AN: Just a quick warning for emotive subject matter…
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See part 1 for disclaimer…
Part 4
OOOO
Ten minutes later, as I'm setting a pan of water to boil, Jenny returns with more complaints about Carol-Anne (randomly accented with swear words.)
"She's still in there!" the teenage girl huffs, "I swear, if she's not out of there in two bleep minutes, I'm gonna break the bleep door down, go in and drag her out by the…"
"Jen," I cut her off, "Give her five minutes…"
I'm hoping she was going to finish by saying something relatively benign like 'hair,' (yes, that is benign, at least for Jen) I'm really not sure though, but we get distracted from Jen's tirade by Aaron's arrival in the kitchen.
"Is dinner ready yet?" he asks, "I'm starved."
One thing about having four adolescent boys, one near-adult and one fully grown man living in the house is that meals are often made in bulk and we go through food like it's going out of style. These boys are always hungry.
"If you don't do something about her right now…" Jen is fed up of being outside of the attention zone.
"Jen, I said just give her a few minutes," I placate, wearily, "And Aaron, if you're so hungry, why don't you come here and help cut these carrots. Pitch in and maybe dinner will be ready just that bit sooner…"
I soon loose patience with getting the boy involved, for I not only have to remind him to wash his hands before he starts handling the food, but also have to admonish him for eating the carrots almost a fast as he is chopping them.
"Aaron," I warn him again, while I'm tending to the sauce that is simmering along with the water for boiling the vegetables.
"Paula!" Jen interrupts again, "She's still…"
"Enough!" I lose my rag.
"Wait," Aaron speaks up, quietly, "Is she complaining about Carol-Anne?"
"Yes," Jen is glad to finally get somebody on her side, "She's hogging the only bathroom in the house and all that Paula can say is, 'Give h..."
"But she's was in there ages ago," Aaron interrupts, "She went to get a shower…I nearly walked in on her…"
"No," Jen huffs, "she's in there now and I've knocked on the door and yelled at her like ten times now!"
"No," Aaron argues, checking his watch for the time, "she was about to wash her hair when I tried to get in over an hour and a half ago. She can't still be in there…"
"She is," Jen insists and points an accusing finger at me, "And she won't do anything…"
"I have a name you know," I tell her, but only half paying attention, "Aaron, would you go and knock on the door, to see if Carol-Anne's still in there, please?"
He disappears for a few minutes and returns.
"Well, the door's locked," he tells me, "but I don't know if it's her. She won't answer me…"
"Of course it's her," Jen scoffs, 'She's always the one causing…"
Kev cuts her off, "She's the only one who isn't here, apart from James and Tammy, but Jimmy's at the skate park…"
"Tammy's at her friend's house for a sleep-over," I finish the inventory of kids in the family. Tammy is only a couple of years younger than Carol-Anne, but the two of them aren't really that close, being quite a distance apart in terms of maturity.
I put aside the dinner preparations and make my way through the living room, down the hall to the bathroom, opposite Kev's room.
Knocking loudly on the door, I ask, "Carol-Anne? You okay in there?"
Jenny gives a derisive scoff behind me but I choose to ignore her.
"Carol-Anne?" I ask again, "Jen needs to use the shower, honey."
There's still no answer and now I'm starting to get worried.
"Aaron," I call the boy, "Just go outside to the bathroom window and see if the top section has been left open. If it is, try and get Carol-Anne's attention by shouting. Maybe she can't hear us over the shower. And cover your eyes. If she thinks you're perving on her, she'll really blow a fuse."
"Don't I know it," the boy mumbles, shaking his head.
Aaron dutifully disappears and before long, I can hear him calling from the outside of the house, but there is no interruption in the noise of the shower. Surely all of the hot water must be gone by now?
When Aaron reappears, Jimmy is with him.
"I tried to give Aaron a bunk up to the window," he tells me, "but he couldn't fit through."
"Did you call her?" I ask.
"Yes," Aaron tells me, "we both did, but she didn't answer, so I decided to risk losing my eyes…"
"Did you see her?" I ask, impatiently.
"No, I didn't," Aaron shakes his head, "she must be lying in the bath tub or something, if she's even still in there. The curtain's drawn. Do you think the door could be locked and then closed over, even if nobody was in there…"
But the previous comment really does get my heart racing, so I give one good set of thumps on the door before I instruct Kev, Jimmy and Jeremy to break it down.
"Can I break it down too?" Aaron just looks excited at the prospect.
"No!" I tell him, my patience now gone, replaced by sky-rocketing anxiety, "On the count of three."
The three boys get into place, shoulders facing the door.
"One, two, three…"
OOOO
Six hours later…
Mac
"We found her in the bath tub," Paula continues, "She'd tried to plug the drain-hole," (one of the kids apparently melted the plug long ago,) "but the towel must have come free. She'd turned the shower on full and lay down in the tub. The doctors think she took an overdose of the painkillers that Rafael keeps in the top of the cabinet…I never even thought she knew where he kept those…The house is so small and so busy, we're all virtually living on top of one-another…"
"It's okay, Paula," I go to comfort the woman, but she's having none of it. I think she's trying to stay in control of this situation any way she can, "The doctor did some tests, but I didn't understand much of what he told me…I just want to see her…"
"How did the doctor describe her condition as being?" I ask.
