself telling her stories about when she was a baby. She had a growth spurt that left her banging her head on the underside of tables for a few months, and instead of crying, she had always given the table a dirty look, like it had hit her head intentionally. He reminded her of a picnic the three of them had taken when she was almost five, and they’d seen a possum carrying her black-eyed babies on her back and she’d wanted to be carried on his back for the rest of the day, too. He had obliged her until his back had started to ache. He reminded her of the fall play her class had put on, where she’d played a toothbrush.

  His aunt came back about 1:00 with lunch, apologizing for being late. She handed him two bags of new clothes. “I know you don’t have a uniform, but I found you a shirt that looks a little like it.”

  “That was thoughtful,” he said.

  “I cut all the tags off. They’re at the bottom of the bag in case you want to return anything.”

  It startled him into remembering that she was paying for all this. He pulled out his wallet and handed her two twenties. “It’s all I have on me right now.”

  She refused to take it. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a gift.”

  “I can’t let you—”

  “Greg, seriously. I’m financially fine.”

  “Are you? You don’t need help with the funeral?”

  “It’s already paid for, that and the cremation. Jim did it when he was diagnosed, and wrote out instructions and all.”

  “When is it? I’ll make sure I don’t have to work.”

  “Not until next Wednesday. There are a lot of funerals, and there was no rush on Jim’s.”

  “How are you holding up? About Jim and all?” He was thinking of her worry that she’d done something wrong by letting him die.

  “I’m okay. It helped, what you said. And I knew this day was coming. In a week or two, I might be able to see it as something of a blessing—for Jim, I mean. Not for me, necessarily.”

  “Anything you need from me, you know you can ask.”

  “All I want from you right now is for you to take care of Holly.”

  “I couldn’t do it without you.” He was aware of the minutes ticking off. He’d have to leave soon for work. He didn’t want to. As little as he could do at Holly’s bedside, as impotent as that made him feel, he’d still rather be here than anywhere else.

  An hour later, he kissed his daughter and left. But he left the best part of his mind and heart there with her.

  Chapter 16

  His shift at work was nearer normal than yesterday’s had been, though it was all solitary foot patrol rather than car patrol. The rescuers felt they had recovered all—or nearly all—of the bodies in town by sundown. No one was missing, but there was still a possibility that a single hermit-type had died and no one yet knew.

  The final death count was 104, with three times that many people so injured they required hospitalization. The streets weren’t clear yet, but another day of the heavy equipment working would take care of that.

  From 7:00-8:00, there was more food distribution for the police and National Guard. He ran into the woman who had left him her card and shared a sandwich with her. When he explained about Holly, and said it’d keep him from following up on coffee for a while, she said she understood. And she seemed to mean it. There was nothing of the flirt or manipulator about her. If a woman could be said to be 180 degrees opposite to his ex, this woman might be that. As he watched her walk away, he spared a moment of regret that they hadn’t met at a better time.

  Then he realized there never had been a worse time in his life. If Holly survived, this might be it, the very lowest of the low he’d ever experience. Bizarrely, the thought made him feel better.

  His ass was dragging by the time he got off shift at midnight. Again, he went to Sherryl’s house, showered, and changed into jeans and a blue T-shirt, the clothes she had bought him. He drove back to the hospital, realizing he wasn’t really fit to drive. He was short many hours of sleep. Every day he went without eight hours sleep made him slower, loopier. Even without the grind of worrying about Holly every minute, he would have been in bad shape. As it was, he was aiming for basket case.

  When he got to the hospital, he made Sherryl go home and get some good sleep in a real bed. Turning to his daughter, he said, “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but Daddy has to nap. I’ll be right here if you wake up.”

  *

  The nurse woke him at 5:00 a.m., doing her rounds. He watched her check Holly and asked, “Any change?”

  “She seems to be resting comfortably. I don’t know if you were told, but she was given a mild dose of sedative last night.”

  “Won’t that stop her from coming out of the coma?”

  “No. That’s not quite how it works. She was moving so much, the doctor ordered it for her safety. When it’s entirely out of her system, she’ll probably begin thrashing again. Don’t let it alarm you.”

  “Does that mean she is coming out of it?”

  “It could.”

  Greg wanted to demand when she would, how would he know, how much more disability would be caused by every day in the coma, and a dozen other questions for which he knew the nurse didn’t have the answers. It took all his self-control not to ask them anyway.

  Soon after the nurse left, Holly did begin to stir. Her eyes had been closed when he came in last night, but now they were open, as if she was waking and sleeping on a regular schedule in addition to the coma. He sat by her bedside and held onto her arm while he talked to her, dredging up more memories from their life together.

  She kicked at her covers once, and he rearranged them, wondering if s
he was too hot, or too cold. Could she feel hot and cold? If she couldn’t tell him, how would he know if he should cover her or not? He knew, though he hadn’t thought about it much, that other people had suffered just as he did right now, that tens of thousands every year must live through this as a result of auto accidents alone. Other parents had sat at a bedside, just like this, wracked with worry, wanting to be able to do something to help, having the worst fantasies run through their heads. How had they managed it? How could he?

  Greg felt stretched to the end of endurance. He would have anyway, had he been a person in a civilian job, with a boss that would say, of course, compassionate leave, take the week off. He knew that the death and destruction he had seen was working on him, too, and the lack of sleep. His mind wasn’t dwelling on the severed leg he had seen, or the crumpled bodies, or the smell of ruin. But it was back there, a weight, waiting until this heavier weight could be lifted.

  He was, he had to admit, a total mess.

  He wished he could shower and shave again, change clothes one more time. It wouldn’t make Holly any better, but he’d feel a little closer to human. He settled for going down the hall to the restroom and washing his face and neck. He would have brought his Dopp kit here, if he still had one. Maybe he could beg Sherryl to run to Walmart and put one together for him.

  The doctor had come in while Greg was in the restroom, and was finishing up his exam of Holly. “The MRI looked so good yesterday, I don’t think we’ll need to do another unless there’s a significant change.”

  Greg said, “So her—whatever score is better?”

  “Glasgow. Just one number, but that’s good. Better is good.”

  “Why?”

  “Watch.” He put his hands next to Holly’s head and gave a sharp clap.

  Her head turned away.

  The doctor did it again, and her arms moved. The doctor stilled her arms, made sure the IV was still in place, and looked at Greg. “Sound reaction. That’s good.”

  “So she’s coming up?” Greg imagined her in a deep, dark ocean, stroking for the surface, starting to see the light at the surface, struggling to break free and reach it.

  “Probably.”