Friday, March 14, 1980

"D-do you think it'll heal, Nurse?"

I paused in applying silver sulfadiazine to Troy Faulkner's right arm and looked into the earnest green eyes that were watching everything I did. The third-degree burns had been debrided until they were pink and, because they spanned the circumference of his arm as well as its length, Dr. Petersen had performed escharotomies to cut through the layers of dead, damaged skin to the living tissue to prevent the furthering of compartment syndrome (which often led to amputation if not halted). As long as we could avoid infection, things looked good for Troy.

"It won't ever be pretty to look at, but Dr. Petersen thinks you'll regain the use of your arm."

"That's not what I asked. You're the one taking care of it. Do you think it'll heal?" He lifted his head off the pillow, momentarily craning his head to check his own arm before returning his attention to me.

"I do."

Troy let out a relieved breath and sagged back against his pillow. I resumed the application of the medicine and bandaged his arm under layers of gauze.

"How's the pain? Do you need anything?"

"I can handle it. Lets me know I'm alive."

I smiled at him as I smoothed the medication over the second-degree burns on his neck and lower jaw. "You sound like my husband."

Troy grinned at me, jiggling the oxygen tube spreading across his cheeks to loop around his ears. "Is he in construction, too?"

"No, he's in the Navy." I fastened the lid on the container of silver sulfadiazine and returned it to the cart. I peeled off my surgical gloves and washed my hands before returning to my patient's bedside to mark his chart. "Now, I'm serious, Troy," I told him as I replaced the chart at the foot of his bed. "You need to let us know when you need something for the pain."

"If it gets bad enough, I will."

"Yeah, you're exactly like my husband." I patted his foot on my way out of the room, bringing the small cart back to the nurse's station. Hannah took charge of it and told me I had a visitor. I turned and smiled to see Al waiting at the far end of the station. Speak of the devil.

"Hi," I said, walking over and embracing him. "I just finished my rounds."

"Right on schedule," he smiled. "How's Trinh?"

My smile faltered. "Weaker. Are you ready?"

Al nodded and quietly followed me into Trinh Carver's room. The respirator's pump hissed noisily as it delivered oxygen to Trinh's damaged lungs through the tracheotomy. A nasogastric tube was threaded through her left nostril to supply nourishment. Pain was visible in her blood-red eyes as she tracked our movement to her bedside. I was proud of Al for his ability not to react in horror at Trinh's raw, tortured, blackened, and twisted skin visible around the mesh bandages. We had begun debriding the necrotic tissue that morning and the procedure had left its painful mark.

"Hello, Trinh," I gently said to break the silence. "You remember my husband, Al."

Trinh's once refined voice rasped as she repeated Al's name in the space allowed her between cycles of the respirator. She blinked and inclined her head in greeting. Even mangled, she held on to her dignity.

Visibly moved, Al stepped closer to Trinh. "Tôi rất lấy làm tiếc," he said slowly in Vietnamese.

Trinh's eyes widened in surprise and even relief. When Al mentioned Jim's name I realized he was beginning by offering his condolences. Trinh wept as she forced her answer around the respirator's rhythm. Al smiled sadly at her and briefly turned to me.

"She said she's looking forward to being with Jim and Craig again."

I closed my eyes at Trinh's acceptance of her fate. Her sorrowed tone as she continued drew my attention back. Al gently questioned Trinh in halting Vietnamese that grew slightly stronger as the conversation progressed.

Finally, Trinh signaled an end. "Tired," she rasped in one of the few English words left to her.

Nodding, Al uttered a farewell phrase in Vietnamese as she wearily closed her eyes. We left the room and I led the way to one of the lounge areas on the floor.

"She has no family," Al flatly stated, when we were alone inside. "Her parents and sisters were killed in an attack in Vietnam and her brothers were killed after they refused to join the Vietcong. Jim was all she had, and I know he had no one left either. I even checked his file at the base to make sure."

"No wonder death looks promising."

Al nodded, "But she's afraid she'll die before her baby's fate is decided. Trinh wants that settled before she dies."

"Well, I'll talk to Dr. Petersen immediately. But, Al, I don't know if an adoption agency can find a family that quickly, no matter how desperately someone wants a baby. And, much as I hate to say it, I'm not sure it'll be easy to place her, judging from some of the reactions to the refugees I've encountered lately." I sank into a chair, stricken by the seeming hopelessness of the situation.

