I took a little journey out west this past week-end - sans computer - and when I got back and checked my mail, I nearly fell off my chair when I saw the at the amount of reviews you guys sent me for my last chapter! Thank-you soooo much for your unyielding support. First and foremost, I've gotta send my 'shout-outs' to my ever-faithfuls… you guys know who you are, and I can't thank you enough. And last, but definitely not least, Sarah, you're my girl ;) Thanks for EVERYTHING you've done to help me through my first fic.
So, here's a chapter that doesn't explain a whole lot, but I felt this one-on-one interaction deserved its own chapter. I'll get on with the plot in the next one. I hope you enjoy this little piece.
Thanks,
~JOEY~
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
-The Hours After-
Chapter 10
Nights have never been easy for me. Somehow, my mind finds ways to make the most peaceful part of my day, a terror-filled nightmare. It could be the heavy darkness or the eerie silence, but exactly what it is that makes my mind wander into the most frightful of realms will continue to be a mystery to me. All I know is that I never really want to be alone - despite what I say and do. Being alone means you only have one person - yourself. If you happen to fall, no one is there to catch you. I never thought of it before, but maybe that's why I'm always looking for another one night stand. It's one night with a warm body lying next to me. I guess I'm a little more insecure than I thought. I should get a dog.
They moved Faith out of the room. In my haze, I heard her begging them to let her stay. If I recall correctly, Fred wasn't too pleased to hear that. That's good news though - at least she's feeling better. She must be if they are moving her out of here. It was hard to determine exactly what was going on with the doctors and nurses throwing my body around, trying to arrange it appropriately for the draining.
To my surprise, the procedure to drain my lungs was originally painless, but my sides are slowly starting to ache at the incisions. I'll never forget the sensational wave of relief when they initially inserted the tubes between my ribs. I quietly begged them to hurry, but they insisted that they had to do it slowly, to prevent any more shock-like effects on my body. Instead, they pumped large portions of painkillers into my veins to relieve my distress. As if on cue, my eyelids grew heavy and I began to 'float' away again.
He said I was dying. He said it so matter-of-factly, too. One of the nurses asked if they should intubate again and Dr. Grander sighed and replied, "I don't think that's going to be necessary. We'll continue to drain the pleural effusion and just try to make him as comfortable as possible. We're talking about a 40% mortality rate… It's not looking good."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The little doc was the last person that I thought would give up on me. He seemed so gung-ho in the beginning. I actually trusted this guy - something that I don't do very often - and he's ready to throw in the towel. At least Faith left before that conversation took place… I think. I don't even know anymore. I'm stuck in a confusing whirlwind that I have no way of escaping.
Someone is gently running their fingers over the top of my hand. Whoever it is has been there for a while. I won't even bother trying to open my eyes and have some form of communication with this person, who obviously cares enough to stay with me. I'm too exhausted to experience any more hurt. So, I'll just lie here - enjoying the soothing warmth.
************************************
I'm awoken by a drop of liquid that's fallen on my hand. My mouth is dry, so I swallow in an attempt to moisten the flesh… I can swallow. I always took that function for granted. It feels like there is a sandpaper ball in my throat, which is obviously swollen. I cough lightly, which causes the drains in my sides to shift, sending an unexpected shock through my ribcage. I wince, waiting for the pain to alleviate.
Another drop falls, and is quickly wiped away by warm fingers.
I slowly part my eyelids, allowing the bright lights to sting my dilated pupils. Before I am able to adjust to the brightness, the warm touch softly runs across my forehead and then through my hair.
I blink several times to regain focus, only to see my mother's tear-stained face sadly looking back at me.
She sniffles and wipes away a few stray tears as a small smile crosses her face.
"Hey, Baby," her voice waivers.
I tilt my head and moan, "Ma."
She removes her hand from mine to cover her face as she begins to sob. I can literally feel my heart breaking. They told her. They told her the words that every parent dreads from the minute their child is born. They told her she's going to outlive her son.
She leans forward until her forehead is resting on the side of my bed, beside my hand. I place my fingers on top of her head and close my eyes. I hate this. Nothing could be worse than seeing your mother dying inside.
"This isn't happening, Maurice. It can't. You have to fight," her voice is muffled, but slowly raises as she give me her little pep-talk. She lifts her head, allowing my hand to drop at my side.
"Look at me."
Only my mother would give me orders now. I do my best to obey her demands, but every little movement or effort is so draining. I find it hard to even imagine running after a perp. It must be possible though, I did it at least once a day for ten years. I think that subconsciously, I used to give them a chance to run, just for the excitement of a chase. It didn't matter anyway, I always caught them… one way or another.
