“Hang in there, Ben,” he said. “Hang in there.”
The nurse motioned it was time for them to leave.
Dawn heard them coming. “Did he speak to you? Did he know you?”
“No, dear, he’s asleep,” Gloria said, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. “But that’s good,” she added, in response to the sudden look of alarm on Dawn’s face. “Rest is what he needs.”
The vigil continued. Forty-five minutes later, Dawn and Gloria were allowed back in. But only for a minute, the nurse cautioned. Ben appeared weaker to Dawn, his face more stricken, his lifeless arm swollen.
“Ben...” Dawn said, leaning down to whisper to him, compelled to wake him, to hear him talk, to assure her he would be all right. If he told her, then she would believe it. “Ben, it’s Dawn.” She smoothed his hair back off his forehead, the way he always wore it. “Don’t you dare give up. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare give up.”
Gloria felt as helpless as an outsider. As Ben opened his eyes and looked at Dawn, the one side of his face quivered as he tried to speak. And yet she felt honored to witness the bond between this gruff old man and this proud young woman.
“Dawnnn...?”
“Yes,” Dawn said, gripping his hand. “It’s me. Gloria’s here too. Charlie’s outside, and Tom went to feed.”
Ben focused on the two of them, then closed his eyes, and without being told, albeit for the accelerated monitor, Dawn and Gloria stepped back and exited quietly.
“See, he recognized us, didn’t he?” Dawn said to Gloria in the hall.
“Yes, dear. He did,” Gloria said, and wished she could be as encouraged. Too often she’d seen this type of behavior lead to hopes soon crushed. A last hurrah. Or worse. Paralysis, years of suffering, dependency, decline, and ultimately distance. “He definitely did.”
Over the next few hours, they were allowed in periodically to see him. Ben was asleep the entire time. And Tom talked Gloria and Charlie into going home. They both looked so tired.
“Dawn or I will call you if there’s any change.”
When it was just the two of them, Dawn asked how things were back at the barn.
“Okay,” Tom said, and searched his shirt pocket for a toothpick. There was none. He took off his hat, dragged his fingers through his hair, and crossed his arms. “Ginney left a note on the tack room door, said to page her if you need her.”
Dawn nodded. “Is the filly all right?”
“Fine,” Tom said. And there they sat, the best of friends, but for the moment, too polite and feeling like strangers in an alien world.
Dawn noticed bruises up and down Ben’s arms when they were allowed in to see him again later, and a different rhythm in the way he was breathing. His coloring was worse as well, grayish, and around his mouth, almost blue.
Neither Tom nor Dawn could think of leaving the hospital after this visit, and took to pacing again, in turns. “He looked so much better earlier.”
“I know. I know.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I don’t know. Are you?”
They decided to go get something to eat. It would kill time if nothing else, and were gone when Randy returned. The nurse informed him of their whereabouts, and also of Ben’s condition.
“No change.”
Randy nodded and stared down the corridor.
“So how’d you break your arm?” the nurse asked.
Randy smiled. “I was kicked by a horse.”
“I’ll bet that hurt.”
Randy shrugged.
“I take it you’re a trainer also then, like Mr. Miller.”
“No, I’m a veterinarian,” Randy said, glancing at his watch. “Do you mind if I wait over there?” he asked, thinking if he could sit down and rest his arm a moment, it might stop throbbing as much.
“No, go right ahead,” the nurse said, and just then Randy’s pager went off.
He needn’t ask. The nurse pressed down on an open line and handed him the phone. He thanked her, phoned for the information, and hung up and glanced at his watch. “Would it be all right if I see Mr. Miller for a moment?”
“I’ll check,” the nurse said, and when he was allowed, showed him the way. “He’s sleeping, so I wouldn’t wake him.”
Randy nodded, stood at Ben’s side, and for the first time in a long time, prayed. When Dawn and Tom returned, she was given the message that he’d been there, had seen Ben, and would be back as soon as possible.
