Chapter 2
Steve sat alone in the reception area of Jonathan Harper's office looking around him at the posters and notices on the wall. It struck him as a little ironic that there was so much reading matter around in a place where so many people came with eye problems. As he was waiting, Steve's mind wandered back to the night before. Mark had finally pinned him down for the 'chat' that he had been doing his level best to avoid. He had arrived home from work to find his dad standing in the lounge, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands looking out over the ocean.
Clicking his tongue silently in irritation, knowing he wasn't going to be able to avoid his dad any longer, Steve ascended the stairs and moved across to where Mark was standing.
"Hi, Dad," he said.
"Oh, hi, Steve," Mark replied, turning to look at his son.
Steve knew that Mark was doing his very best to hide it, but he could see the pain behind his father's eyes and felt his stomach take a plunge. What he saw there was equalled, if not surpassed, by the growing knot of fear he had felt inside over the past few days.
"I'm scared, Dad," he said simply.
Mark took a deep breath before he spoke, "So am I, Steve. I have been for days and I was wondering when you were going to tell me that you were."
Steve moved past his dad to come to a halt at the wooden railing, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the balustrade. His eyes roved along the beach, the ocean and, finally, the horizon.
"I cannot comprehend that there will come a day when I won't be able to do this, Dad." he said, his words initially even and measured, "To stand here and look out over the ocean, to see the subtle changes that each season brings, to look at a sunset, to surf. How can I surf if I can't see? How can I work if I can't see?"
As he had been speaking, Steve's voice had risen in volume and his breath came in short bursts. Mark moved swiftly to his son's side and placed a reassuring hand on Steve's shoulder. For days, the fear had been growing inside of him and now it all came tumbling out.
"All I have ever known my whole adult life is being a police officer. I can't be a cop if I can't see. I'm not going to be able to drive, ride my bikes and go camping. I am going to be totally incapable of doing anything on my own."
Even though these were the exact things that had been going around in Mark's brain, he knew that this was not the moment to admit to them.
"Of course you are going to be able to do things on your own, Steve. There are plenty of people with a visual impairment who live perfectly independent, full lives."
"Is this little pep talk the one that you usually give to your patients?" Steve snapped.
"No, Son, it is not!" Mark's reply was equally terse and, for a moment, both men glared at each other, on the brink of an argument that would have been both pointless and counter-productive.
"I'm sorry, Dad. I know that you would never patronize your patients and you certainly wouldn't do it to me. It's just that I am…," his voice tailed off.
"Scared and angry and you needed someone to sound off at," Mark finished off the sentence.
"I guess so. ….Dad, I don't know what to do," the admission was almost wrung from Steve.
"You go to Jonathan Harper's office tomorrow, you find out what the prognosis is and then you get on and play with the cards you have been dealt," Steve would never know how much it was costing him, emotionally, to act as calmly as he was, a fact that Mark hoped would never surface.
"Simple as that, huh?" Steve replied.
"No," Mark answered, the smile on his lips not reaching his eyes," it won't be simple at all. It will be hard, there will be times when you will want to give up and curl up like a baby in a corner somewhere."
"What happens then?"
"Then I will be in that corner as well, uncurling you and helping you to stand. Me, Jesse, Amanda or any one of your many friends, Steve. You will never have to go through any of this alone."
"Mr. Sloan?" a soft voice broke those Steve's thoughts and he looked up.
"Yes?"
"Dr. Harper is ready for you now, Sir."
From behind his desk, Jonathan looked up, obviously surprised to see Steve on his own.
"No Mark?" he asked.
"No," Steve replied, "I needed to do this on my own."
"I understand that," Jonathan answered then, taking a deep breath, continued, "so, shall we get on?"
"Right," Steve sat down, "fire away."
"Well there are indications of bleeding beneath the retina of your left eye and this, along with the opaque deposits that I saw during your initial exam, would lead me to say that you are suffering from the 'wet' form of macular degeneration."
"Okay." Steve replied slowly, he had been hoping against hope that Jonathan would tell him that he had made a mistake the other day and that everything was going to be alright but as that wasn't to be, he continued, "Jonathan, I know that you explained this to me the last time but, to be honest, I didn't really take all of it in. Tell me again, please."
Jonathan smiled, "Steve, I would have been surprised had you taken anything at all in.
Okay then, the macula is the central point of the retina and is responsible for the 'detail vision' that we use when we read, recognise faces etc. With macular degeneration it's like there is a hole in the centre of our vision and everything in that area becomes blurry."
"Is there anything that can be done?" Steve asked.
"There are things, but they only have the potential to arrest the progress rather than reverse its effects."
"What sort of treatment are you talking about?" Steve asked, not sure that he really wanted to know as he really hated the thought of anyone going near his eyes with anything.
"There is a treatment, approved of by the FDA, called Photodynamic Laser Therapy. It uses a light activated drug which seals off the leaking blood vessels leaving the healthy ones intact. As I said, Steve it's more like plugging a hole in the dam rather than repairing it."
"Okay," Steve responded, feeling a little queasy at the pictures conjured up in his mind by Jonathan's words, "That is something I will have to think about. What I need you to tell me now is what sort of timescale are we talking about and how long am I going to be able to keep on working?"
