A/N - We are almost finished with this tale.
There is a sequence in this chapter that describes a subjective view of death. No offense is intended to anyone or their personally held spiritual or secular beliefs.
Please enjoy the story, and take it for just that. It is only a story, as feebly told by yours truly.
Chapter Nine
At the head of the bicycle trial, there was a helicopter sitting in the car park, with its rotors still going. The LASAR team hurried over to it with Charlie, as Don followed closely behind. Before they could put the stokes-basket into the helicopter, Don moved in along the right side, and took hold of Charlie's hand. He bent close to his brother's face and spoke into his ear. "Hang on buddy, I'm right behind you. I'll see you at the hospital." Charlie didn't open his eyes or answer Don, but he did weakly squeeze his big brother's hand.
Don stood back, as the Mercy Flight helicopter lifted into the air. He watched it for a moment as it rose into the early morning sunlight, before turning and walking straight to his father's car. He popped the trunk, and fished around for the first aide kit. Then he sat down on the bumper, and took off his sock and the air splint that the paramedic had put on. Alan blanched when he saw Don's ankle. It was very swollen, and had turned a dark shade of purple. Don pulled out an ace bandage, and wrapped it snugly around his ankle. The ace was less bulky than the air splint, and Don was able to put his shoe back on, but could only lace it loosely.
"You are not driving with that ankle. Get in the passenger side. They're taking Charlie to Cedars, right?"
Don nodded and got up to walk around the car to the passenger side. He had his back to his father, so Alan did not see his grimace of pain when he put his full weight on the swollen ankle.
As they drove to the hospital, Don glanced down at Charlie's satchel that he still held in his lap, the manila envelope resting inside. After staring at it for a few minutes, pondering whether he wanted to know what was in that envelope, he decided that now was as good a time as any. He opened the satchel and pulled out the envelope and stared at the words written on the front.
Alan glanced over at what Don was holding and felt his blood go cold. "What is that!"
Don didn't answer his father. He just opened the envelope and withdrew the contents. There was a copy of Charlie's Last Will and Testament, a Living Will document, and a letter addressed to both of them. Don found that his hands were shaking as he opened the letter and read.
Dear Don and Dad,
I know you must be feeling very angry and hurt right now. I will not
invalidate your feelings by suggesting that you shouldn't feel them.
All feelings are valid, by virtue of the fact that someone is feeling
them.
I would like to try to explain why I kept this from you. I know that it
won't help the pain that you are in right now, but it may offer some
solace to know that I have never stopped thinking about either of
you through this whole ordeal.
I have never been able to forgive myself for leaving all of you when
Mom was facing the end. I couldn't deal with losing her, so I locked
myself away from my own pain, but in the process I abandoned you
two as well. I wasn't there to help you through the pain you were
feeling. Getting lost in the numbers was the only relief I could find
from the feeling of my heart breaking. I was so consumed by what I
was feeling, that I didn't pay any attention to what all of the people
around me were going through.
When I found out that I had this tumor, I was forced to sit back and
look at my life. What I realized was difficult to admit to myself. I was
selfish when Mom died; but not just then, I have always been selfish.
It occurred to me that I have never had to do anything to take care of
myself. I have lived with my parents my entire life. I have never really
had to deal with the normal mundane necessities of every day living. I
don't cook or clean, I don't even do my own laundry. Until I bought
the house from you, Dad, I never even had to pay rent.
I am not at all surprised that Don needed to get out on his own, and
away from home, away from his spoiled little brother. It must have
driven you nuts, Don, to watch me take advantage of Mom and Dad all
these years. You have even said that I take advantage of Dad, but I
didn't listen. I didn't see what you saw.
I am so very sorry for the way I have behaved. I have lived my entire
life as a spoiled and pampered child. I don't want to face my death the
same way. If I have to die, I want to die as a man.
I have enclosed a Living Will with this letter. There are specific
instructions, concerning what should be done, if I don't make it out of
this surgery with my faculties intact. I do not want to be a burden on
my family any more. I do not want to live the rest of my life as an
invalid, physically and mentally. I have a Do Not Resuscitate order in
here, and it is also filed with the hospital. I am asking you not to fight
this decision. You have both taken care of me long enough.