Evening blended into night; the shift change came and went, Ben’s heart beat slower and slower as new faces hovered over him, and with each hour, more and more sirens sounded from the streets below.
It was after one in the morning before Randy was able to make his way back, and found Dawn and Tom asleep. The overhead lights in the waiting room had been turned off, leaving only a small table lamp. Dawn was curled up in a large chair, her head resting on the arm. Tom was sprawled in the chair next to her with his head against the wall. Randy sat down across from them, stretched out his legs, drew a breath, and sighed. He rubbed the side of his neck, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
He listened to the sounds around him, the shuffling of feet as they passed, the buzzing of phone lines, the whispers of the nurses, the beeping of monitors. He opened his eyes, looked at Dawn, then stretched his legs out further, slouched down in the chair, rested his head back and drifted off to sleep.
He dreamt he burned Dawn’s book, page by page, in a huge bonfire. She was angry with him and appeared in a smoky cloud, her eyes black, her mouth red. As she spoke, she drooled blood. “How dare you kill my book. You have killed me and everyone in it. Look what you’ve done to Ben.”
Randy woke in a sweat, his heart pounding rapidly as he looked around the room. Dawn and Tom were still asleep. He glanced at his watch, forty-five minutes from the time he’d sat down. He ran his fingers through his hair, got up, and walked to the nurse’s station to ask about Ben.
“Guarded,” the nurse replied. “Would you like some coffee? There’s some down the hall.”
“No thanks,” Randy said. “I think I’ve probably had one too many already tonight. I’m having nightmares.”
The nurse smiled and he walked back to the waiting area. It wasn’t long before he was asleep again.
Dr. Martin looked at the clock, made note of the time on the chart, and placed it in the slot at the foot of Ben’s bed. Knowing the family were still here, having seen them when he passed in the hall, he walked into the waiting room, glanced from one to the next, all asleep, and sat down for a much-needed rest himself. It had been a long day, a difficult day. It was never easy losing a patient, and today he’d lost two. One in surgery, the other in a coma. He rubbed his eyes, leaned his head back and stared across the room, noticed the thermometer in Randy’s pocket, and looked at Dawn. Such a pretty woman, plain, sort of, but in a nice way. So tall and slender.
He thought about his wife, his ex-wife as of two-thirty this afternoon, and imagined her thin and tall, and not in bed with his best friend, and closed his eyes.
A nurse walked by, backed up, then walked on, smiling. Dr. Martin was asleep. A little past four Randy stirred, woke, and in moving about in his chair, woke Dr. Martin, which in turn woke Dawn and Tom.
“What time is it?” Tom cleared his throat.
“Four-twenty,” Dawn said, squinting at her watch.
Dr. Martin sat up, rubbed his eyes, and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how tired I was. I stopped by to tell you about Mr. Miller, and well, I guess I fell asleep.”
“How is he?” Dawn asked.
“Well, he was stable a few hours ago. Let me go check on him. I’ll be right back.”
Randy stood up and stretched, as best he could with the hindrance of the cast. Dawn watched him, still trying to fully rouse herself as she ran a brush through her hair.
“Good news,” Dr. Martin said, rejoining them. “Mr. Miller is doing well. I won’t say ‘as well as
can be expected,’ because I hate that expression.” He smiled. “Almost as much as I hate the ones about dying of old age or natural causes.”
They all smiled. Tom even laughed a little. A doctor wouldn’t joke like this if Ben were still critical. Would he?
“Anyway,” Dr. Martin continued. “I think you should all go home and come back later, much later. Mr. Miller needs his rest, and so do I for that matter. I’ve scheduled more tests for him later today, so please. Go home.”
They all decided to get breakfast and then go straight to the track. Showers would have to wait.
“I’d kill for a toothbrush,” Dawn said, as they passed the gift shop doors, locked tight. Inside were rows and rows of them.
They stopped at the first open restaurant they came to, ate heartily, and lingered over a second cup of coffee. Tom popped a toothpick in his mouth, helped himself to three or four more, which he slipped into his pocket, and sat back.