"I can't give you an answer to either of those questions." Jonathan answered.
"Why not?"
"Because, in some cases, macular degeneration may be active for a period, then slow down or even stop for a long time. On the other hand, it may remain active and the loss of vision could be rapid. As for work, you will need to talk to your captain about that. He will know better than I what the rules are. In the meantime, I will schedule bi-monthly checks so that we can monitor what is happening, but if anything happens in between appointments I want you to come in right away. I will also give you some more information on macular degeneration and contact details of a number of support organisations."
"Is there anything else we need to discuss today?" Steve asked, feeling a little overwhelmed.
"No, Steve, there isn't," Jonathan replied.
"Right," Steve said, standing up and tucking the paperwork Jonathan had given to him in his jacket pocket and holding out his hand, "I'll see you soon."
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Exiting the elevator on the third floor, Steve trudged slowly along the corridor towards his father's office. He was completely lost in his own thoughts and didn't notice a white-coated figure dive hastily through a doorway. Pushing open the door to his father's office, Steve stepped inside.
Mark raised his head from the paperwork that he had been pretending to read as the door opened.
"Well," he began, attempting to keep his voice even, "how did it go?"
"As you would expect, Dad." Steve replied, lowering himself into one of the comfy armchairs facing the desk, "There is no cure, only a procedure that may slow down the progress."
"Well, if there is something that can slow it down then you must go for it, Steve," Mark urged, watching his son scrutinising the backs of his hands as if trying to burn the image into his brain.
"I don't know, Dad." Steve replied, "If it was something that had a chance to cure this condition then I would go for it, but it isn't. All it will do is slow it down."
"But it will enable you to have better vision for longer," Mark couldn't quite understand his son's reluctance.
"All it will do is postpone the inevitable, Dad," he answered, "and I am not sure, at the moment, that that is a good enough reason. I need some more time to think."
"What else did Jonathan say?"
"That I need to talk to Captain Newman and let him know what is happening.
Jonathan doesn't know what the department's position is, but I suspect that I will be taken off active duty and filed behind a desk somewhere." Steve spoke calmly enough, which would have fooled many people but Mark knew better, detecting the hint of resentment in his son's voice.
"Maybe not, Steve," Mark attempted to be positive, "you are a good police officer and Jim Newman knows that."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad," Steve answered, well aware of his father's intentions, "but a cop who can't see to chase the bad guys, shoot straight or even drive to a crime scene is of no use to the department."
Standing, he continued, "Well, I guess that there is no time like the present. I'll see you at home later?"
"Yes, I'll be home about seven," Mark replied.
For a long time after the door had closed behind his son, Mark sat staring at the door.
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Dr. Amanda Bentley left her small office which was attached to where she carried out her autopsies and walked along the corridor in search of Jesse. She had just finished a report on one of his patients and she knew that he wanted the information as soon as possible. Checking her watch, she turned her steps in the direction of the doctor's lounge. The blinds were closed which surprised her a little, as did the fact that as she opened the door, Jesse jumped at least six inches in the air only returning to his previous slumped pose in his chair when he realised who it was.
"Jesse!" she exclaimed, "What on earth is the matter with you?"
"I thought it might be Steve," he answered, sending another furtive glance towards the door.
"What have you done now?" Amanda's tone was half accusatory, half humourous.
For a long moment, Jesse did not answer he simply stared into the middle distance. Unlike Steve, Jesse was totally incapable of hiding his feelings and Amanda could see that he was in deep turmoil. This was not the Jesse that Amanda knew and, despite constant irritations, loved.
"Jesse?" she asked, "You are scaring me, what's the matter?"
"I'm thinking of leaving Community General," he spoke quietly, "My mom has been asking me again recently to join her at her clinic and I am seriously thinking about it."
"Jesse! You can't leave Community General, you love it here." Amanda began to speak and then a thought struck her, "So why are you so worried about seeing Steve? Has this got something to do with him?"
Jesse sighed, the image of a sightless Steve strong in his minds eye.
"In a way, yes," he reluctantly admitted.
Amanda raised her eyebrows in a silent question.
"I wish I could tell you about it, Amanda, but I can't," Jesse replied, his voice cracking with the unshed tears which were crowding his throat.
"Jesse, you have had many a run-in with Steve in the past and you have both always managed to get past it. What is so different about this time? Can't you talk to Steve?"
"It wouldn't change anything, Amanda, believe me," Jesse replied, rising from his seat, "I've got to get back to work now."
Jesse left the doctor's lounge leaving Amanda standing staring at the open doorway in complete stupefaction. For a long while she stood and then, shaking herself, she strode out of the lounge and along the corridor. Without knocking she opened Mark's office door and walked straight in.
"Amanda!" Mark was surprised at her abrupt entrance.
"What is up with Jesse and Steve?" she demanded.
"Jesse and Steve?" Mark asked, "Why?
"Because Jesse is thinking of leaving Community General and I know that it is something to do with Steve."
An arrested expression suddenly came over Mark's face, he rose quickly from his seat and left Amanda standing, stunned and alone for the second time in quick succession, in the middle of his office.