Most of you probably thought I dropped off the face of the earth..sorry. I've been getting home from work at 10 o'clock and collapsing in to bed... I'll do my best to update more quickly (yeah, yeah, that's what i always say...I know...)
"Rest, honey," a doctor said gently as he stood by her side. "You know it's best that you don't see the child." Margaret tossed her feverish head and attempted to sit up, crying out in pain as she did so.
"Let me hold my baby," she cried once more as tears began to roll down her face. "What's wrong with you? Let me see my baby! You don't understand!" Margaret managed to push the doctor's restraining arm away and she pulled herself off the bed.
"Mrs. Pierce get back onto the bed, now!" the doctor and two nurses rushed over to Margaret, each grabbing onto her and forcing her back onto the bed.
Margaret clawed and kicked at them until she broke free and headed for the hallway, where a nurse had carried her baby. She made it as far as the door before collapsing from exhaustion and pain.
Hawkeye woke to the sound of a nurse slipping quietly into the room. He glanced down at Margaret who was still sleeping fitfully. Something was different though. He scratched at his arm, and then suddenly noticed the extreme temperature difference from his own skin and Margaret's hand which he was still holding firmly.
"What is it?" he asked the nurse fretfully.
"Just a routine checkup, sir," she responded lightly.
"No," he growled in irritation. "Her temperature; what is it?"
"Hold on," the nurse was beginning to grow agitated; there was nothing she disliked more than meddling family members. She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for Margaret's temperature to register on the thermometer.
She gave a disappointed huff as she shook her head slowly. "She's not doing well."
Hawkeye grasped Margaret's hand more firmly as his eyes bore holes into the nurse's face. "How high is it?" He almost didn't want to know what it was; he could feel her hand burning and even the air surrounding her body was hot.
"105.9." the woman divulged reluctantly.
Hawkeye choked back a frustrated growl and began to massage his temples gently. It was going to be a very long day.
It has been two days since the accident. Hawkeye couldn't believe it had been that long. The last forty-eight hours had been like hell. He had gotten a total of three hours sleep as he ran between his wife's room and his son's. Danny had been checked out of the hospital that morning. He was taking pain medicine and his am still had to be in a splint, so not to irritate the incision, but the doctors all assured Hawkeye that the child would be perfectly fine.
"Can I have some ice-cream?" Danny asked hopefully as he bounced up and down on the diner's cushioned seat. The little boy had begged his father to take him out for lunch; apparently the child hated the hospital food as much as his father.
Hawkeye gave his consent with a half-hearted nod while his son let out an excited cheer and began his quest for a waitress. Hawkeye nervously glanced at his silver wristwatch and heaved an irritated sigh He hated being away from the hospital even for meals. He was constantly plagued by guilt whenever he was away; well actually it didn't matter where he was.
A waitress made her way to the table and handed the expectant child his treat. Hawkeye impatiently tossed a few bills on the table.
"I'll be done in a minute," Danny laughed at his father.
"Good, then we'll go home."
Danny's head popped up and her stared at his father in surprise. "What about Mommy?" Hawkeye sighed deeply, he knew Danny was going to put up a fight; and this time it was going to be more difficult to argue with the little boy. Hawkeye honestly wanted to stay with Margaret but he couldn't justify forcing Danny to be in the hospital for the next three weeks. Besides, he had a job and a responsibility for the people in town. They couldn't just do without a doctor for the next few months.
"We'll visit her," Hawkeye said evasively. Danny shocked him with an approving smile.
It seemed as if every square inch of her body was on fire. She couldn't move, and couldn't speak. She was glued in place as she struggled desperately to breathe; every intake of air causing shooting pains to race through her chest.
Margaret opened her eyes cautiously, squinting in the bright lights. She could feel both of her arms were in slings, and she couldn't lift her head enough to find out about her numb legs.
"Terrific job, Houlihan," she scolded herself silently. "Now you're probably paralyzed." She turned her eyes to the left, her neck held firmly in place by a cushioned brace. She saw something that startled her. Her purse and suitcase was lying beside the chair to her left.
Her eyes darted frantically towards the door and her heart skipped a beat. She knew she had left her suitcase at the hotel. Her purse had been left at the house. Panic began to set in and she struggled to speak. "Nurse," the short word came out hoarsely and barely above a whisper. "Nurse," it was a bit louder this time and Margaret could hear hurried footsteps approaching the open doorway.
"I need out of here," Margaret croaked as two nurses scurried into the room. Every word seemed to bring shooting pains through her chest but she had to make the nurses understand. "Please, you have to get me out of here."
The walls seemed to be flying around her head as Margaret was wheeled down the hallway on a gurney. There was an ambulance parked in front of the hospital, waiting to transfer her to a hospital in New York. She whimpered as a doctor's arm brushed against her skin. Every feeling has become extenuated. Even the slightest touch was excruciating. She could tell they were coming to a stop and she breathed a sigh of relief as she closed her eyes. She would be gone soon, away from the torture of having to face Hawkeye's pitying, guilt-fueled glances.
Margaret opened her eyes and found herself in a new room. She sighed in satisfaction and looked around the room curiously.
"Good morning, Mrs. Pierce." A doctor strode through the door and picked up her clipboard with a flourish. "You're doing much better today."
"Am I paralyzed?" she asked forcefully. "I want you to tell me exactly what's wrong with me."
The doctor chuckled and shook his head. "A year from now you'll be perfectly fine."
Margaret's face paled and she sighed deeply, bringing on a long coughing fit and a wave of exhaustion. "Hey, take it easy," the doctor approached her and stroked her hair out of her face softly. "I don't want you to have a relapse."
"I can't pay for it." Margaret mumbled as her eyes began to droop shut.
"You're husband assured us that he would cover everything. Now get some sleep."
Margaret's eyes darted open and she glared at the innocent doctor. "My husband?" she shrieked as loudly as her aching ribs would permit. "I requested to be transferred from Maine immediately!"
"Calm down," the doctor ordered sternly. "This is a matter between you and your husband apparently. Work it out with him after you're fever is gone." The man crossed his arms threateningly and Margaret closed her eyes wearily. "Don't let him in my room." She commanded.
"Fine, as long as you go to sleep and promise to abstain from anymore outbursts."
"Get the hell out," Margaret growled, wishing she was able to shove him forcefully out of the room. She desperately wanted to throw something. The young doctor scurried out of the room, wondering why he had to have such difficult, dramatic patients.