"I'll tell you what will happen. That child will either be sent to a home or shuffled from foster family to foster family. Possibly both," Al glared at the floor. "I've lived that, Beth. I'd hate to see it happen to Trinh's little girl. Jim Carver was a friend of mine, his child deserves better than that. Any child deserves better than that."

"But what can we do? Unless . . ." I stopped and looked intently at Al. "Al, do you suppose we . . . I mean, I don't normally make decisions this quickly, especially one this big, but . . ."

Al took my hand, his thoughts running along the same lines. "Beth, we could adopt the baby."

"Yes, we could." I smiled and then immediately frowned as I questioned my own words. "But are we rushing into this?"

"Would it really be that much different if we found out you were pregnant today?"

"You've got a point," I nodded. "Adoption. Al, this is serious—it's forever. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he affirmed. Al looked down at our joined hands for a moment before raising his head to meet my eyes. His face and voice were solemn. "I grew up in an orphanage, Beth. As much as I missed my Dad after he died, as much as I missed Trudy, and no matter how much of a little punk I could be, I wanted to be part of a family. No, it was more than that. I needed to be in a family." He shrugged and smiled as he pressed my fingers and earnestly continued, "I have one now. All the love I was looking for, everything I needed—it's in our family. You gave me that, you and the girls. You gave me this terrific family—and we've got room in it for Trinh's baby. Let's offer this to her." It was amazing how simple and clear the decision was.

Nodding, I patted his cheek as I stood. "I'll go find Dr. Petersen." Impulsively, I bent and kissed him long and hard.

Al blinked in surprise. "What was that for?" he asked with a pleased smile.

"For being you," I answered as I slipped out the door and went in search of Dr. Petersen.

Dr. Petersen paced across the small lounge when Al finished speaking. "This is highly irregular, Captain Calavicci," he said. "Requesting adoption proceedings on such short notice. And what about the consent of the mother?"

"I've talked with Mrs. Carver," Al said firmly. "Her condition is worsening from moment to moment, if I'm understanding what you and my wife have told me. She's expressed a deep concern to ensure the welfare of her child before her death. I'd like to do the best I can to help in that, and I believe that would be through adopting the baby."

"And what makes you certain you are the best person to decide what's right for Mrs. Carver's child?" Dr. Petersen asked.

"Dr. Petersen, I've lived through the state's system of looking after orphaned children. I know what it's like, and I'd like to spare this child from having to learn about it," Al answered. "As far as my being the best person, I'm not that presumptuous. That, ultimately, is up to Trinh. Before we—Beth and I—offered this option to her, I wanted to clear it with the hospital."

"Dr. Petersen," I added, "surely you realize that finding a suitable home for this child before Mrs. Carver passes away will be very difficult. We're more than willing to bring her into our family, with Trinh's consent."

Dr. Petersen paced another circuit around the lounge. It was clear he was not comfortable with the sudden twist Al and I had brought to things. He stopped and sighed. "Very well, Captain. I'll allow you to offer this option to Mrs. Carver. Should she accept, I will personally contact an adoption lawyer to arrange a private adoption. But beyond that, we're following everything to the letter." He crossed to a wall phone and dialed an extension. "Mr. Turner," he said to the hospital's lawyer, "please meet me in room 2145 in five minutes."

"Thank you, Doctor," Al said. Dr. Petersen nodded and turned to leave.

"You were wonderful, Al," I told him when we were alone.

Al gave me a small smile and caressed my shoulder. "If Trinh accepts. And if the lawyer is convinced that we're not coercing her." He looked gravely at me as a thought struck him. "Beth, is there anyone else on staff, anyone at all, who speaks Vietnamese? I doubt they'll accept my word alone. It could be viewed as a conflict of interests."

"Oh, I hadn't thought about that. We couldn't find anyone yesterday afternoon, but we only checked who was actually at work, we didn't ask about the entire hospital staff profiles. I'll call Personnel right away." I hurriedly dialed the extension and relayed my request. After several minutes, I hung up with a sigh of relief. "We must have an angel on our side. There's a young man who works in the ER who is Vietnamese. His name's Cuong Nguyen and he's here today."