I open my eyes and my gaze settles on Ma's face. She isn't even bothering to wipe away the streaming tears anymore. She has that look on her face, like she has something to say and she will not rest until it's been said and agreed to. Mikey and I saw that look a lot when we were growing up.
"You listen to me, and you listen to me good."
Is she yelling at me?! Seriously, Ma, that's not all that appropriate right now.
"I will NOT bury my son! I won't do it, Maurice. So you get your act together and recover from this." She pauses slightly, but her expression remains determined. "I'm not asking you, I'm TELLING you. Do you hear me?! "
Like I said, only MY mother.
I nod 'yes', and her face softens slightly.
Despite the tears and apparent internal agony that she is suffering from, she is still stubborn as hell. At least I know where I got it from. I want to tell her not to tear herself apart over this, not to worry, not to cry; but truth is, I'm scared out of my mind.
I've always been told I would be fine - told that I would recover from whatever ailed me. Now, they're pretty much planning my funeral. I'm just waiting for them to come over with a book and have me chose my coffin. Do they think I'm that weak? I have to admit, I feel like shit, but as of right now, I just can't believe that I'm dying. I mean, not too long ago, a machine was breathing for me. Now I'm breathing on my own, conscious and able to speak small words, and they're writing me off. I just don't get it. What's changed?
Again, Ma grabs my hand in hers.
"I love you so much."
"I love you too, Ma." Despite the gentle whisper, the effort to speak leaves me exhausted.
I feel my body beginning to sweat and tremble. I tilt my head back and half-close my eyes. I hear Ma sniffling but her fingers continue to massage my hand.
"Sorry to interrupt," the voice of the third party startles me. "My name's Dr. Jennings. Dr. Grander has finished his shift, so I'll be taking over until he gets back later on tonight. I just came by to check up on you. How are you feeling, Officer?"
I recognize the female doctor, but can't quite place her.
I gather what little energy I have to mutter, "Hot."
"You're hot? Okay, I think we should get the cooling blanket back on you anyway." She turns away to address the nurse at her side. "Where are we at?"
"Heart rate's 85, BP's 55/80, temp's 103.9," the nurse replies systematically.
Dr. Jennings reaches over my head to grab a tongue depressor.
"I'm just going to have a look at your throat for a second, okay?"
I nod and open my mouth as much as possible.
She shines a light into my mouth and analyzes my throat for several seconds. When she finishes, she turns back to the nurse who is fiddling with my chest tubes, "Can you could get him that cooling blanket and increase his Claforan to 2 grams every four hours? I'm just worried the drains are going to get infected too."
She turns back around and lowers her voice to speak me, "Officer Boscorelli, you have a very severe infection in your throat, and in order to effectively treat it, you cannot have a tube down your throat, so we had to remove it. In order for you to breathe on your own, we had to insert those chest tubes to drain the fluid from your lungs. Unfortunately, those tubes are also very susceptible to infection, so it's a bit of a gamble, but we had to act quickly before the infection spread into your blood. I know it sounds like a viscous cycle, but I assure you, we made the decision that is in your best interest."
She sure doesn't mix words, but at least she didn't say, 'We're just delaying the inevitable. This should buy you a couple more hours'. I think my mother would have had a nervous breakdown.
I nod, and she gives me a small smile before she turns and walks over to another patient at the other end of the room.
It doesn't really surprise me that my throat is so deeply infected. There is a consistent throbbing in the sore tissue that reflects every heartbeat. I can often taste blood, that I can only assume is coming from the infected sores. The taste is sickening - playing with my mind more than anything else. It reminds me of all the fights I have been involved in -all the punches I have had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of. As a result, merely the taste of blood causes my stomach to contract in revulsion. I gently swallow, trying to rid my mouth of the horrid taste and ensuing memories.
The nurse re-enters with the heavy cooling blanket. The coolness can't come quickly enough. I'm so overheated, I feel like I've just run a marathon and I can almost see the heat radiating from my sweaty body. I enjoy the minor relief as she places the blanket over me and it begins to work its magic.
Again, Ma and I are left alone. She seems a little more stable than she was before the Doctor stopped by.
She looks old - a lot older than she did when I visited her a week ago.
"All of the Officers were talking about attending a funeral for the female firefighter that died two days ago."
Two days. I can't believe it's only been two days. Two days of pure hell. I would have guessed something closer to two weeks. I wish I could be there with them. We argue and joke, but in the end, we've got each other's backs.
"They send their wishes, Maurice. They care about you. I care about you."
She pulls herself closer to my bed and places both hands over mine.
"You have so much to live for. I would do anything to trade places with you."
Her earlier stability is now gone. She begins to cry again as she repetitively kisses my hand that she is tightly grasping. My eyes are beginning to close and I know my minutes of consciousness are limited. I'm slipping back into that dreaded realm of night, but I'm just too tired to fight it. At least Ma's here. Her mere presence eases some of the pain and uneasiness. She's my warm body right now.
