SIX WEEKS IN THE LIFE OF…
It felt like swimming in molasses. Not that he'd ever done that, but he was reasonable certain it was a valid comparison.
Everything was in slow motion. He thought his eyes were open. His vision was blurred – no, that wasn't accurate. Foggy was closer, but that still wasn't right. Damn, he was usually much better than this as finding the right word. He processed through his other senses, and was a bit concerned to realize none of them were particularly sharp. Sound barely filtered through the cotton that seemed to be in his ears. He had a faint sense of an unpleasantly familiar smell, but couldn't quite figure out what it was. That molasses sensation extended to his sense of touch, not able to discern what he was feeling beneath his fingertips. He couldn't tell if taste was affected, but since everything else was turned down, he had no doubt that was off line as well. This wasn't good.
The anxious tension increased as the blurring cleared enough to see a light in the distance. Oh no. He was not going to go toward any light. He'd heard the accounts, the clichéd "go into the light" moment of death stories. He had no intention of taking that path.
Still, it did look pleasant enough. And warm. He could feel a cozy warmth emanating as well. Oh – Hell. Literally. No, not going toward that light. Probably cast by the fire and brimstone. Well, Ezra Standish was not ready for that yet. Still far too many experiences awaiting him in the land of the living, thank you kindly. He'd come back in – oh, a few decades. Make that several decades. Nope – not doing it now.
So, focus on living. That means breathing for a start. OK, doing that. Not well, but doing it. Probably be easier if he could figure out just what was going on. Well, easiest way to do that would be to opening his eyes for real, and not accept the mind's eye view he'd been dealing with up until now. That shouldn't be too hard. Something he did all the time. OK, open up. Come on.
He was surprised by how bright it was. He tried to blink, but his brain didn't want to turn thoughts to action. A moment later his eyes began to adjust to the light. He could see shapes around him. Not moving, almost statue like. Oh, wait. Now they were moving. Frantically. They were talking. He could see they were talking, but couldn't hear anything. Of course, that could be because of the cotton in his ears. Concentrating on that, he began to hear faint sounds. He calmed a little as he recognized the voices. They were here. His friends were here. He had no idea exactly where 'here' was, but he wasn't alone. That realization seemed to be enough to clear much of the remaining fog from his brain.
"Ezra – can you hear me Ezra." "Please Pard, give us a sign here. Let us know this is the real deal." "Please dear Lord, let this be true." "Holy crap – he's awake!"
Yes, it sounded like they all were there. At least he knew Nathan, Vin, Josiah and JD were present. He hadn't heard Chris or Buck, but the number of shapes in the room suggested they were part of the mix as well.
"Mr. Standish?" Nope – didn't know that voice at all. "Mr. Standish, my name is Doctor Roberts. Can you hear me? Can you understand me?"
"Well of course I can." He tried to answer, but realized no sound had come out. That was the first time he noticed that his throat felt dry. Come to think of it, his whole body felt a bit dehydrated. And weak. And tired. Maybe he should rest just a bit more before trying to deal with all of this.
"No Ezra, stay awake. Open your eyes for us again." Chris was there, and was all but pleading with him. Clearly this was of great importance to them. He forced his eyes open again, and saw six stunned faces staring back.
"What the hell Nathan?"
They'd been ushered unceremoniously out of the room as medical staff took over. Now the men sat in stunned disbelief in the solarium down the hall from Ezra's room, watching for someone to come with news.
"You got me Chris. There is no way that should have happened. It makes no sense whatsoever. You got a theory there Josiah?"
"Could be the Lord is trying to restore my faith. Either that or He heard me sayin' we need Ezra more than He does. Other than that – beats the hell out of me."
"I don't care. I could not possibly care less about how it happened, or why. We got him back." JD was barely able to contain himself. He wanted to dance in the streets and shout from the roof tops. "We got him back." He repeated. "I gotta tell Casey." He reached for his phone but was stopped by Buck's hand.
"She'll have a million questions that we can't answer yet. Let's hold off on sharing this till we know what's going on. Till we know if he's really back."
JD didn't want to accept what was being suggested. "Course he's back Buck. You saw him."
"Saw him, but that's all. He didn't speak, didn't seem to know us. We just don't know what's going on."
"When did you become the team pessimist? Thought that was my title."
"It's not that Chris. I'm just – I can't get my hopes up. Not until it's real. If I start thinking this is all good, and they tell us otherwise. For months they've been saying he wasn't there, and now he wakes up. I don't think I can handle another let-down."
"It's real Buck." Vin spoke for the first time. "Don't ask me how I know, but I do. It's real. It may take a while for him to be the Ezra we know, but this is real."
"It would seem you're right Mr. Tanner." Dr. Roberts entered the room. "No, please. Sit down everyone. You can see him, but give me a few minutes first." They all reluctantly returned to their seats.
"He has regained consciousness, and seems to be responsive to stimuli. His eyes follow movement, and he reacts to sound. He wasn't able to answer any questions, but that isn't in and of itself conclusive of anything. There is a lot of trauma for his mind to process, and that may well take some time. And the fact he hasn't spoken for months will make him a little rusty as well.
