PART EIGHT
Recovery room
Sam had been told he wouldn't remember anything from the OR, and that part proved true enough.
Later, he would have a vague image of someone with a mask above him, and the sensation of having his arms stretched out to the sides, then the burn in his arm as the anaesthetic was passing through his bloodstream, but nothing else.
Sam had also been told he wouldn't remember the first few hours in recovery, but unfortunately, that part didn't come true.
The first thing Sam was conscious of when he woke up was that he hurt. More than he had in all his life.
Whatever he'd done to deserve that, he would have been more than happy to make amends for it, but no one seemed to know he was here.
He heard someone say, "Don't worry, we're going to take some x-rays of your lungs."
Then he felt hands grabbing him, lifting him, and it hurt even more. He tried to cry out, but it didn't seem to work, and everything was black again.
* * * * *
The next time he woke up, it still hurt as much, and he heard an incessant beeping next to him. And he found out that he couldn't breathe.
Then a male voice said "Okay, we're going to extubate you. Take a deep breath and when I'll tell you, let it out."
The sensation of the tube leaving his throat was unpleasant, to say the least, but he could breathe all he wanted now, and he made the most of this new freedom.
Then he coughed a little, but it caused him even more pain, and he moaned.
The male voice asked "On a 1 to 100 scale, how would you describe the pain?"
"85?" he said, shocked at how quaky his voice sounded.
"Okay, we're gonna give you some morphine," the voice said, and he passed out again.
* * * * *
The third time he awoke, he was able to get his bearings a little more, and to feel that he hurt also in the neck, where they had put the catheter before his first dialysis. That's when it came back to him : the transplant.
He tried to raise his head, to ask where he was and if the operation was done, but he couldn't move that much.
Then a doctor, with a familiar face, leaned over him. "How do you feel?" he asked.
"Groggy. Kinda numb," he managed.
"Okay, that's normal. The transplant was a success, congratulations. The kidney is working, and you're already urinating a lot. We're going to keep you in recovery for the night, then we'll send you to your room."
"Friends?" he asked.
"You'll see them tomorrow," the doctor promised, and Sam fell asleep again.
* * * * *
Waiting room
The senior staff and the Bartlets got up all at once when the surgeon entered the room.
"The operation went well," he said without making them wait. "He's in recovery right now. The kidney seems to be functioning."
"Now what?" Abbey asked.
"Now we wait and see if he'll accept the transplant. There's always a risk of rejection, especially when the transplant comes from a dead donor. We're going to keep him in recovery tonight, but you'll be able to see him tomorrow."
Once the doctor was gone, they let go of their collective breath, and began to organize themselves for the next few days. The President and Leo prepared to head back to the White House - there wasn't anything more they could do here anyway.
The rest of the staff argued a moment before deciding that Josh would stay with Sam at first, and that Toby would go to sleep for a few hours, before coming back to take Josh's place. He made it clear that he wanted to be there when Sam woke up, and no one challenged him, although CJ seemed amused at his protectiveness.
She wouldn't have been if she'd been there to witness the state Sam was in when Toby had found him after his phone call, earlier that day.
He had tried to hide that he'd been crying, but Toby had come to recognize the signs. He was terrified, that the transplant was going to fail, and that it was going to work, because then he'd have to go back to the world, and even though he had never said anything about it, Toby knew that the prospect frightened him.
He had been pretty sheltered after the shooting, leaving his place only to make the trip to the hospital. He was having such a hard time dealing with the immediate effects of his conditions that no one had dared to push him to resume some activities. They were waiting for the dust to settle, so they could see more clearly what they were up against. They knew that it couldn't go on like that forever, though. Sam had only talked about the shooting two times - one with the police, one with Toby. He hadn't answered any questions, and the expression on his face when someone tried to make him talk kept them from insisting too much.
They hadn't had the time to push more before the transplant, and now it obviously would have to wait some more.
Toby sincerely hoped that their waiting for a better time hadn't hurt Sam more in the long run, but it was yet another thing they couldn't do anything about now.
And for today, Toby thought with a smile, the transplant had been a success, and that was something they could celebrate.
* * * * *
Recovery room
When Sam woke up again, he found a nurse at his bedside. She smiled cheerfully and asked him how he was feeling.
"Better, I think," he admitted, a little surprised himself.
"Good," she said, checking his blood pressure.