Don, I left the house to Dad, because he needs it. The taxes will be
paid annually by my lawyer and the utilities and other maintenance
expenses, and insurance are set up to be paid from a trust that I set
up. My lawyer will have access to that trust upon my death, with
instructions to make sure that all of the bills are paid. I have taken
care of all of the arrangements for my funeral as well.
Please try to understand why I have done this. Don, you have always
been so strong. You took care of everything when Mom died. You and
Dad had to do it all, without me. This time I have to be the strong
one, I promised Mom. I love you both very much, and you just don't
need to go through all of this again. I don't know what else to say. Try
not to be sad for too long and take care of each other.
Love, Charlie
Don folded the letter up and put it back into the manila envelope. He had tears running down his face as he stared out the front window.
Alan was watching Don, as closely as he could while driving, as he read the letter that Charlie had written. At one point, Don raised his hand to his mouth to stifle a cry. Now he was just staring out the windshield as tears ran freely down his face, looking utterly lost. Alan reached over to his son, and took hold of his hand. Not having seen what was in the letter; Alan didn't know what words of comfort he could offer, so he just held Don's hand as they made their way through the early morning traffic of downtown Los Angeles.
When they arrived at the hospital, Don took the manila envelope with him as they got out of the car. The Mercy Flight helicopter had come and gone by the time they arrived, so Don and Alan went directly to the desk to inquire about Charlie. They were shown into the emergency room and asked to wait in a small lounge reserved for family members of critically injured patients. 'This is where they come and tell you that someone has died.' Don thought, miserably to himself.
Alan sat down next to his son and put his arm around him. "He'll be fine, Donnie. You must have faith in that." Don turned and looked at his father. He could see the fear in his eyes, but behind that, there was a strength that lifted him up a little.
"I made him feel like he was wrong, Dad. He thinks that I left LA because of him." Don threw the envelope that he was still holding in his hand forcefully down on the table. He got up quickly from his chair and began pacing. The pain in his ankle was of no consequence to him. He was glad that it hurt, he wanted it to hurt enough to make him forget the stabbing pain in his heart, and he stomped his foot on the floor.
"Donnie! Stop it! Hurting yourself will not help, Charlie, all it will do is hurt you!"
Don sank down into the chair again defeated, and wincing at the horrible throbbing coursing through his ankle and lower leg now. "He was right, Dad. I did leave because of him, well partly anyway. Dad, he really is my best friend, but I haven't treated him that way. I have never told him how I feel. I have never tried to mend the space between us. I allowed my feelings of resentment, to keep him at a safe distance."
"Donnie, that isn't really true. You and Charlie have become a lot closer over the last few months. He knows how you feel about him."
"Does he? Dad, I think that you should read that letter he wrote to us. He feels like a child! He said that he wanted to die like a man. What have I ever done to make him feel like a man, rather than my 'pain in the ass' little brother?"
Alan paled a little but he walked over to Don and took him by the shoulders, looking into his troubled eyes. "You can not make Charlie feel like a man. That is not your responsibility. Donnie, you are not your brother's keeper. He is a grown man, who is responsible for his own feelings and actions. As his family, it is our responsibility to support him and to care for him, as one of our own; but he must find his peace within himself. We can not give that to him."
Alan reached over to the large envelope and pulled out the letter that Charlie had written and sat down to read it. When he finished he set the letter down and stared at the wall for a long time before turning to his son. "Donnie, you can not blame yourself for the way Charlie is feeling. I am his father, and if anyone should shoulder the burden for this, it's me. Your mother and I always took care of him. We made sure that he didn't have to worry about anything while he was getting his education. We both felt that the pressure that he was under at his age was enough for him to deal with. Going to an Ivy League college at thirteen was tremendously difficult for Charlie. He may have had the intellect to accomplish a degree at that age, but he still had the emotional maturity of a young teen age boy. After sheltering him for so long, I guess it just became a habit."
