Chapter 11
Despite Charlie's sudden rally, both Don and Alan were reluctant to leave that night. Every time they did, it seemed, Charlie had some kind of relapse. So they watched Charlie down most of a mug full of chicken broth, found a baseball game on the television, and watched him fall asleep in the chair. After almost an hour, Cecile tried to wake him up so that she could put him back to bed before her shift ended. It was a good thing she had taught Alan and Don how to help, though, because Charlie was having none of it. It took all three of them to get him up and into the bed. Cecile took his temperature one last time — 99.6 — and smiled at Don and Alan.
"I know it doesn't look like he needs it, but it's time for more Demerol. His fever is still reducing, and this is a real, restful sleep…not a fever-induced burning piano. When I add some more Demerol to the mix, there is no way this boy is waking up tonight. I think it's safe for you to go home."
Alan just kept watching Charlie sleep, one arm crossed across his chest and the elbow of the other arm propped in the hand, so he could cover his mouth while he regarded him. Don stood next to him and heard a slight snore; the way Charlie should be sleeping. Don leaned closer to his father. "Dad…" he spoke quietly, almost a whisper. "Just think…8 hours of sleep could be yours. All you have to do is take Door No. 1."
Alan smiled into his hand, and allowed Don to lead him from the room.
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It turned out that 8 hours of sleep led to 9, which led to 10. Alan was beside himself when he awoke at 8:30, and called the hospital before he even got out of bed. He was informed that Charlie was receiving some medical treatment, but had spent a restful night and his last temperature reading had been an even 99. Alan was assured that Charlie would live until he could get there.
Nevertheless, he refused to make Don a proper breakfast, and asked him to drive through McDonald's instead. Don drew the line at that — he had called the hospital himself after his Dad had woken him up — and he insisted that they go inside.
Finally, fortified by Egg McMuffins and coffee, the two men pushed open the door to Charlie's room. Charlie looked up at them from his raised position in the bed. "I just got here," he explained, as if he were afraid they would think him lazy. "I've been up since 7." He eyed the McDonald's coffee cups suspiciously. "Where have you guys been?"
Don smiled as he approached the bedside chair he had made his own over the last few days. Charlie looked great. His hair was a little damp — must have had a shower or something — and someone had shaved him. That alone made him look 15 years younger. Plus, the rest hadn't hurt him any. "Don't be jealous, Buddy," he said, sitting down. "Your breakfast was probably better than mine."
Alan sat in the other chair and balanced his coffee on his lap. He grinned at both boys. "I'll make something nice tomorrow. Pancakes. I was in a hurry, today."
Charlie looked from Don to Alan and back again. "I was hoping you would bring me my lap top."
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While Charlie was drinking his lunch, Don finally relented and went down to the gift shop for a deck of cards, and he and Alan lost more Gin Rummy in the next two hours than he cared to think about. Charlie was back up in one of the chairs, and Don was looking forward to 2:15, when Cecile was due to come back and take Charlie for a walk.
When the door opened at 2, he thought that she was early, but it turned out to be Dr. Reynolds. He was looking at Charlie's chart, and smiled when he reached the circle of Eppes. "This all looks good," he said. "Temp is not quite normal, but hasn't been over 100 for almost 16 hours. Tolerating clear liquids well. How are you feeling?"
"Much better," Charlie answered. "Can I go home?"
Dr. Reynolds perched on the end of Charlie's bed. Don had moved nearer the top to make room for him. "Not quite yet, Charlie. I want to continue this cocktail for another 24 hours, make sure we've knocked the hell out of that infection. I'll DC the IV tomorrow afternoon, and switch you to oral antibiotics. We can go to oral pain medication on a prn basis now, if you want." Charlie nodded, and the doctor continued. "Get to Sunday morning without a spike in your temp again, and I'll release you then."
Charlie smiled. It wasn't what he wanted, but it was enough.
Dr. Reynolds took a few sheets of paper out of the chart and leaned over to hand them to Alan. "I've made a list of behavioral therapists I can recommend." Charlie stopped smiling. The doctor adopted a more serious tone. "Charlie, you know h pylori isn't your only enemy. You need to find a more healthy lifestyle. Consume an ulcer-friendly diet, on a regular basis — eat up to six times a day. Exercise. Learn how to say 'no'. I understand that you have special challenges, Charlie, and that a mind like yours can be an overwhelming thing. But you need to learn how to run your life, not let it run you into the ground. These therapists can help you do that."