He took a look at the equipment he was wired to, and opened his eyes in surprise.
"Impressive, isn't it?" she smiled.
He had to agree. They had explained to him what everything was before they took him to the operation room, but there was a huge difference between picturing it and actually seeing it - the tubes for the oxygen, the drips, the clip on his finger.
And then there were the drains on his scar, and he tried not to think about what these ones were for.
He grimaced slightly and the nurse must have seen his expression, because she smiled gently. "You'll be free of the oxygen and at least one of the drips pretty soon," she promised. "They're probably going to send you to a private room once the doctor has seen you."
"Thanks," he said and she nodded, and left him to see to another patient.
* * * * *
Sam's room 24 hours later
Sam was staring at the ceiling of his new room - he had only been there for a few hours, and he already despised it.
Toby hadn't been able to be there when Sam was brought into his new room - something had come up at work, his boss had told him on the phone. Josh was there, though, and his parents were on the road again. He had tried to protest that he wasn't sure he wanted to see them, but no one, not even him, had the heart to tell them to stay in California.
He resigned himself to their visit, and tried to regain some strength back. He had expected to be tired, but not that tired. The doctor had told him that he hadn't completely recovered from the previous surgery yet, which would make it more difficult for him to go back at his top form.
He was bored, too. He wasn't able to write or read, yet, and he had been forbidden to watch CNN. Unfortunately, nothing else interested him on TV, so all he had left was listening to music. His friends often found him asleep, his CD player still running.
His nights weren't pleasant either. He hurt, and the dosage of the painkillers wasn't enough to take the pain away, so he often found himself wide awake in the night, waiting for his next shot.
The tests that had to be run were less frequent, though, to his relief. The first forty eight hours after the operation had been really awful. He knew that the nurses had checked on him every half hour for the first six hours after the operation, but back then he was too out of it to care. But now, he was still poked and prodded every hour, and he couldn't wait for the rhythm of the tests to slow down.
On the other hand, when the nurses weren't there to annoy him, all he had left to do was stare at the ceiling, and that wasn't proving to be half as entertaining as one would have thought.
At least, last time, he was so busy indulging into self pity he hadn't the time to be bored, he thought, before falling asleep.
* * * * *
Toby's office Three days later
Four days after the transplant, Toby almost managed to put in his ten hours of work a day again. Sam was getting much better, and the assistants had finally been able to go see him. The President had also paid him a visit, along with the First Lady, and everyone seemed much happier.
Sam's parents had gone back to California, to his urgings. Josh told Toby, after they saw them at the airport, that they were making so many efforts to stay civil in each other presence that it was almost painful to watch, and Toby had had to agree. They were cold, they were polite, and yet the hatred they felt for each other was glaringly obvious - they could barely stand being in the same room, and Sam wasn't an idiot, he could see that all too well. He had told Toby that he had been happy to have them with him on the hardest days, but now that he was feeling better, it pained him to see the state their relationship was in. He didn't want to see them both near him, and he didn't want to choose, so he asked them to go away.
His mother had cried, but she had waited to be out of the room for that, which bought her a few points with Josh, who had told Toby that at least, she had had the decency to wait until Sam was out of earshot, so it wouldn't add yet more pressure on his shoulders. His father had been less understanding, trying to bully his son into being allowed to stay until Josh kicked him out of the room when he saw that Sam was ready to cave in. Mr Seaborn Sr. had looked at Josh angrily after that, but it would have taken a lot more than a few disapproving looks from this man to phase Josh.
His parents gone, the senior staff tried to keep Sam entertained, and to keep his mind off the recovering period that was awaiting him. The surgeon who had made the transplant had warned them all that there were going to be a number of restrictions on his lifestyle now, and he'd have to follow a treatment until the end of his life. Sam claimed that it was nothing compared to the dialyses, though, and that's about all they got from him on the subject. When they tried to talk more about it with him, he didn't seem to listen to them. He wanted to hear about office gossip, or even about politics, but he never discussed his operation, or the actual attack.
The psychologist of the hospital had told them she wasn't worried yet. Sam had lots of friends who were keeping an eye on him, and he'd talk to them, sooner or later. And despite his evasion tactics, Sam did seem in much better spirits than he had been before.
Toby was smiling when the phone rang.
A nurse on Sam's floor wanted to talk to him. Sam had asked to see him as soon as possible.