Alan paused for a moment, considering what he wanted to say. "With all of the attention that we gave to Charlie, you got left aside. You had no choice but to become self-sufficient, at a very early age. Looking back, I think that, maybe, we didn't do right by either of you boys. The way Charlie is feeling, the way that you are feeling, it stems from how we brought you up. I won't be so arrogant as to take credit for your emotions, but as a father, I am seeing the results of poor decisions that we made as parents. It's like one of Charlie's complicated algorithms. Sometimes the equation has to run its course, before you can see the errors. I'm sorry, Don. We weren't really there for you growing up, and we were there too much for Charlie."
Listening to his father and seeing the regret in his eyes, Don realized that they were both trying to assume blame in a blameless situation. "Dad, you and Mom did very well by us. Charlie may have been a little pampered, but if he hadn't been, would he be able to do the things that he does? And if I hadn't been so self-reliant, how long do you think I would last in this job of mine? Dad, you did more than 'right by us'. You helped us to become the men that we are today."
There was a soft knock on the door and Dr. Heising stepped in. "Hello Mr. Eppes, Agent Eppes. I have been in to see Charlie. His condition is fairly serious at the moment. His right lung was punctured by a broken rib and the space around the lung has filled with blood causing it to collapse. They are going to need to insert a chest tube to drain off the fluid so that his lung can be re-inflated, but he won't allow the procedure unless his brother is in the room. There are several other issues that need to be discussed, but we need to deal with this situation first."
Don looked back at his father who said, "Go to him, son. He needs his big brother now. I'll wait for the others to arrive, and tell them what is going on." Don looked confused for a moment, and his father said, "You don't really think that, David and Terry, and the others aren't going to show up, to see how Charlie is doing, do you?"
"Oh, that reminds me, I have Jack's phone." Don dug into his pocket and took the phone out and handed it to his father. "Why don't you give Larry, a call? He will want to know what is happening." Don turned to follow Dr. Heising, leaving his father to contact friends and family.
Dr. Heising noticed Don's limp and said, "Once we have Charlie stabilized and sedated, you will need to go to X-Ray and get that ankle looked at. The LASAR medic told the ER Attending about it." They stopped just outside the door to the major trauma unit. "I will not be able to operate on Charlie, until his leg and other injuries have been stabilized, but I will be seeing him regularly to monitor his neurological situation. The fact that he has had a complete turn-around in his attitude, about his family being a part of this process, is the most encouraging sign I have seen in him. Try not to worry. Let's just get him taken care of. We can deal with the tumor in a few days."
Don pushed the door open, and walked in to the trauma room. He saw Charlie, looking small and frightened, lying on a bed at the far end of the room. He no longer wore the cervical collar, and his left arm had been cast. The gash on his forehead had been stitched and his face was cleaned up a little. He was naked except for his boxers and he had three different IV bags attached to the line in his right arm. Charlie turned his head and saw his brother. The relief that filled his face was startling. Don crossed the room to him, as quickly as his swollen ankle would allow, and took Charlie's hand in his. "Hey there, Buddy, what's this I hear about you not letting these folks work?"
Charlie was frowning at Don with concern. "Why are you limping like that? Are you all right?"
His voice sounded so weak and breathy, that Don had difficulty keeping his face from showing how apprehensive he was. "I'm fine, Buddy. I just twisted my ankle a little."
The ER Attending stepped up to the bed, pulling a tray that was covered in a blue cloth with some sort of instruments under it. "Mr. Eppes, we need to sit you up so that we can drain the fluid from around your lung. Your brother can stand on the left side of the bed, and help to hold you." Don moved around to the other side of the bed at this instruction.
A nurse, standing close by, pulled out two pillows and fastened them into a roll, then placed them on Charlie's belly, before addressing Don. "When we sit him up you will need to hold him across these pillows. That will arch his ribcage, opening a space for the tube to be inserted. Just hold him around his shoulders."