Before she completely loses control of herself, she whispers to me while looking straight into my eyes.
"I just can't live without you."
TBC.
So, here's a chapter that doesn't explain a whole lot, but I felt this one-on-one interaction deserved its own chapter. I'll get on with the plot in the next one. I hope you enjoy this little piece.
Thanks,
~JOEY~
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
-The Hours After-
Chapter 10
Nights have never been easy for me. Somehow, my mind finds ways to make the most peaceful part of my day, a terror-filled nightmare. It could be the heavy darkness or the eerie silence, but exactly what it is that makes my mind wander into the most frightful of realms will continue to be a mystery to me. All I know is that I never really want to be alone - despite what I say and do. Being alone means you only have one person - yourself. If you happen to fall, no one is there to catch you. I never thought of it before, but maybe that's why I'm always looking for another one night stand. It's one night with a warm body lying next to me. I guess I'm a little more insecure than I thought. I should get a dog.
They moved Faith out of the room. In my haze, I heard her begging them to let her stay. If I recall correctly, Fred wasn't too pleased to hear that. That's good news though - at least she's feeling better. She must be if they are moving her out of here. It was hard to determine exactly what was going on with the doctors and nurses throwing my body around, trying to arrange it appropriately for the draining.
To my surprise, the procedure to drain my lungs was originally painless, but my sides are slowly starting to ache at the incisions. I'll never forget the sensational wave of relief when they initially inserted the tubes between my ribs. I quietly begged them to hurry, but they insisted that they had to do it slowly, to prevent any more shock-like effects on my body. Instead, they pumped large portions of painkillers into my veins to relieve my distress. As if on cue, my eyelids grew heavy and I began to 'float' away again.
He said I was dying. He said it so matter-of-factly, too. One of the nurses asked if they should intubate again and Dr. Grander sighed and replied, "I don't think that's going to be necessary. We'll continue to drain the pleural effusion and just try to make him as comfortable as possible. We're talking about a 40% mortality rate… It's not looking good."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The little doc was the last person that I thought would give up on me. He seemed so gung-ho in the beginning. I actually trusted this guy - something that I don't do very often - and he's ready to throw in the towel. At least Faith left before that conversation took place… I think. I don't even know anymore. I'm stuck in a confusing whirlwind that I have no way of escaping.
Someone is gently running their fingers over the top of my hand. Whoever it is has been there for a while. I won't even bother trying to open my eyes and have some form of communication with this person, who obviously cares enough to stay with me. I'm too exhausted to experience any more hurt. So, I'll just lie here - enjoying the soothing warmth.
************************************
I'm awoken by a drop of liquid that's fallen on my hand. My mouth is dry, so I swallow in an attempt to moisten the flesh… I can swallow. I always took that function for granted. It feels like there is a sandpaper ball in my throat, which is obviously swollen. I cough lightly, which causes the drains in my sides to shift, sending an unexpected shock through my ribcage. I wince, waiting for the pain to alleviate.
Another drop falls, and is quickly wiped away by warm fingers.
I slowly part my eyelids, allowing the bright lights to sting my dilated pupils. Before I am able to adjust to the brightness, the warm touch softly runs across my forehead and then through my hair.
I blink several times to regain focus, only to see my mother's tear-stained face sadly looking back at me.
She sniffles and wipes away a few stray tears as a small smile crosses her face.
"Hey, Baby," her voice waivers.
I tilt my head and moan, "Ma."
She removes her hand from mine to cover her face as she begins to sob. I can literally feel my heart breaking. They told her. They told her the words that every parent dreads from the minute their child is born. They told her she's going to outlive her son.
She leans forward until her forehead is resting on the side of my bed, beside my hand. I place my fingers on top of her head and close my eyes. I hate this. Nothing could be worse than seeing your mother dying inside.
"This isn't happening, Maurice. It can't. You have to fight," her voice is muffled, but slowly raises as she give me her little pep-talk. She lifts her head, allowing my hand to drop at my side.
"Look at me."
Only my mother would give me orders now. I do my best to obey her demands, but every little movement or effort is so draining. I find it hard to even imagine running after a perp. It must be possible though, I did it at least once a day for ten years. I think that subconsciously, I used to give them a chance to run, just for the excitement of a chase. It didn't matter anyway, I always caught them… one way or another.
I open my eyes and my gaze settles on Ma's face. She isn't even bothering to wipe away the streaming tears anymore. She has that look on her face, like she has something to say and she will not rest until it's been said and agreed to. Mikey and I saw that look a lot when we were growing up.
"You listen to me, and you listen to me good."
Is she yelling at me?! Seriously, Ma, that's not all that appropriate right now.