Recovery room
Sam had been told he wouldn't remember anything from the OR, and that part proved true enough.
Later, he would have a vague image of someone with a mask above him, and the sensation of having his arms stretched out to the sides, then the burn in his arm as the anaesthetic was passing through his bloodstream, but nothing else.
Sam had also been told he wouldn't remember the first few hours in recovery, but unfortunately, that part didn't come true.
The first thing Sam was conscious of when he woke up was that he hurt. More than he had in all his life.
Whatever he'd done to deserve that, he would have been more than happy to make amends for it, but no one seemed to know he was here.
He heard someone say, "Don't worry, we're going to take some x-rays of your lungs."
Then he felt hands grabbing him, lifting him, and it hurt even more. He tried to cry out, but it didn't seem to work, and everything was black again.
* * * * *
The next time he woke up, it still hurt as much, and he heard an incessant beeping next to him. And he found out that he couldn't breathe.
Then a male voice said "Okay, we're going to extubate you. Take a deep breath and when I'll tell you, let it out."
The sensation of the tube leaving his throat was unpleasant, to say the least, but he could breathe all he wanted now, and he made the most of this new freedom.
Then he coughed a little, but it caused him even more pain, and he moaned.
The male voice asked "On a 1 to 100 scale, how would you describe the pain?"
"85?" he said, shocked at how quaky his voice sounded.
"Okay, we're gonna give you some morphine," the voice said, and he passed out again.
* * * * *
The third time he awoke, he was able to get his bearings a little more, and to feel that he hurt also in the neck, where they had put the catheter before his first dialysis. That's when it came back to him : the transplant.
He tried to raise his head, to ask where he was and if the operation was done, but he couldn't move that much.
Then a doctor, with a familiar face, leaned over him. "How do you feel?" he asked.
"Groggy. Kinda numb," he managed.
"Okay, that's normal. The transplant was a success, congratulations. The kidney is working, and you're already urinating a lot. We're going to keep you in recovery for the night, then we'll send you to your room."
"Friends?" he asked.
"You'll see them tomorrow," the doctor promised, and Sam fell asleep again.
* * * * *
Waiting room
The senior staff and the Bartlets got up all at once when the surgeon entered the room.
"The operation went well," he said without making them wait. "He's in recovery right now. The kidney seems to be functioning."
"Now what?" Abbey asked.
"Now we wait and see if he'll accept the transplant. There's always a risk of rejection, especially when the transplant comes from a dead donor. We're going to keep him in recovery tonight, but you'll be able to see him tomorrow."
Once the doctor was gone, they let go of their collective breath, and began to organize themselves for the next few days. The President and Leo prepared to head back to the White House - there wasn't anything more they could do here anyway.
The rest of the staff argued a moment before deciding that Josh would stay with Sam at first, and that Toby would go to sleep for a few hours, before coming back to take Josh's place. He made it clear that he wanted to be there when Sam woke up, and no one challenged him, although CJ seemed amused at his protectiveness.
She wouldn't have been if she'd been there to witness the state Sam was in when Toby had found him after his phone call, earlier that day.
He had tried to hide that he'd been crying, but Toby had come to recognize the signs. He was terrified, that the transplant was going to fail, and that it was going to work, because then he'd have to go back to the world, and even though he had never said anything about it, Toby knew that the prospect frightened him.
He had been pretty sheltered after the shooting, leaving his place only to make the trip to the hospital. He was having such a hard time dealing with the immediate effects of his conditions that no one had dared to push him to resume some activities. They were waiting for the dust to settle, so they could see more clearly what they were up against. They knew that it couldn't go on like that forever, though. Sam had only talked about the shooting two times - one with the police, one with Toby. He hadn't answered any questions, and the expression on his face when someone tried to make him talk kept them from insisting too much.
They hadn't had the time to push more before the transplant, and now it obviously would have to wait some more.
Toby sincerely hoped that their waiting for a better time hadn't hurt Sam more in the long run, but it was yet another thing they couldn't do anything about now.
And for today, Toby thought with a smile, the transplant had been a success, and that was something they could celebrate.
* * * * *
Recovery room
When Sam woke up again, he found a nurse at his bedside. She smiled cheerfully and asked him how he was feeling.
"Better, I think," he admitted, a little surprised himself.
"Good," she said, checking his blood pressure.