Don nodded his understanding, and they carefully sat Charlie up. The pain he was feeling was very clear in his eyes, but he didn't cry out at all. It was obvious that he was having extreme difficulty breathing, as his breaths came in short staccato gasps. Don reached around his brother's shoulders and held him securely. In this position they were face to face and Charlie looked into his brother's eyes and said, "Did you mean what you said… about me being your best friend?"
"I meant every word, Buddy." Don whispered, and Charlie could see the sincerity in his brother's eyes.
The doctor washed his hands thoroughly, then put sterile gloves on, while the nurse washed Charlie's back and side with Betadine. "I'm going to use some numbing medication now. Try to hold very still. You will feel a bee sting, then a burning sensation for a moment." Don tightened his grip on Charlie, to keep him from moving while the doctor worked. Then the doctor picked up a tube with a sharp pointed rod in the center of it. "You are going to feel some pressure now. It may be uncomfortable, but you must try to hold very still." The doctor used the pointed rod to pierce Charlie's side and push the tube into place.
Charlie squeezed his eyes shut and started panting. Don was watching the doctor, and could see that Charlie had tensed up his muscles when he began to pant. This was making it difficult for the doctor to place the tube where he wanted to, so Don moved his mouth close to Charlie's ear, and began speaking to him in low soothing tones. "Charlie, you need to slow your breathing down. Relax your muscles. I'm right here with you, buddy. I won't leave you. Listen to my voice and slow everything down." Don continued speaking into Charlie's ear until he relaxed enough for the doctor to place the tube.
Once he had done that, he pulled the pointed rod out, leaving a flexible rubber like tube behind. The nurse took the end of the tube, now hanging from Charlie's side, and hooked it up to a container with two graduated reservoirs, while the doctor had begun to suture the tube into place. As soon as she unclamped the end of the tube, bright red blood poured through the tubing and began to fill one of the reservoirs. Don was shocked at the amount of blood draining from his brother, and moved so that he could see his face. Charlie's eyes were glassy, and he was pale as a ghost, but he seemed to be in less pain than before the tube went in. Once the doctor had finished sewing the tube to Charlie, he covered the area with a thick set of gauze bandages, and used copious amounts of tape to secure everything into place.
"We can lay him down now," the nurse said quietly. Don moved up the bed slightly and gently laid Charlie on his back. He had gone rather limp and his eyes slid closed. Don looked nervously at the blood that was still draining out of his brother's body, and gave the nurse a questioning stare. "All of this fluid was keeping him from breathing. It will be much easier for him now. The tube will stay in place until his lung is re-inflated and the bleeding from his injury stops. You did a very good job, keeping him calm."
The doctor took another needle now, and carefully measured some medication into it before inserting it into a port on one of the IV's hooked up to Charlie. "This is a mild sedative. He is going to have to have surgery, to repair his broken leg. The orthopedic surgeon is most likely talking with your father right now about that surgery. We need to get him cleaned up a little better first, and then I want another chest X-ray to see how his lung is doing. It will be minimally two hours before he will be ready to go up to the OR. I understand that you should also have that ankle looked at. Would you mind, taking a seat on that stool, right there?"
Don sat down obediently, and took his own shoe and sock off as well as the ace he had applied earlier so that the doctor could see it. After a quick examination, the doctor said, "Well, I don't think it is broken, but I won't know that for sure, without an x-ray. You can go down to the x-ray department with your brother, when they come to pick him up for his chest film. You do, however, have a very nasty sprain, and you will need to keep off the foot for a few days." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a prescription pad and wrote a hasty script. "This is for some pain medication. It is very mild, but it should take the edge off when you try to walk on it, even after you have been advised not to." The doctor said, with a knowing grin. "In any case, you should take Ibuprofen to ease the swelling, and ice it while your brother is in surgery."
Once the doctor had checked Charlie's vital signs again, he left the nursing staff to do their work. Don moved over to Charlie's right side so that he could hold his hand while the nurse cleaned the rest of the blood from his face and body. When she had finished, she put a hospital gown on him and put immobilizers around the splinted leg. Finally she covered him gently with a sheet and blanket before turning to Don. "I'll give you a few minutes alone with him. Then I'll show your father in. It should be about half an hour before X-ray will be down, to take you both for your films." She turned to leave, but stopped and put her hand on his shoulder. "From the moment he woke up, all he could do was to ask for you. From what I have seen, your brother is very lucky to have you."
