Salvatore Mancusi was a busy man. He didn't have time to be told no. He really didn't have time to deal with whatever pretend ailment had caused his wife to summon an ambulance this time. "Just tell Bella, I must be out of cell range and you can't reach me. Then make sure she gets a private room on 6 East. Oh, and make sure that you send something nice to the nurses. My wife isn't exactly an easy patient," he told his secretary with a chuckle.
Then Salvatore released the intercom button, put any thoughts of his wife completely out of mind, and turned back to his underboss, Joseph Augustino. "There has to be someone who owes us a favor," he said.
Joseph shook his head. "It isn't looking good. Scully and Corinthos are both unrelenting on their no violence against women or children stance. Most of the rest of the five families are as well and Scully and Corinthos are both tight with them anyway," he said.
"Perhaps it is time that this marriage has something in it for me. Reach out to Trevor Lansing and explain that this isn't exactly a request," Salvatore said.
"Wouldn't it be poor form to ask now when Claudia is still in critical condition?" Joseph asked.
Perhaps it was but Salvatore really couldn't be bothered with propriety. "I don't exactly see Anthony Zacchara sitting any bedside vigil. Make the call and set it up!" he commanded.
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Chicago Mercy 6 East Nurse, Anne Pierkarkski felt almost callously cruel as she stepped out of Isabella Mancusi's room and rolled her eyes. If she didn't know better, she would think that the obese woman, gasping, clutching her chest and sweating profusely was having major heart attack, or at least some kind of cardiac dysrhythmia. Yet, her heart monitor showed sinus rhythm with a rate in the seventies, her pulse oximetry had registered 98% before oxygen was applied, and her cardiac enzymes were normal. Despite this she would be admitted for at least five days while she laid helplessly and whined about how sick she felt. She would demand hot packs, cool compresses, multiple attempts at repositioning yet would remain uncomfortable. If it was a particularly bad moment she would retch uncontrollably until someone broke protocol and pushed Ativan IV which usually knocked her out for at least a few hours.
With the exception of her elder son, her family would send flowers and gifts but carefully keep their distance. Anne suspected they needed a break from her as well. Even her son never stayed long or even came every day. Eventually she would tire of the attention, or perhaps accept that no matter how long she stayed in the hospital her husband would not pay attention and demand discharge. The cycle would then repeat on an endless loop.
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In the ICU at Chicago Mercy Hospital, Dr. Ian Thornhart, stood at Claudia Zacchara Mancusi's bedside. There were many things he could, perhaps even should, contemplate, like if he increased the PEEP again might that enable him to lower her ventilator FiO2 down below 50%? But what actually intrigued him most was that somehow despite five days of being critically ill in the ICU receiving multiple liters of fluids she had yet to start third spacing her fluids. That was rare, perhaps a little impressive, and he supposed the only positive semi objective evidence he could find. He supposed that was a start.