He took a look at the equipment he was wired to, and opened his eyes in surprise.
"Impressive, isn't it?" she smiled.
He had to agree. They had explained to him what everything was before they took him to the operation room, but there was a huge difference between picturing it and actually seeing it - the tubes for the oxygen, the drips, the clip on his finger.
And then there were the drains on his scar, and he tried not to think about what these ones were for.
He grimaced slightly and the nurse must have seen his expression, because she smiled gently. "You'll be free of the oxygen and at least one of the drips pretty soon," she promised. "They're probably going to send you to a private room once the doctor has seen you."
"Thanks," he said and she nodded, and left him to see to another patient.
* * * * *
Sam's room 24 hours later
Sam was staring at the ceiling of his new room - he had only been there for a few hours, and he already despised it.
Toby hadn't been able to be there when Sam was brought into his new room - something had come up at work, his boss had told him on the phone. Josh was there, though, and his parents were on the road again. He had tried to protest that he wasn't sure he wanted to see them, but no one, not even him, had the heart to tell them to stay in California.
He resigned himself to their visit, and tried to regain some strength back. He had expected to be tired, but not that tired. The doctor had told him that he hadn't completely recovered from the previous surgery yet, which would make it more difficult for him to go back at his top form.
He was bored, too. He wasn't able to write or read, yet, and he had been forbidden to watch CNN. Unfortunately, nothing else interested him on TV, so all he had left was listening to music. His friends often found him asleep, his CD player still running.
His nights weren't pleasant either. He hurt, and the dosage of the painkillers wasn't enough to take the pain away, so he often found himself wide awake in the night, waiting for his next shot.
The tests that had to be run were less frequent, though, to his relief. The first forty eight hours after the operation had been really awful. He knew that the nurses had checked on him every half hour for the first six hours after the operation, but back then he was too out of it to care. But now, he was still poked and prodded every hour, and he couldn't wait for the rhythm of the tests to slow down.
On the other hand, when the nurses weren't there to annoy him, all he had left to do was stare at the ceiling, and that wasn't proving to be half as entertaining as one would have thought.
At least, last time, he was so busy indulging into self pity he hadn't the time to be bored, he thought, before falling asleep.
* * * * *
Toby's office Three days later
Four days after the transplant, Toby almost managed to put in his ten hours of work a day again. Sam was getting much better, and the assistants had finally been able to go see him. The President had also paid him a visit, along with the First Lady, and everyone seemed much happier.
Sam's parents had gone back to California, to his urgings. Josh told Toby, after they saw them at the airport, that they were making so many efforts to stay civil in each other presence that it was almost painful to watch, and Toby had had to agree. They were cold, they were polite, and yet the hatred they felt for each other was glaringly obvious - they could barely stand being in the same room, and Sam wasn't an idiot, he could see that all too well. He had told Toby that he had been happy to have them with him on the hardest days, but now that he was feeling better, it pained him to see the state their relationship was in. He didn't want to see them both near him, and he didn't want to choose, so he asked them to go away.
His mother had cried, but she had waited to be out of the room for that, which bought her a few points with Josh, who had told Toby that at least, she had had the decency to wait until Sam was out of earshot, so it wouldn't add yet more pressure on his shoulders. His father had been less understanding, trying to bully his son into being allowed to stay until Josh kicked him out of the room when he saw that Sam was ready to cave in. Mr Seaborn Sr. had looked at Josh angrily after that, but it would have taken a lot more than a few disapproving looks from this man to phase Josh.
His parents gone, the senior staff tried to keep Sam entertained, and to keep his mind off the recovering period that was awaiting him. The surgeon who had made the transplant had warned them all that there were going to be a number of restrictions on his lifestyle now, and he'd have to follow a treatment until the end of his life. Sam claimed that it was nothing compared to the dialyses, though, and that's about all they got from him on the subject. When they tried to talk more about it with him, he didn't seem to listen to them. He wanted to hear about office gossip, or even about politics, but he never discussed his operation, or the actual attack.
The psychologist of the hospital had told them she wasn't worried yet. Sam had lots of friends who were keeping an eye on him, and he'd talk to them, sooner or later. And despite his evasion tactics, Sam did seem in much better spirits than he had been before.
Toby was smiling when the phone rang.
A nurse on Sam's floor wanted to talk to him. Sam had asked to see him as soon as possible.