Once she closed the door behind her, Don turned to Charlie, and leaned over to kiss his forehead. "I'm so sorry, Buddy. I don't feel much like a good brother right now. You don't have to feel ashamed, about losing yourself in your numbers. You are who you are, and I wouldn't have you try to be anything different. Everyone expresses grief in their own way. This was… this is, your way. I have never really told you how I feel about you, probably because that's not my way, but I should have. You're special, Charlie, and I love you for who you are. I just wish I had shown you that. You couldn't tell me about what you were going through, because I never let you." Don didn't know what else he could say to his brother, who was now sleeping peacefully, so he just stayed with him, holding his hand.
Don's x-ray showed no fractures, and Charlie's film showed a marked improvement in his right lung. He still had a small hemothorax, but most of his right lung had begun to fill with oxygen, and his breathing was far easier than it had been only an hour previously. By the time he was taken up to the OR for surgery it was past noon and Don and his father found comfortable seats in the waiting area. Terry, David, Jack, Danny and the others had all come and gone. Larry arrived at just past two thirty. "How is he doing?" he asked while nervously scratching his face and head.
Alan handed him a cup of coffee, and indicated that they should take a seat at the far end of the waiting room. Don had fallen asleep only half an hour ago, and Alan didn't want to wake him. "He had a collapsed lung, because a broken rib punctured it. That has been taken care of essentially. He has a mild concussion. Thank God, he was wearing a helmet, or he wouldn't even be here right now. His left arm and leg were broken pretty badly. They were able to set and cast his arm but the leg will have a series of pins put in it. They can't operate on his tumor until after the rest of his injuries are stabilized, so we are in for a long stay."
Larry was biting his nails but he sat bolt upright at the word tumor. "What are you talking about? What tumor?"
Alan just stared at Larry for a moment, as he realized that Larry didn't know. He couldn't have known. Alan had only found out last night, and he hadn't spoken to Larry at all. Alan took a long time to explain what was really going on with Charlie, and how he had been diagnosed with a brain tumor on the anniversary of Margaret's death. Larry, who was usually quite verbose, was struck dumb by this news. Charlie was very special to him, and was essentially his best friend. The thought that he could be gone, just like that, disturbed him deeply. He sat, uncharacteristically quietly, until the orthopedic surgeon came out into the waiting room to tell Charlie's family that the surgery had gone well.
Monday morning dawned clear and bright, and when Amita stepped into Charlie's office, with two cups of coffee and crescent rolls, it took her a moment to register the state that she found the room in. She looked around disbelieving what her eyes were telling her. The chair to Charlie's desk was turned toward the window with someone sitting in it. She set the coffee and rolls down on the edge of the pristine desk and came around the corner of it. When she saw, Larry, sitting in Charlie's chair, staring out blankly into the morning light, with tears on his face her heart froze in fear. "Where's Charlie?" she asked. Her voice sounded husky even to her own ears.
Larry was startled by the sound, and snapped out of his reverie abruptly. "Amita! When did you get back? I thought you weren't due in until Wednesday."
Amita knelt down so that she could see Larry's eyes on a level with hers. "Where is Charlie, Larry? Why does his office look like this?"
Larry sighed heavily and looked down gathering his thoughts. "Amita, Charles is in the hospital, and he may be there for a while. A lot has happened while you were in India. Perhaps you should sit down."
One hour later, Amita white and shaken, found her way to Charlie's room. She stepped in through the door but stopped in her tracks and put her hand to her mouth. Charlie was lying in bed with his left leg up in the air. Two large silver metal rods were screwed into his leg just above the knee and were sticking out of the side about four inches. The two rods were connected by a longer metal rod that had screws on it to attach to the rods that were buried into his bone. His face was puffy and bruised and he had a long set of stitches that went across his forehead and up into his hair and his arm was in a cast. What made her stop, and feel so horrified, was the sunken look below his eyes and the fact that he was easily ten pounds under weight. Don was resting in a chair next to his brother. He was dozing, but looked up when she entered.