Charlie looked a little guiltily at Alan and then down at his lap, finally nodded slowly. "I'll go," he finally said.
Dr. Reynolds smiled and nodded, reached in the chart for another sheet of paper. "I know you've all been anxious," he began, "so I put a rush on the biopsy results. My nurse handed me the fax just as I was leaving the office. I haven't even seen these myself, yet."
Charlie suddenly paled. "Wait. Just…just wait."
He sounded a little panicked and the doctor paused. "I apologize," he said. "Perhaps you'd like to go over this privately…"
Charlie shook his head miserably. "It's…It's not that. I just wasn't expecting this. I'm not ready."
Don left his seat on the bed and squatted down in front of Charlie's chair. "Look at me," he said, and waited until Charlie met his eyes with his own fear-filled brown ones. He squeezed one of Charlie's knees through the blanket. "It's gonna be okay. No matter what. Trust me."
Alan had dragged his own chair close enough so that he could pat Charlie's arm, and then he left his hand on it. Charlie finally took a deep breath and nodded. Don stood, his knees creaking, and moved to the back of Charlie's chair, one hand on his brother's shoulder. "Okay, Doc. Let us have it."
Dr. Reynolds was momentarily distracted, and found himself wishing all his patients had this kind of support. Then he shook his head slightly and looked back down at the paper. His lips curled up in a smile. "Just as I suspected," he shared. "All samples were clear and benign of any malignancy." He looked up, smiling at them all. "Charlie, I pronounce you the proud father of a simple gastric ulcer factory."
Charlie simply sat in stunned silence as Don leaned over and wrapped an arm around his neck. He felt his father's hand leave his arm and looked toward him to see him raise it to his eyes. He tried to reach for it with his own hand, but missed because of Don's bear hug.
Alan wiped an eye and waited for his heart to stop pounding. He hadn't let himself think about this, he had distracted himself for days with the immediacy of Charlie's illness. Now his baby was getting better, and the monster was kept at bay for a little while longer.
On the second try, Charlie's hand brushed his father's, and Alan grabbed it with a grip that said he would never let go.
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Later, after Charlie's walk, Don talked Alan into going home for a few hours while Charlie napped. The two men stood on either side of Charlie's bed to say good-bye.
"It's been a good day," Don smiled. "Thank you."
Charlie looked confused. "For what?"
"For letting us stay here with you, even though you were scared. I mean it, Charlie, I want us to be honest and truthful with each other. I want you to let me help you with these lifestyle changes. I know I can get…single-minded, on a case. If I'm pushing you too hard, you need to let me know. Yell loud enough so that I hear you."
Charlie reddened a little and looked down at the bed. "That…that goes both ways, right?"
Don frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that sometimes, I get to be the one who helps you, right? Don't not tell me things because you're afraid I'll get frightened, or upset. Let me love you, too."
Don smiled at his little brother tenderly. "Scout's honor," he said, and Alan found himself suspended in time, having a "wish-you-were-here" Margaret moment. He had two remarkable sons.
He pulled himself together and cleared his throat. "Don't forget the old man."
Don and Charlie looked at him.
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm just saying. No getting together to hide things from me. I'm an emotional man, I'll admit it. Especially when it comes to my boys, I wear my heart on my sleeve. You're always going to know how I feel about something. But remember, the two of you are strong men, and the fruit of my loins — where do you think you got that strength? I may be an emotional man, but I have a backbone of pure steel…especially for you. Don't be afraid to break me."
His sons regarded him silently, so Alan pushed for a commitment. "So this is a three-way deal, right?"
Don finally nodded. "That's fair."
Alan looked at Charlie, who was frowning at the bed again. "Little One. Is that such an unreasonable request?"
Charlie shook his head silently.
"Say, 'I agree, Father,'", Alan pushed.
"I agree,"Charlie said quietly, and a look of distaste crossed his features. "I was just trying not to think about your loins."