"That's great, Beth." Al checked his watch. "We better get our butts in gear. The hospital lawyer's probably there already."

We hurried in to Trinh's room. Dr. Petersen was checking her vital signs as Hannah adjusted her IV. Trinh's cracked lips moved into a tiny smile as she caught sight of us.

Dr. Petersen noticed us and nodded tersely. "Nurse Calavicci, Captain. Lee Turner should be here shortly."

"Cuong Nguyen is coming, too," I told the doctor. "He's agreed to interpret for us."

"Fine, fine," Dr. Petersen nodded again. The door opened to admit Lee Turner and Cuong Nguyen. Dr. Petersen quickly filled Turner in on the situation as Cuong introduced himself to Trinh.

"She say she will speak with you," Cuong said, turning to face us again. He motioned for Al and me to move close to her bedside. "You may begin," he told Al.

Al nodded and looked at Trinh. "You told me you were worried about what would happen to your baby," he said. Cuong translated it into Vietnamese, but Trinh was already nodding.

When Cuong stopped speaking, Trinh rasped a terse answer. "She say yes, she know she soon die, leaving her daughter alone," Cuong interpreted.

"It doesn't have to be that way," Al said. "Beth and I have talked it over. If you approve, we would take your daughter into our family, make her one of our own."

Trinh began crying as Cuong translated. Her chest heaved as she answered around the pump of the respirator. "'You do this?' she ask," Cuong said. "She say you are true friends to her family and to the memory of her husband."

One of the tenderest smiles I had ever seen crossed Al's face. "Trinh, we would gladly do this, and thank you for the gift you would be giving our family as we try to do service to yours."

Cuong translated her response, "She say your service to her far greater than her gift to you." He turned to Dr. Petersen. "She ask that her baby be brought in, please."

"Of course," he answered. He slipped off to the nurses' station.

Trinh slowly closed her eyes as we waited. The lawyer walked over to Al and me. "I don't foresee any problems with this. I have a friend who specializes in family and adoption law. I'll call him and I'm sure we can have a caseworker here this afternoon," he said. He solemnly shook Al's hand and mine. "I'll do whatever I can to help."

The door opened again as Dr. Petersen returned, followed by a nurse I didn't know pushing a bassinet. A plaintive cry filled the room. Trinh's eyes painfully opened and she looked down at her daughter. The Vietnamese heritage was visible in the baby's face, though she had inherited Jim Carver's lighter brown eyes and hair. Trinh cried openly as she spoke to the infant.

Cuong quietly translated Trinh's words. "'I wish I stay with you, my darling, but I can not. I leave you with this blessing: May God grace you with beauty, honor, and intelligence. May He grant you every happiness. And grace the lives of your new mother and father with love and happiness as they watch you grow. I love you so much and I watch over you from Heaven with your father and brother.'"

I wiped at the tears racing down my cheeks with one hand and reached to grasp Al's with the other. Trinh looked at us and then again at the baby. "'She is yours,'" Cuong translated. "'A child born of love is a true blessing. Now the love in this room give her birth into your family.'" Trinh's broken lips moved into a smile again as the salty tears splashed down her damaged cheeks.

I moved next to Trinh and lightly stroked her singed hair. "Thank you so much," I whispered. Behind me, Al said, "Yes, Trinh. Cám ơn anh. Thank you."

Trinh's chest quivered with sobs as she nodded. "…đứa con nuôi…" she coughed out. "…con gái... của mày…"

"Con gái của mày, con gái của chúng tôi," Al said, placing his right hand over his heart. "Your daughter. Our daughter." He kissed the tips of his fingers and extended his hand toward Trinh, but didn't touch her for fear of causing pain.

She nodded again and looked deeply into Al's eyes and then mine before resignedly closing her own. She didn't open them again, and only the tears streaming down her cheeks gave any sign that she was conscious. Al gently squeezed my shoulders as we stepped away from the bed.

With a farewell to Trinh and nods to the rest of us, Cuong left to go back to the ER. Dr. Petersen signaled for the nurse to take the baby back to the nursery and quietly told the rest of us to leave. He and Lee Turner stopped us in the hallway.

Dr. Petersen spoke first. "Beth, given the circumstances, I'm going to give you the rest of the afternoon off. You and your husband have a lot ahead of you."

