The word
gangrene
brought Brian out of his torpor. He leaned closer to Dr. Patel.
“How is it possible to have gangrene and still be able to walk around? I thought people only got that from infections when they were wounded,” Brian said.
Dr. Patel stroked the white hairs of his short, trimmed beard. “When Cassandra’s ileum burst, it leaked toxins into her digestive tract. Those poisons ate away at the tissue, turned gangrenous and caused multiple perforations of her intestines. The pain she was feeling must have been extreme. We had to remove a good portion of them, along with part of her stomach. I had to insert multiple drains that will have to remain in place for the next few months to ensure all of the poison has been evacuated.”
Brian felt Alice’s arm rest across his shoulders.
“What concerned me was why her ileum ruptured in the first place. Then I remembered her chart and saw that she had been taking anti-inflammatory medication for a period of several years.”
“Yes,” Brian said. “She used to take them for the pain flare-ups in her shoulders and hips.”
The doctor nodded. “For the Ehlers-Danlos, I understand. Her condition is very rare and I’m afraid no one has the answers on how to best cope with it. At the time, anti-inflammatories were the best answer. Now we know that they can weaken the soft tissue of the gastrointestinal tract, which is why we don’t prescribe them for long-term use.”
“When can we see her?” Alice asked.
“I’ll let you look in on her once we move her to I.C.U. I’m afraid she may be here for some time. This was a very big surgery, and recovery is going to be slow and painful. She’s very, very lucky to be alive.”
Brian fixated on the words
slow and painful
. His teeth ground together, sending spikes of pain into his temples.
Why didn’t you tell me, Cass? Was it because you thought it would ruin the wedding? Why couldn’t you share your pain with me? What I wouldn’t give to take your place in that recovery room.
A flood of impotent rage swept through his body. He was mad at fate, God, even himself for letting this happen to his wife.
Brian didn’t notice Dr. Patel leave the room. Alice touched his cheek and brought him out of the fury of his emotions.
“Come on, let’s get a soda downstairs and some air,” she said. “Maybe in an hour or so they’ll move her up. It’ll do us both good to see her face. Then we can go home and get some sleep.”
A long exhalation deflated Brian’s anger and he nodded. “Sure. I feel like I could sleep for days.”
But sleep didn’t come easy when he lay on the couch of his apartment after midnight. He kept seeing her pallid face with tubes running in her nose and mouth, surrounded by machines. They hadn’t allowed him to go in the room. He wanted so badly to kiss her, to feel her warm hand in his, to tell her that he loved her and to fight.
He stared at the boxes scattered around the living room, wondering when he’d be able to unpack them in his and Cassandra’s new home.
“We should be on our honeymoon now,” he said to the darkened room.
Brian watched the shadows move across the ceiling as the night dissolved into day, waiting for visiting hours to begin.
Chapter Three
Because Cassandra was young by the hospital staff’s reckoning, they had put her in a colorfully painted private room in the pediatric section after several weeks in I.C.U. Visitors had packed every corner of the room with flowers, teddy bears, balloons and get-well cards. Brian brought fresh yellow carnations, her favorite, every three days and kept them by her bed.
Her moments of lucidity were few and far between. When she did wake up, the pain would burn like a bonfire in her eyes and he would call for the nurse. She was given injections of high doses of Dilaudid, and her eyelids would flutter before she fell back into a narcotized sleep.
Cassandra hadn’t spoken a word since the surgery. At first, they were concerned there may have been brain damage. The infection had poisoned her blood and tissue and there was a chance some of it made it to her brain. A battery of tests proved her brain was functioning normally.
“She
will
talk,” Dr. Patel had reassured him. “When it’s time, she’ll talk. Until then, you must talk to her, let her know you’re here. Your combined will can do more than I can at this stage.”
Brian was reading Cassandra’s favorite book aloud,
The Outsiders,
when there was a light knock at the door.
Marybeth came in carrying a big plastic bag.
“How’s the patient?” she asked, setting the bag on the lone empty spot of the windowsill.
“No change,” Brian answered, placing a bookmark between the pages. He hugged Marybeth and watched her place a soft kiss on Cassandra’s cheek.
“I brought you something for lunch and dinner. Take out from Romano’s. You look like you haven’t been eating, so I got a little of everything. Promise me you won’t let this go to waste.”
Brian smiled. “I promise. Actually, I am kind of hungry.”
She reached in the bag and handed him a foil-covered wedge. “Good. Have a veal and pepper parm. You need to keep up your strength.”
The sandwich was this side of heaven. He didn’t remember eating the first half before the second half was almost devoured. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he looked at Cassandra, at the tubes running in and out of her chest and stomach, and was sick with guilt.
Here I am making a pig of myself and Cass hasn’t put solid food in her mouth for over two months.
Marybeth saw the look on his face and rubbed his shoulders. “I know, Brian. It’s not easy. You’re doing everything you can. If Cassandra could talk, she’d tell you she was proud of you and so happy to have your love. You know that, right?”
“Yes. I just feel so helpless. I come here every day, stay here until visiting hours are over, and nothing changes. It’s like we’re in limbo, and I don’t know how to get us the hell out.”
He rubbed Cassandra’s hand, wishing to hell she’d magically wake up.