“I feel a lot better about this today,” he said. “I think he’s going to make it.”
Randy agreed, to a certain extent. “I think the fact that he’s made it this long is a good sign.”
“I hope you’re right,” Dawn said. “I was just thinking about that song, the one about what a difference a day makes. Two days ago we were on top of the world. And yesterday, our world practically fell apart.”
Tom nodded, and stared off. “I hope the training chart’s marked. I think he wanted to run Cajun on Friday.”
Dawn sipped her coffee. “If he didn’t, Tom, you know how he thinks. It’ll be all right.”
Tom looked at her. “Let’s hope so.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“We’ve got two to track,” Tom said, looking at the training chart. “And his condition book’s marked too, so that won’t be a problem for a while.”
Dawn nodded in agreement as she gazed over his shoulder, and thus started the morning routine; walkers first, horses that trained next, baths for those that needed them, and finally grooming and doing them up. Randy stopped by as they were winding down.
“Can I help?”
“I’ve got to go enter,” Tom said. “Dawn has two horses to do up and we’re done. We would’ve been finished by now, but every time I turned around someone was over here asking about Ben.”
“Who’s left to do up?” Randy asked, turning to Dawn.
“All Together and Branden.”
“All right, I’ll do the filly, you do Branden,” he said, ducking under the webbing. He had a full schedule of farm calls today and needed to leave right away if he was going to get to them all. He had been dragging earlier, but had gotten his second wind. He dropped Dawn off at her apartment, told her he’d see her at the hospital later or at home, kissed her good-bye, and took off.
Ben was by no means out of the woods, but at least today, he looked more like himself, because of the expression in his eyes. And Dawn found comfort in that. She hugged him as best she could, careful of all the tubes and cords, and pulled a chair up next to his bed.
He smiled a crooked smile and just looked at her.
“Tom entered who you had marked. He’ll be here in a little while.”
“Good,” Ben said, with a great deal of difficulty.
“Don’t try and talk, it’s okay.”
Dr. Martin walked into ICU then, picked up Ben’s chart, nodded to Ben, and smiled at Dawn.
“Do you want me to leave?” she asked, standing.
“No, you’re fine,” he said, scanning the notations from the first shift duty nurse. “Well now.”
Dawn squeezed Ben’s hand.
“Mr. Miller, Ben. I’m Dr. James Martin. I’ve been on your case since yesterday. I even spent part of the night with this young lady here. I feel like family,” he said, joking.
Dawn liked the man instantly, though she didn’t remember much about him from yesterday or early this morning, and probably couldn’t even recall his hair color, if asked, which was coal black.
“So, Ben...” Dr. Martin said, pausing to again glance at the chart. “Why is it that since you’re on a prescribed medication for hypertension, there was no evidence of it in your system?”
Dawn looked at Ben.
“Did we forget?”
“Yesss,” Ben said.
“I see.” Dr. Martin nodded. “Well, there’s no sense me scolding you at this point. You’ve paid the price. Let’s just see what we can do to get you well, so you never forget again.”
Dawn smiled.
“You’ve had a stroke, Ben,” Dr. Martin said. “Plain and simple.” He laid the chart down on the bed and looked Ben in the eye. “You’re having a little trouble talking, and there’s some paralysis on your right side, but it could’ve been worse.”
Dawn patted Ben’s hand to reassure him, and he turned slowly to look at her.
Dr. Martin glanced at the heart monitor. “For the next few days, you’re going to get a lot of rest; then the work begins. I’m being frank with you, Ben. I’m not known for my bedside manner, ask my wife,” he said, and laughed. “It’s lucky for you that you were found so quickly and got in here as fast as you did. It may have saved your life. I want you to remember this when we start therapy, because it’s not going to be easy. Do you understand?”
Ben nodded as best he could.
“All right.” Dr. Martin clapped his hands together. “I’m off then to make someone else’s morning.”