"Please be in my office at 2 o'clock," Turner added. "I should have all the paperwork drawn up and we'll meet with the caseworker."

Al nodded, "We'll be there."

Turner shook both our hands again and we all dispersed. I was barely holding myself together. Al took one look at my face and immediately retraced our footsteps to the lounge we had been in earlier. Once we were inside I fell into his ready arms and wept, overcome by all that had just happened.

"Shhh," he whispered into my hair as he rubbed my back. "Shhh." He bent and kissed my cheek, wiping away the tear-tracks on my face with his thumbs. "We've been given a gift, Beth. A wonderful gift."

"I know," I nodded. "I wish it wasn't so costly."

Al sat on a vinyl couch and drew me next to him. "Trinh will go easier now. And the best way we can honor her is to raise that little baby as best as we can."

"We'll have to tell the girls tonight."

"We'll bring them here after we pick them up and let them see their new sister."

I leaned my head against Al's chest and listened to his heartbeat for awhile. The consistency of the sound calmed me. "Oh, Al, this is all happening so fast, it doesn't seem real."

Al wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "It's real, Beth. It's all real." He kissed my forehead. "We'll have to choose a name for her."

I thought back over Trinh's blessing over her daughter—our daughter. "Grace?" I suggested.

"That seems perfect. Grace it is," Al said. He checked his watch. "We've got about an hour before two. What do you say we go out for lunch? There's no point in hanging around here, is there?"

"No. But let's stop by the nursery first, and look at her again."

Al smiled and kissed me. "Of course." He took my hand as we walked to the elevator. I rested my head on his shoulder as we rode to the Maternity floor. When the car stopped I squeezed Al's hand in nervous excitement. He met my eyes and the same emotions reflected back at me.

My heart raced as we made our way to the baby viewing area. I stopped Al at the corner before the glass window and embraced him. "I love you, Al. I love you for doing this."

"And I love you, Beth." Al encircled my waist with his arms. "Let's go see Grace."

She had been released from critical care and moved into the nursery early that morning. Her bassinet was right below the window, her sleeping form swathed in pink flannel. She looked as peaceful as an angel. I clung to Al's sleeve as we watched her tiny chest rising and falling, her lips working back and forth as if she were dreaming of eating. The fact was slowly starting to sink in that she was ours now, that as soon as the paperwork was completed she would be a Calavicci. I couldn't stop the tears that slid down my cheeks for the thousandth time that day.

Al wrapped his arms around me as soon as he noticed my weeping. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine." I returned his embrace. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"She is."

Rubbing my face and taking a deep breath, I smiled. "My head's all awhirl. I don't even know what to think."

Al grinned and nudged me playfully. "I think we're going to need a bigger car."

"And a toddler bed. Looks like Theresa's graduating to a 'big girl bed' a bit quicker than we planned."

My stomach growled and Al chuckled. "We've got a lot to talk about over lunch." With one final glance at Grace, we turned to go.

Al expertly parked the car in the crowded lot of the daycare center. We'd gotten there half an hour before closing. He idly twirled the keys on his finger before sliding them into his pocket. I met him at the hood of the car and took his hand as we walked inside to get the girls. After a grueling interview with the caseworker (complete with an inspection of our house) and the private adoption attorney Dr. Petersen had found for us, the paperwork had been completed. And not a moment too soon. Despite the hospital's best efforts, Trinh passed away half an hour after signing her daughter to our care.

We entered the brightly painted room to hear the familiar shrieks of joy as Bridget and Michele dashed toward us. "Mommy! Daddy!"

Al scooped them up, one in each arm, and distributed welcome kisses. Theresa was curled up asleep on a mat. I lifted her into my arms without waking her. She simply turned to nestle her head against my chest. The teacher in charge nodded at us as we left.

"Al, should we take them to the park first to explain everything?" I asked as he buckled Michele in the backseat; Bridget was already settled. He nodded as he came over to relieve me of Theresa. She stirred only slightly as the transition was made to her carseat, even though Bridget loudly complained that her Daddy was "smushing" her as he bent over her to settle Theresa in the middle.

Al backed the car out of the lot and we made our way to the highway. He reached over and gently squeezed my knee. I laid my hand atop his and we shared a smile. Bridget and Michele were gleefully singing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" in the back seat. With a wink, Al and I joined in.