His reflexes are slow, which isn't a surprise. Even with the therapy Mr. Tanner has been so diligent about, there is still atrophy to deal with. And there was a small stroke when all of this started, which may be factoring into the sluggish response." He paused looking at the focused faces staring back at him.
"OK – the million dollar questions. Why did he wake up, and why now? I can't answer either one. I have no idea. I can make some suppositions, really educated guesses."
"So guess." Chris spoke.
"He has been healing, slowly, without our awareness of it. The respirator, the feeding tubes, everything we were doing to support him may well have been serving to keep him from having to wake up. His body registered that he didn't need to do anything but recover, and therefore, he slept. Deeply."
"Well, sleeping in always was something he excelled at." Buck grinned. Everything that was being said was starting to melt away the doubts.
"Gentlemen, I wish I could give you the answers you want. This is every bit as surprising to me as it is to all of you. I've called Dr. Taylor for a consultation. You may recall he was Mr. Standish's physician at the hospital when the diagnosis was made. Very few men in the country would be better suited to review the case with me. And if I need to, I'll consult with them as well.
Bottom line here; Mr. Standish is conscious. He is not merely awake, he is, at a basic level, aware. Over the next few hours and days I expect that awareness to continue to increase. How far it will extend, I can't say. No one can at this point. My advice is to keep doing what you've been doing. Someone should be with him as much as possible. Talk to him. Remind him of who you are, who he is. Be patient. As he wakes further, this is going to be difficult for him to accept. I would suggest you not let on to him how badly he was hurt, or how long he was in coma. At least not right away."
"He's going to want to know, and he is not easily fooled or distracted."
"I understand that Mr. Larabee, but it really is in his best interest to keep shocks to a minimum at the moment. Same for noise or confusion. You are all overwhelmed by this. Imagine how he will feel. Excitement won't help him right now. A calm, soothing, comforting presence is what he needs from all of you."
"Not exactly our strong suit, but we can do it for him. Right JD?" Buck looked to his enthusiastic friend. JD realized they were all looking at him.
"What, you think I can't stay calm?" They continued to watch him. "Fine. I'll figure something out."
"Can we see him now?" Chris was more anxious than he realized to get back into the room.
"Go down to the cafeteria – get yourselves something. Come back in half an hour and we'll be ready for you."
"Thanks Doc."
"Don't thank me gentlemen. I had nothing to do with this. You, all of you, did this for him."
"Nah, we helped," Buck said, "but we should have known. Ezra's just too damn stubborn to die."
It was quiet again. And the room was a little darker than it had been before, which was much easier on his eyes. He looked around as much as was possible without moving. He didn't feel quite up to trying that yet. There were two people in the room, both near the bed. He worked on focusing and determined it was Vin and Josiah. The bigger man was slouched down, possibly sleeping, in the chair furthest from him. He switched his attention to the other chair, and realized Vin was leaning in now, staring back at him.
"You awake this time Ezra? You with me?"
He tried to speak, but found he still couldn't seem to get the actions together. Concentrating the effort, he tried to nod, and was enormously pleased with himself when his line of vision shifted enough to show he'd been successful. Further evidence came with the enormous sigh and face breaking smile from Vin.
"Damn Pard – it's so good to see you. I know your probably a bit confused."
A bit? Ezra thought. Try totally perplexed, confounded or mystified. Oh good, my vocabulary is returning.
"For now, all you need to know is you were hurt pretty bad, and had us all damn scared for a while. But looks like you beat the odds again. Course we should have known you would. Always do."
"I take it our drowsy companion has rejoined us Vin?" Josiah leaned closer. Ezra was gratified to feel his hand enveloped in that of the bigger man. "Welcome back son. Hope you're planning on staying with us for a bit." Ezra tried to smile, and wasn't entirely certain of his success. He did know it was getting harder to keep his eyes open. "No, don't fight it. You're still pretty tired. We understand. You go ahead and sleep if you need to. Someone is going to be here every time you wake up. You just do what you need, we'll take care of everything else."
He could feel both men holding onto him as he drifted off again.
It went on like that for the next few days. One or two of them with him at all times. A reclining chair was brought into the room, so someone could spend the night as well. They'd already cleared their work schedule, so right now the biggest challenge for each man was staying away from Ezra. Fear of overwhelming him was the only thing keeping the team from setting up a full time camp-out in his room.
Ezra would drift in and out of sleep. He continued to react to their presence, appearing less anxious with each new round of consciousness. He seemed to be listening to their stories, vague in nature though they were, and slowly starting to come to an initial understanding of his situation.
On the fifth morning, Chris arrived carrying a tray of coffee and bag of pastries. Vin had spent the night, and was clearly happy to see breakfast arriving.
"How's our boy this morning?"
"Still asleep. Had a quiet night. Only a bit restless around 3."
"Did you get much sleep?"
"Some." Vin stretched as he stood. "Think I will go home and try to get a couple more hours though."
"Bout time you started taking care of yourself." Buck smiled when he saw the donut in Chris's hand. "Guess you guys don't need these." He raised his own bag of breakfast treats.