“Dr. Martin,” Dawn said. “Could I speak to you a moment?”
“Of course.” He started out the door, implying she follow him. “I could use a cup of coffee.”
Dawn had to practically jog to keep pace with him. They ended up in the staff lounge at the end of the hall. “Cream?” he asked, pouring her a cup.
Dawn nodded, and spooned in the sugar herself.
“Have a seat.”
Dawn sat down across from him, the only two in the room aside from one other physician in the midst of a phone conversation about the stock market, as best Dawn could surmise.
She sipped her coffee, stalling, and almost choked on it. “How can you drink this? It tastes like Mercurochrome.”
The doctor laughed. “Oh? Do you drink Mercurochrome?”
Dawn smiled, excused herself to add more cream, and sat back down.
“Better?”
She nodded.
“So what can I do for you?”
“I’m not sure. I guess I just want to know if what you told Ben is the whole story.”
Dr. Martin took a drink of his coffee. “At this point, yes.” He looked at her, took her in. “You are his daughter?”
Dawn smiled. “Not really,” she said, and let it go at that. “You mentioned therapy.”
He nodded. “He’ll need two, three months of it at least.”
“Would that be done here?”
“Depending on his insurance. This is the best place.” He explained the basics of the process. Dawn thanked him, asked a few more questions, and drank only enough coffee to be polite. “Thank you for your time.”
Dr. Martin smiled. “You too, Miss uh...?”
“Fioritto,” Dawn said. “Dawn Fioritto.”
Dr. Martin shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Definitely, he said in his mind.
Dawn returned to ICU, stayed with Ben as long as the nurse would allow, then met up with Tom in the hall.
“How is he?”
Dawn motioned to the waiting room and they went in and sat down. “He looked a little better today. Dr. Martin’s encouraged also.”
Tom nodded thoughtfully. “So what happens now?”
“Well, I guess in a couple of days, therapy.”
“What?”
Dawn stared. “I know.” It seemed too soon.
“Boy, they don’t waste any time, do they?”
Dawn shook her head. She had reservations also. It was just yesterday he’d almost died. And as if to emphasize that fact, in came a family of three, in tears, and obviously waiting
for word on the fate of a loved one.
Tom couldn’t handle it, and walked out into the hall. Dawn followed. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “Dave didn’t come by. I wonder why he didn’t come by.”
Dawn looked at him. “He doesn’t come every day.”
Tom shrugged. No consolation.
One of the nurses at the desk got their attention. “You can go in now,” she said, and held up her hand to indicate the cautionary five minutes. But they weren’t with Ben thirty seconds, when they were asked to leave because of something going on with the patient in the cubicle next to him.
“Code blue.”
Ben listened, motionless.
“What’s going on?” Ben tried to ask the nurse, his words a slur.
“It’s all right, Mr. Miller,” she said, watching his monitor. “It’s all right.”
He shook his head, tried to ask again, his heart racing faster and faster. He wasn’t deaf. He could hear. “What’s going on?”
The nurse left and came back with a syringe to inject into his IV. “You must relax, Mr. Miller. Relax.”
Dawn and Tom meanwhile had left the hospital with plans to meet when it was time to feed and come back again that evening. Dawn spent the afternoon with Linda at the club, dropped her things off at her apartment, and before she knew it, she and Tom were back at ICU. The bed next to Ben’s was empty.
And Ben was in a mood. He tried to tell them that Gloria and Charlie had come by, but couldn’t remember whether it was in the morning or afternoon. Tom and Dawn didn’t care which, but it mattered to Ben, and apparently a great deal. His mouth wouldn’t cooperate, his face felt stiff and empty, and he’d only found out, just minutes before, that he had a catheter in him.
“Miss...” The nurse advised they leave when she saw how frustrated he was getting. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay, we understand. Ben, we’ll be back,” Dawn said.
“No. Go home,” he insisted, angry with the world and mad at himself. “Go home.”
Winning Odds Trilogy Page 35