Minutes later we pulled up at a park close to the hospital. Al turned off the car and faced our daughters. "Okay, munchkins," he said, "ready to pile out?"

Together we reversed the loading process. Al carried Theresa, who had finally awoken but sleepily pushed her head against his neck. I held on to Bridget and Michele with either hand as we walked to a gazebo. We sat down on the benches, Al with Theresa in his lap, and me with Bridget and Michele on either side.

"Your daddy and I have something important to tell you," I told them. "You're all going to be big sisters."

Theresa perked up. "Big Sissy?" she asked with interest.

"That's right," said Al. "Do you girls remember Commander Carver and his wife from the picnic?"

The twins nodded. I noticed that he didn't mention Craig, who hadn't been much older than Theresa.

"Well, they had a baby yesterday, a little girl. But Commander and Mrs. Carver had to go to Heaven and she needs a mommy and daddy to take care of her, so we're going to adopt her. That means she's going to come live with us and be a part of our family."

"Will they come visit?" Bridget asked.

Al smiled sadly, "No, honey, they won't. People don't come back from Heaven."

"That's why Grace is going to be a part of our family. She's your baby sister now," I added.

"Grace?" asked Michele.

"That's her name."

"That's pretty. Where is she?"

"She's at the hospital with the other new babies. She can come home with us in just a few days."

"Would you like to see her?" Al asked them. Three small heads energetically nodded. Theresa wrapped her arms around Al's neck to be carried back to the car. Bridget begged for me to carry her, too. Michele, meanwhile, skipped merrily to the car. We shortly had all three buckled up again, and were on our way to the hospital.

I watched Al's profile during the brief trip. He truly was a wonderful father. Despite the fact that we already had three children, he was ready and willing to open his heart to another that wasn't physically ours. I thought back to our early married days. Both of us were being shuffled around so much that Al didn't think it would be fair to put children through that. I remembered how angry I had been with him when he'd signed up for the second tour in Vietnam. "How can you leave me alone?" I'd shouted at him. A child would have provided some comfort for me then, and I had blamed Al for what I perceived as his selfishness. That, combined with my rage at the fact that he was willing, even eager, to go back to that hellhole, had led me to threaten to divorce him. We had argued about his feeling of commitment to his country, to the South Vietnamese, and to his fellow soldiers. I had demanded to know why he didn't feel the same commitment to me.

But Vietnam had awakened Al to the briefness of life, and to the joys of it. Because of his captivity, he savored every aspect of living. Al had always been a vibrant personality—that was part of what had attracted me to him—but it was more than that now. He had an appreciation for things that hadn't been there before Vietnam. That appreciation spread to his family and plumbed depths I wasn't sure I would ever fully understand. He valued each minute, each second spent with me and our daughters.

As I sat watching him, I realized that I, too, valued every moment with our children. I would need to take a leave to take care of Grace for the next few months, but the experience with Trinh had shown me that, for whatever reason, I had lost my ability to remain emotionally detached from my patients. Besides, I reflected, I wanted to spend every chance I could with our children, while they were still young.

Al felt my gaze and turned to look at me, smiling and blowing me a kiss. I rubbed his knee and turned to look back at the girls. Theresa had fallen asleep again and the twins looked out the window as they played their own version of "I Spy". A lump formed in my throat as I thought about how quickly they were growing. As we pulled into the hospital parking lot I decided to discuss it later with Al.

Theresa didn't stir even when Michele slammed her door on getting out. Al nestled Theresa against his shoulder when he took her out of the car, cheerfully ignoring the small line of drool collecting on his neck. He reached down for Bridget's hand as I took Michele's. Our small troop made its way past the hospital lobby to the elevators. We had just missed the last car, so I pressed the call button. Bridget hung back; her jaw dropped in horror as she saw the doors open on an empty chamber.

"Where's the people?" she cried. "There was people in there!"

"Bree, it's all right, hon," Al tried not to laugh, perceiving how upset she was. "It's like a ride, baby. People go in to ride it upstairs and then they get off. Then the car comes back down for more people. You'll see."

Bridget reluctantly followed us into the elevator. She clung tightly to Al's hand. I could see where he would have little marks from her nails. She stared suspiciously back at the closing doors when we got off on the Maternity floor.