It was a long day with visitors coming and going. Saturdays were always the hardest. Brian did his best to keep a brave face and assure friends and family members that she was progressing and would be well soon. He wondered if he said it to console those who loved and cared for Cassandra or to convince himself that there was more hope than he was feeling.
Most likely it was both.
The PA announced that visiting hours would be ending in fifteen minutes. Brian tucked the blanket around Cassandra and smoothed the hair from her face. He inspected the drains and IVs to make sure everything was in place. He couldn’t leave without knowing that everything was as it should be.
He turned when he heard someone walk in the room.
“Dr. Stepka. Making the late rounds?” he said.
Cassandra’s primary physician had been her doctor since she was seven and told Brian on more than one occasion that he considered her more than a patient. She was like a granddaughter to him. Dr. Stepka was a broad man with a wide boxer’s nose and thick yet delicate hands. His graying hair was in need of a trim.
“I was home, eating one of those prepared meals from the supermarket when I got the urge to come here. How has she been today? Any improvement?”
Brian shook his head. “Nothing. She woke up around three, but it didn’t last long.”
Dr. Stepka sat on the edge of her bed and consulted her chart. Both men were quiet, lost in their frustration and grief.
Brian was putting away the things he’d brought with him—a newspaper, a Jack Ketchum paperback, a pile of forms he had to complete for his insurance company—when he heard the doctor quietly sobbing.
“I’m sorry, Brian. Please, forgive me. There are nights I can’t sleep, wondering what more I can do, who else I can bring in. As a doctor, you learn early on that you can’t cure everyone. You try and try, but sometimes fate takes matters into its own hands.”
He pushed his glasses atop his forehead and wiped his tears with the back of his hand.
Brian didn’t know what to say. Watching Dr. Stepka break down was more than he could handle. He stood opposite the doctor, numb.
Does he know she’s going to die?
he thought.
How long do I have left with her?
“Cassandra’s strong,” Dr. Stepka said. “She’s always been a tough kid. That’s what will bring her back.”
“I know,” Brian replied. It was a struggle to speak past a whisper. He felt his own tears building, but he refused to let them come. If Cassandra could hear him, he wanted her to know he was strong, that he wasn’t giving in to despair. He had to feed his strength into her, just like the machines fed nutrients and medicine into her body.
The doctor placed a fatherly hand on her blanketed leg and composed himself.
An idea had been circling around Brian’s brain for the past couple of weeks. He figured now was as good a time as any to broach the subject.
“I want to take her home,” he blurted. “To our house, the one we picked out together. I want to get her out of this hospital. If she’s going to get better anywhere, it has to be there.”
Dr. Stepka sighed, and their gazes locked for what seemed hours, though could only have been seconds.
He nodded. “I think you should. She belongs with you, in your home. All we’re doing here is providing a bed and changing IV bags. Yes, at this point, I think that’s best. She’ll need nursing care and someone to be with her 24 hours a day.”
Brian’s body felt limp with relief.
“I’ll take care of everything,” he said. He wasn’t sure how, but he’d damn sure move heaven and earth to make it happen.
The doctor rose and shook his hand. “I don’t doubt that for a second.
Save our girl
, Brian. I know you can do it.”
Chapter Four
Brian pulled his car behind the ambulette and was waiting outside the rear double doors before the attendants came out. Fall had come early and crisp leaves whirled around the street in tiny eddies.
Cassandra’s stretcher was removed with little fuss and great care. She hadn’t stirred since they had prepped her for the journey home.
The single, two-story detached house they had bought four months earlier sat on a small plot of land in the Woodlawn section of the Bronx. The front yard was ringed with azalea bushes that had been a beautiful pink and purple when they had put their bid on the house. The cold air and diminishing sun had dulled their vibrancy.
Brian opened the door and said, “Would you mind if I wheeled her inside? It’s kind of my one chance to carry her over the threshold for the first time.”
“Yeah, sure,” the burly driver said, stepping aside so Brian could take his place.
Quite a few windows in the surrounding houses sported parted curtains. Brian was sure this was the spectacle of the day. They would be the talk of the neighborhood.
He wheeled Cassandra through the living room, past the kitchen and into the back bedroom that they had planned to make a guest room. The master bedroom was upstairs, but he wanted her down here in case there was an emergency and she needed to be taken to the hospital.
His footsteps echoed across the walls. Every room was littered with unopened boxes and plastic storage containers. The carpets had been a disaster, so he’d ripped them all up with his friend Mickey’s help last Sunday. Ordering new carpets was somewhere on his massive to-do list.
The attendants wheeled Cassandra’s life support machines behind her. They helped Brian transfer her to the hospital bed he had purchased and checked to make sure the IV tubes were clear and untangled and the port in her chest was connected.
“The nurse will be here in just a few minutes,” the driver said. “She’ll show you everything you need to do.”
“Thank you.” Brian said.
The men left and the house fell into a deep silence. He still had to get furniture for the place. His sole priority had been Cassandra. The back bedroom had her dresser and night table and Hello Kitty lamp she’d had since she was a kid. His bed was a blow-up mattress that was still in a box by her dresser.
The bell rang ten minutes later. An attractive, petite Indian woman extended her hand when he opened the door.
“Hello, I’m Louisa Gupta. I’ll be your wife’s home nurse.”
Her smile gave him an odd sort of comfort and he led her inside. “My name’s Brian. Cassandra’s doctor said you have a lot to show me.”