"Amita, come in. I didn't think you were going to be back yet." Don was speaking in a hushed whisper. "He's just fallen asleep, so try not to wake him." Don stood up and came around the bed to give her a hug. "He'll be very happy to see you when he wakes up." Don led her over to a set of chairs by the window. "Did you speak with Larry?"
Amita tore her eyes from Charlie, and looked at Don. "I went to Charlie's office, and found Larry sitting there. He's so worried, Don, that it scared me a little. He said that Charlie was down in that ravine for two days. How is that possible? When Larry told me about the tumor, I couldn't believe it. He said that no one knew about it, or that he was having seizures."
Don understood that Amita was reacting to the news about Charlie, and not accusing anyone of neglect. It was a lot to absorb all at once. "Amita, Charlie didn't tell anyone about the tumor when he was diagnosed. He wrote Dad and me a letter explaining why he chose to keep this from us, but he hasn't recovered enough for me to really talk to him about it. No one, including Charlie, knew about the seizures. They are called absence seizures or Petit Mal Seizures. When he has one, it just looks like he's staring off into space. No one would notice that kind of seizure in Charlie."
Amita nodded. "So, what are they going to do about this tumor? Is it..." Amita felt awkward asking this question, given the Eppes' history.
"Is it cancer?" Don finished for her. She nodded. "We don't know. The type of tumor he has is usually benign, but it also usually grows very slowly. Charlie's tumor grew quickly and, with our family's history, there is no way to know until the tissue is biopsied. He was originally scheduled for surgery today, but he isn't physically stable enough yet to go under anesthesia for five or six hours."
Amita stood up and stepped over to Charlie's bed. She traced her fingers lightly along his face. "Is there anything I can do? Really, anything?" She turned and looked at Don.
"Just be here for him. Look, I need to go grab a shower. Why don't you sit with him for a while? I'm sure seeing you will lift his spirits, when he wakes up."
Amita sat for just over an hour watching Charlie sleep peacefully. The thought that she might never have seen him alive again, tore at her heart. She had worked closely enough with him, over the last couple of years, that she couldn't imagine her life without him. Her trip to India seemed so frivolous to her now. As she sat there staring at him, Charlie's eyes fluttered open.
It took him a moment to try to focus, and after squinting up at the monitor next to his bed, he realized that the blurred vision was getting worse. He felt a small hand take hold of his, and he turned his head to the right. He smiled when he saw Amita sitting there. She was all out of focus, but he didn't need to see clearly to recognize her face. "Amita? You're here."
Don was just about to enter the room, when he heard Charlie's voice. He peeked through the slit between the door and the door frame, and saw that Charlie had a big smile on his face. He stood still and watched his brother. He was now convinced that Amita was the woman Charlie spoke of in his journals. His face was positively radiant right now.
Amita lifted his hand to her face, and kissed it lightly. "Of course I'm here. How are you feeling?"
Charlie's smile faltered just slightly. He felt dreadful. His leg was very painful just at the moment, his head was pounding and he couldn't see properly but he said, "Much better, now that you're here. I missed you, Amita."
"I missed you too," she almost whispered.
Don was enjoying watching his brother with the person he cared for more than anyone else. He wished that Charlie would hang the rules and ask her out. From what he could see, Amita had the same feelings for Charlie.
"So, how was India?"
Amita couldn't help laughing. "Hot!" then her face turned more somber, but Charlie couldn't see that, and was caught completely off guard by her next question. "Charlie, why didn't you tell someone what was happening with you?"
Don was stunned that she had asked him that, but listened closely to hear his brother's answer.
Charlie's smile vanished and he looked away from her toward the door. Don backed up, afraid that he would be caught eavesdropping, unaware that Charlie couldn't see anything that far away.
"Charlie, you could have died down in that ravine!" Amita's voice was shaking, and Don could tell that she was on the verge of giving him a through talking to or else crying.