"You have to be very quiet because the babies are sleeping," I instructed the girls as we walked toward the nursery.

"Okay, Mommy," they whispered.

Al softly nudged Theresa awake when we reached the window at the viewing area. "Resa, do you want to see your baby sister?"

Theresa rubbed her eyes. "Where?" she asked.

Al waited for the twins to climb up on the step below the window. "Right there," he pointed. Grace was the only baby who was awake. As we drew near to the glass she yawned and kicked her feet. Al draped his arm around my shoulders and smiled. I slipped an arm around his waist.

"She's pretty," Michele said. Bridget nodded in agreement.

Theresa leaned forward. "I big sissy?"

Al kissed Theresa's cheek. "You certainly are, sweetie."

Theresa smiled and yawned widely, snuggling her head against Al's neck again.

"Oops, I think we need to get this one fed and bathed and in the bed," I said. "Wave bye-bye to Grace."

The twins waved and clambered down from the step. Hand in hand they skipped back to the foyer. I gave Al a peck on the cheek.

"Everything is working out, isn't it?"

Al grinned and nodded as he took my hand, and we followed the twins to the elevator.

After dinner, I sat on the floor playing Memory with the twins while Al bathed Theresa. Their conversation constantly returned to Grace and their excitement about her entry into our family. Bridget, though, kept wondering why the Carvers had gone to Heaven and left Grace behind.

"Well, honey, I guess God needed them to be with Him," I said. How exactly did you explain death to a three-year-old? Fortunately, Bridget moved on to another question.

"Did Daddy's Mommy and Daddy go to Heaven, too?"

"Yes, baby, they did, a long time ago." Well, at least his father had. There was no way of knowing if Al's mother was still alive, and I wasn't sure he had any desire to find out.

"Then who took care of Daddy?" she demanded.

"Mommy did," answered Al, dropping next to me on the floor. He planted a kiss on my cheek. "Theresa's in bed. Can I play?"

"Uh-huh. But Sheli's winning," Bridget said.

We played for over twenty minutes. We let the twins win most of the games, but Al soundly took two rounds so the girls would feel a sense of accomplishment for beating him afterwards. When the last round ended we put the twins in for their bath. They were so busy chattering that it was easy to get through the bath quickly, especially with Al helping me. They were in bed before they realized it, and after I read three storybooks to them they were asleep. I quietly closed their door and joined Al on the couch.

"What a day," he grinned, flicking off the TV and looking up at the ceiling. He looked over at me. "Do you think Petersen will give you any problems about the leave time?"

I shook my head. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that."

Al sat up and gave me his full attention. "What is it, babe?"

"I've been thinking. Ever since I went back to work this time it's just seemed like something's been off. I couldn't figure out what it was until today. I can't remain detached anymore, Al. This thing with Trinh proved that. And it wasn't just her. It was the others—like Mrs. Kolcheck, who'll probably lose her left arm; Mr. Johnson, the whole right half of his face has third degree burns on it; and then there's the little girl who died ten minutes after I checked on her." I shook my head again, closing my eyes momentarily before looking at him again. "I won't be able to handle my job if I keep getting so emotionally involved. Plus, I keep seeing how the girls are growing. I don't want to miss out on their lives like your mother did with yours."

Al spoke very sternly, "Beth, you are nothing like my mother was. Nothing at all. Don't you ever think that! She ran out on us . . . deserted us. There's no comparison, honey. None! You're a wonderful mother."

"Well, I want to be a wonderful mother, anyway," I answered, a bit taken aback by his vehemence. "So what I wanted to talk to you about was…well. Would you be upset if I stopped working for a while to stay home with the girls full-time?"

"How could I possibly be upset with you about something like that, Beth?" Al demanded, incredulous. "While it would be nice to have, we won't be hurting for the money, if that's what you're wondering. The question is will you be happier if you stay home?"

"I honestly think so," I said. "I want to be a full-time Mom right now. At least for a few years. Maybe until Grace is in school."

"Well, then how could I have a problem with that? I want whatever makes you happy, baby, you know that."

I caressed his cheek. "Al, I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm glad I have you."

"I feel the same way," he answered. He leaned over and delivered a tenderly passionate kiss.