Vin grabbed them out of his hand, grinning. "That's OK – I'll enjoy these a little later."
"Pretty fast reflexes from a man with no sleep." Buck growled. Vin nodded, grin widening.
"Water." The word was barely whispered from the bed, but the three men all spun to look at the speaker.
"Now Ezra, you best not be playing with us here. You asking for something?" Buck took a step closer.
A hint of a smile came to his face and he spoke again. "Water – please." The voice was raw from his dry throat, and rusty from 6 months of silence, but a sweeter sound had never been heard.
"Absolutely Pard." Chris had already poured a glass full, place a straw in it before handing it to Vin. "Can you sip it, or do you want me to help you sit up a bit?"
There was an anxious moment of silence while Ezra concentrated on forming the word.
"Sit – please."
A few minutes and several pillows later, he was propped up. Vin continued to hold the glass as Ezra remained too weak to support even that weight. But they all smiled as he drank, relishing the first signs of normalcy they'd had. Buck wasn't the least bit subtle in pulling out his cell phone to photograph the moment for posterity, and sending it to the absent friends. The immediate comments of elation from the others spurred Chris to send his own message, reminding them not to invade. He was ignored.
Within the hour everyone had appeared. Chris stationed himself by the door, issuing stern warnings to each arrival that they were to remain calm and quiet, not exciting or agitating Ezra in any way.
"Damn Chris! Is that what I sound like when I get all mother-hen on you guys?" Nathan grinned. "Nice to not be the bad guy for a change." He got nothing more than the patented Larabee glare a response, so held up his hands in mock surrender. "OK, OK – I promise to behave as well as the rest of you do when I ask." The glare somehow became even more intense. Nathan fought back the grin, but as he neared the bed, it returned full force.
"Well you look a damn sight better than the last time I was here. Got yourself one bad case of bed head though. Never seen you with your hair so untidy. Oh, look at that Chris. Ezra can glare almost as well as you do!"
Dr. Roberts was once again stunned by the rate of recovery his patient was showing. As the day progressed, his speech had become more fluent, with short, albeit choppy sentences now being the norm. The voice remained extremely raspy, but even that had begun to soften. The following day he sat next to the bed, still shaking his head in disbelief.
"Mr. Standish, I'd like to say you are a marvel of modern medicine, but I can't help but believe you and your friends had far more to do with this recovery than did any treatments we have provided. I know you have a lot of questions, and I assure you we'll do our best to provide you with answers."
"Want home."
"I don't doubt that either. Both Mr. Larabee and Mr. Tanner warned me you would be reluctant to remain here a moment longer than needed. I do think you should stay with us for a bit longer however. You are still quite weak, and I think avoiding a relapse of any kind would be in everyone's best interest."
Ezra looked over to Chris, who had just returned for the evening. "Ranch?" He got a puzzled look in response. "Can I stay at Ranch?"
"You kidding me? That was always the plan. Once the Doc gives the all clear we'll have you set up in no time. What about it Doc? How long?"
"There is still a long road to recovery Mr. Larabee."
"Yeah, but I imagine he'll do a lot better someplace he feels more comfortable."
Dr. Roberts wasn't at all sure this was a good idea. They hadn't even told Ezra all the details of his condition, and the therapy, both physical and psychological, was going to be an ongoing process for some time to come.
"Trust me Doc." Chris could almost read the man's mind. "We can arrange anything he needs. Nobody could be taking better care of him."
Ezra seethed quietly on the bed. He resented being spoken about instead of being spoken to. It was bad enough he had basically pleaded with Chris for a place to get away from here, now he had to listen to others debate his future. He bristled at the idea that anyone would be taking care of him, especially as it sounded like a long term plan.
Yet, putting his ego and pride aside, he knew this was the only option. It took no thought whatsoever for him to realize he was a long way from healthy. Even minor movements still exhausted him, and that was after sleeping about 20 hours each day. The only saving grace had been the slow return of his speech. It was nowhere near being up to his standards, but at least he could make himself understood, and that was an enormous relief.
There was no doubt in his mind that they all wondered why he had not yet asked the obvious. So far, a week after waking up, he'd asked no questions, shown no apparent interest in knowing what had happened to him. He'd been able to make a few assumptions on his own. His weakened condition and raw voice told him that he'd been out for a while. There was no memory of being hurt, or becoming ill, and he still had no certainty as to why he was here, in a convalescent home and not in a hospital bed. But, for reasons he didn't fully understand, he was reluctant to ask them for the answers.
"Ezra – that sound OK to you?"
Damn. He'd let his mind wander again. What plans had they formulated while he mused on his life?
"You stay here 5 or 6 more days." Chris repeated. When the bedridden man's reaction was less than thrilled, an explanation was added. "We need the time to get things ready for you at the ranch. Soon as that's done, you'll be outta here. No offense Doc."
Ezra signed and nodded. "Be OK. Just five."
"You just keep getting better and you'll be seeing Chaucer before you know it." He knew that would get a smile from the man, and he was right.
TBC
M7- M7- M7- M7- M7- M7- M7