Charlie's response, however, nearly knocked him over. "I did." Charlie said, quietly.
Amita reached over and touched Charlie's cheek, and he turned to face her. Don crept closer and listened, over the pounding of his pulse in his ears. "Charlie, what do you mean, you did?" She had genuine fear in her eyes that Charlie couldn't see, but heard, in her voice.
"I don't even know how I got down there, Amita." Charlie had a note of controlled panic in his voice. "I was riding to Cal Sci, then the next thing I know I am falling, and hitting trees and rocks. It took forever to stop falling, but by the time I did, all sense of reason was gone. I don't know how to explain it. I must have laid there for a while, unconscious, because when I looked up next, it was at least noon because the sun was high in the sky. I tried to move, but I couldn't. There was so much pain. I remembered being scared most of the time. I tried screaming for help, but no one heard me. Then it started to get dark, and I was so cold, that I couldn't feel my feet any more. That's when I was the most frightened. That night seemed to last for such a long time. Larry would say that it was no longer or shorter than any other night, but when you are freezing and hurting, that just isn't true. Another day came, and I screamed until I had no more voice, but still no one came. It got so hard to breathe that I just lay as still as I could. When the dark came again, I knew that I was going to die down in that place, all alone, cold and scared." By this time tears had begun to drop from Charlie's eyes. "Amita, it was so cold that second night. I never want to be cold again."
The anguish in Charlie's voice was almost more than Don could bear. He wanted to run into the room and throw his arms around his brother. He wanted to tell him that he would never feel like that again while he was around, but Don couldn't move. He stood frozen to the spot as Charlie told the story of his ordeal, helpless to do anything but listen.
"By the time morning came again, my head and body hurt so much, that I welcomed death. I just wanted it all to stop. I couldn't breathe any more, it was too difficult, so I closed my eyes and slowly the pain began to fade away, until it was gone. When I opened my eyes again I wasn't lying on the ground any longer. I was up high, in the trees, and I looked down and saw myself lying there. It occurred to me that if this is what dying felt like then it wasn't really so bad. The pain was gone. I felt like I was floating on a whiff of air. It got very bright just above me, and when I looked up I saw her." Charlie's voice faded, as his throat closed up.
Amita, who was still holding Charlie's hand, gave it a squeeze to reassure him that she was still there and listening. She knew who it was, that Charlie saw, and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
Charlie found his voice again and continued, "She was so beautiful, Amita. I wanted to go with her, but she wouldn't let me. She said that I had to go back. I didn't want to go back to the pain, the fear and the cold, and I begged her to let me go with her. She said that I was needed, and that I had to go back. She told me that Don was coming to get me; that he was almost there. I heard his voice when she said that, and I looked down. He was there, hanging over a cliff, right above me and he screamed my name. I couldn't figure out what was happening. I wanted to go up to her, but I could hear Don below me. He sounded so scared. I had to make a choice, Amita. I didn't want to live anymore. Everything stops hurting when you die, but Don was calling me back."
Amita went white, hearing this admission from Charlie. She couldn't believe that he was saying that he wanted to die. A tear escaped her control, but she made no attempt to stop Charlie from continuing.
"It was the hardest choice I have ever made, but what else could I do? Don needed me, even if it was only to say goodbye, and I couldn't let him down. The next thing that I can remember is having all of that pain come crashing back into my body again. Don was there, he touched me. I didn't know if he was real or not, all I knew was that the pain was real." Charlie did not want to share the moments between Don and him with Amita. That was between them as brothers so he just said, "Things get kind of fuzzy after that."
Don staggered back away from the door. He turned and half ran, half staggered, down the hallway and nearly ran right into his father. "Donnie? Donnie what's wrong?" Don was pale and shaking, and Alan thought that something had happened to Charlie. "Donnie! Is it Charlie?"
Don took a deep breath and used every ounce of his resolve to pull himself together. "Charlie's fine. Amita is with him right now." The contents of Don's stomach heaved and he pushed past his father, and ran headlong to the bathroom down the hall.