"I will NOT bury my son! I won't do it, Maurice. So you get your act together and recover from this." She pauses slightly, but her expression remains determined. "I'm not asking you, I'm TELLING you. Do you hear me?! "
Like I said, only MY mother.
I nod 'yes', and her face softens slightly.
Despite the tears and apparent internal agony that she is suffering from, she is still stubborn as hell. At least I know where I got it from. I want to tell her not to tear herself apart over this, not to worry, not to cry; but truth is, I'm scared out of my mind.
I've always been told I would be fine - told that I would recover from whatever ailed me. Now, they're pretty much planning my funeral. I'm just waiting for them to come over with a book and have me chose my coffin. Do they think I'm that weak? I have to admit, I feel like shit, but as of right now, I just can't believe that I'm dying. I mean, not too long ago, a machine was breathing for me. Now I'm breathing on my own, conscious and able to speak small words, and they're writing me off. I just don't get it. What's changed?
Again, Ma grabs my hand in hers.
"I love you so much."
"I love you too, Ma." Despite the gentle whisper, the effort to speak leaves me exhausted.
I feel my body beginning to sweat and tremble. I tilt my head back and half-close my eyes. I hear Ma sniffling but her fingers continue to massage my hand.
"Sorry to interrupt," the voice of the third party startles me. "My name's Dr. Jennings. Dr. Grander has finished his shift, so I'll be taking over until he gets back later on tonight. I just came by to check up on you. How are you feeling, Officer?"
I recognize the female doctor, but can't quite place her.
I gather what little energy I have to mutter, "Hot."
"You're hot? Okay, I think we should get the cooling blanket back on you anyway." She turns away to address the nurse at her side. "Where are we at?"
"Heart rate's 85, BP's 55/80, temp's 103.9," the nurse replies systematically.
Dr. Jennings reaches over my head to grab a tongue depressor.
"I'm just going to have a look at your throat for a second, okay?"
I nod and open my mouth as much as possible.
She shines a light into my mouth and analyzes my throat for several seconds. When she finishes, she turns back to the nurse who is fiddling with my chest tubes, "Can you could get him that cooling blanket and increase his Claforan to 2 grams every four hours? I'm just worried the drains are going to get infected too."
She turns back around and lowers her voice to speak me, "Officer Boscorelli, you have a very severe infection in your throat, and in order to effectively treat it, you cannot have a tube down your throat, so we had to remove it. In order for you to breathe on your own, we had to insert those chest tubes to drain the fluid from your lungs. Unfortunately, those tubes are also very susceptible to infection, so it's a bit of a gamble, but we had to act quickly before the infection spread into your blood. I know it sounds like a viscous cycle, but I assure you, we made the decision that is in your best interest."
She sure doesn't mix words, but at least she didn't say, 'We're just delaying the inevitable. This should buy you a couple more hours'. I think my mother would have had a nervous breakdown.
I nod, and she gives me a small smile before she turns and walks over to another patient at the other end of the room.
It doesn't really surprise me that my throat is so deeply infected. There is a consistent throbbing in the sore tissue that reflects every heartbeat. I can often taste blood, that I can only assume is coming from the infected sores. The taste is sickening - playing with my mind more than anything else. It reminds me of all the fights I have been involved in -all the punches I have had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of. As a result, merely the taste of blood causes my stomach to contract in revulsion. I gently swallow, trying to rid my mouth of the horrid taste and ensuing memories.
The nurse re-enters with the heavy cooling blanket. The coolness can't come quickly enough. I'm so overheated, I feel like I've just run a marathon and I can almost see the heat radiating from my sweaty body. I enjoy the minor relief as she places the blanket over me and it begins to work its magic.
Again, Ma and I are left alone. She seems a little more stable than she was before the Doctor stopped by.
She looks old - a lot older than she did when I visited her a week ago.
"All of the Officers were talking about attending a funeral for the female firefighter that died two days ago."
Two days. I can't believe it's only been two days. Two days of pure hell. I would have guessed something closer to two weeks. I wish I could be there with them. We argue and joke, but in the end, we've got each other's backs.
"They send their wishes, Maurice. They care about you. I care about you."
She pulls herself closer to my bed and places both hands over mine.
"You have so much to live for. I would do anything to trade places with you."
Her earlier stability is now gone. She begins to cry again as she repetitively kisses my hand that she is tightly grasping. My eyes are beginning to close and I know my minutes of consciousness are limited. I'm slipping back into that dreaded realm of night, but I'm just too tired to fight it. At least Ma's here. Her mere presence eases some of the pain and uneasiness. She's my warm body right now.
Before she completely loses control of herself, she whispers to me while looking straight into my eyes.
"I just can't live without you."
TBC.