"Well, the doctors aren't sure exactly how long ago she took the pills, so they can't be sure that pumping her stomach got rid of all of the painkillers," Paula sniffles and daps her eyes with a sodden Kleenex, "They're giving her something intravenously, but she's on a respirator, because she's not breathing by herself."
"Is Rafael here with you?" Harm asks, obviously concerned that Paula might have been on her own, all this time.
"He's at home with the kids," she tells us, "He had to go and pick up Tammy from her friend's house. I think he's taking care of dinner…"
"Is there anybody we can call for you?" I insist.
But her only reply relates to Carol Anne's social worker and Vivienne Westbrook.
"Um, Tessa, probably…and maybe Vivienne, but I wasn't sure, because of the time…" Paula hesitates.
"Tessa Bowbridge is Carol-Anne's social worker and Vivienne works for 'Big Sisters'," I tell Harm, as Paula roots her address book out of her handbag.
We are interrupted by the sudden appearance of a doctor dressed in surgical scrubs.
"Mrs. Mason?" he asks, approaching us.
"Yes," Paula steps forward, "That's me…How is Carol-Anne?"
"We've just completed some more tests, to assess her physical capabilities; that is to breathe without the respirator…but I'm afraid there has been no change in her condition since our last assessment, a few hours ago," he completes, in one big breath.
The guy must be used to dealing with situations like this, he seems practiced, almost slick at delivering his speech.
"At this point," the doctor continues, "I think we should consider doing some more tests to assess her brain function…"
I let out a little gasp and Paula seems to realize that neither Harm nor I really had any idea that the situation was quite this bad.
"Doctor Hanson," she quickly introduces us to the doctor, "This is Colonel Sarah MacKenzie and Commander Harmon Rabb. They are good friends of mine and of Carol-Anne's. I'm sure they would appreciate it if you could explain to them what you told me, earlier."
The doctor obliges her request.
"Well, Colonel, Commander," he begins, "our primary tests showed that there was an enormous amount of medication absorbed by Carol-Anne's body, despite our efforts to flush her stomach. She also had no response to any painful stimulus, which is how we test patients who present in a vegetative state…"
"You mean comatose?" I ask, willing the tears to stay at bay.
"Yes, that would be correct, Ma'am," the doctor confirms, "We have since tested her to see if she can breathe without the assistance of the respirator. I'm afraid she showed no response to withdrawal of oxygen whatsoever…"
"Wait!" Harm speaks up, "Isn't that dangerous in itself? Depriving her of oxygen?"
"No," the doctor assures me, "not for the short time that we switch the respirator off. In patients sustaining less severe trauma, we'd expect to see the body's own natural response kick in; namely, her breathing reflex, just like the body's natural response to withdraw from pain. But I'm afraid we didn't see either of those reflexes in Carol-Anne's case. At this point in time, I think we need to investigate what state her brain's ability to function is in."
"You mean she might be brain-dead?" My throat seems to close up as I say the words. Harm takes my hand in his, giving it a supportive squeeze.
"I don't think we should start borrowing trouble before we have the chance to investigate," the doctor assures us, "But a CAT scan would give us an answer, either way."
Paula nods her head, looking near to losing it, herself.
"Okay doctor," she tells the man after a short pause to consider, then turns to Harm and I, "I think I've got a lot of calls to make…"
OOOO
Over the next two hours, the waiting room becomes a lot more crowded, as various people start showing up in response to Paula's phone calls. We still haven't managed to get in to see Carol-Anne, because the doctors are preparing her to be moved downstairs for the scan.
Paula and Rafael are now sitting across from us, looking lost in their own thoughts. Up until now, Tessa Bowbridge, Carol-Anne's social worker, has been trying to comfort and reassure them, but I suspect that she has now run out of steam. Kevin, the eldest of the kids living with Paula and Rafael is now here, along with three of the other boys, but I'm not sure which ones, I suspect the eldest ones. Apparently, the younger children are back at Paula and Rafael's house, under the care of Jenny, who seems to have changed her plans tonight.
"When are they taking Carol-Anne for the tests?" the youngest boy speaks up.
"Any time now," Rafael tells him then we all return to silence.
It is another ten minutes before Vivienne Westbrook arrives, who Paula called, so that she could get in touch with the unit caring for Carol-Anne's mother.
"How is she?" Vivienne takes a seat beside me, but directs her question towards Paula.
Paula tells the details once again, but they have just as much of an impact as when she told them to Rafael and the boys, and then Tessa, after them.
"The doctors are taking her downstairs for a CAT scan…They want to be sure what they're dealing with…There's a chance that Carol-Anne might not have brain activity…"
God, those words still sound just as terrible as the first time we heard them.
But those words are nothing compared to the sight of Carol-Anne when they wheel her out of the ICU. She looks positively tiny in the bed, surrounded by all of the tubes and portable equipment around her. I feel Harm take my hand in his and squeeze it tight as he has done many times over the past couple of hours. To the right of us, Rafael has his arm around his wife and her head is turned into him, even though her eyes rest upon the small figure in the bed. The boys look just as upset, particularly the youngest two, who dissolve into tears there and then. And despite the tears that I feel collecting in my eyes, I refuse to let my own walls come down, utilizing everything my Marine training has provided me with. I need to be strong, for there are others here who will be relying on my support in the hours to come.
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