Alan followed Don into the bathroom, very concerned. "Donnie, what is it? Are you sick, son?"
"Dad, I'm fine. Really, can you just give me a few minutes… Please, Dad." Alan was shaking his head but respected Don's wishes. He left the bathroom and headed down to Charlie's room.
When Alan entered, he smiled warmly at Amita, and came over to give her a hug. "Dad, did I hear you talking to Don? You sounded worried. Is everything all right?"
Alan sat down next to Amita, on a folding chair that he brought over. "He's fine Charlie. I think that this hospital food isn't agreeing with his stomach too much." Alan noticed the unfocused look in Charlie's eyes, and the fact that he wasn't quite looking directly at him while he spoke. Alan frowned at Charlie, and waved his hand slightly but got no discernable response. "Charlie? Can you see me?"
"Not very well. The blurred vision is getting worse. Dr. Heising is going to be here at 11:00 to see me and do a neurological test. I'll tell him about it when he comes."
Alan looked very concerned by this news but calling the doctor right now would do little good, since it would be 11:00 in a little under an hour.
Don came into the room then and said, "Hey, Buddy, how are you feeling?"
"Better than you, I guess. Dad said that the food didn't agree with you."
"Just some bad cream cheese on that bagel earlier, I'll be fine. Did I hear you say something about Dr. Heising coming in?" Charlie suddenly looked very tired as he laid his head back against the pillows. "Hey, Buddy, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just tired. Can you ask the nurse if I can get some pain medication? My leg and my head hurt."
Don looked very concerned now. He hadn't heard Charlie request pain medication once. "Sure, Buddy." Alan and Amita got up and said their goodbyes, saying that they would see him later, after he got some rest.
Dr. Heising spoke privately with Don and Alan later after he had examined Charlie. "He still needs a few days to recover from his injuries before I can do the resection. I am concerned that his tumor is growing again so I have ordered another CT and an EEG to monitor seizure activity. If his neurological symptoms continue to increase, I will have no choice but to push ahead with the surgery." He handed a card to both of them with a pager number on it. "I know that one or both of you have been at his side at all times, so I want you to page me if things change. Watch him for slurred speech, marked weakness in his right arm or leg or if his vision gets any worse."
Don said, "I'll be with him continuously. I've taken a leave of absence from work. Doctor, if you have to perform this surgery, how dangerous is it for him?"
"The problem is how well he will come out of the general anesthesia. If, however, his condition continues to deteriorate, it may well be more dangerous to wait. There may come a point, where he could have permanent brain damage, but, with the right course of medications, I believe we can stabilize his condition long enough for him to gain some strength. He is due to have the chest tube taken out, later today or tomorrow. I am hoping that within a day or two of that, he will be strong enough to have the resection."
The next two days Don never left Charlie's side, except to use the bathroom or to get coffee from the vending machine. Alan spent most of the time at the hospital as well, although Don convinced him to go home and get some real sleep at night. Alan protested quietly, one evening, while Charlie slept. "Donnie, you need to get some sleep too. You have not left his side since he came here."
Don sighed. "I know, Dad, but I can't go, I promised him that I would stay with him, that I wouldn't leave. When you saw me get sick the other day, it wasn't from anything I ate. It was what Charlie told Amita."
At Alan's questioning look, Don repeated what Charlie had said in hushed tones. Alan put his head down when Don was finished just trying to absorb how closely they had come to losing Charlie forever. "Dad, after what he went through, I can't… I won't break that promise to him, and certainly, not for a comfortable bed."
Alan got up quietly and crossed over to his youngest son. He kissed him lightly on the forehead before heading home for the night. Don took the pillows and blanket that the nurse had provided him, and laid down in the recliner next to Charlie's bed. Charlie had done well, since having the chest tube removed, and he was showing some progress. He was able to lift his leg now and move it around a bit. He had even begun some limited physical therapy. Dr. Heising had told them earlier, that if Charlie continued to improve at this rate, he would do the resection on Friday. That was only two days from now. Don lay there thinking all of these thoughts as the steady beep from Charlie's monitor droned on, lulling him to sleep.