Chapter 14
Charlie slowly approached his father's hospital bed. He looked, if anything, worse than he had this morning. His breathing was harsher. It was obvious from his flush that he continued to have a fever, but he wasn't restless and moaning, any more. The alternative – the stillness – turned out to be worse..
As silently as possible Charlie arranged a chair on the side of the bed so that he could sit in it and rest his good arm – which had been his bad arm, just this morning – on the mattress beside his father's. Then he scooted the chair back a little, so that he could take his father's limp hand in his. He held it tightly, no longer afraid that he would wake him. He held it tightly, and remembered all the times he ever had. When he was young, his father's hand had been a comfort and a strength – it had signified safety. His father's hand had led him across dangerous streets. His father's hand had bandaged Charlie's skinned knees. Throughout Charlie's life – even now – the brief touch of his father's hand could make him feel…valued, loved. He held it now tightly, and tried to make his hand send the same message to Alan.
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"Charlie." The voice was soft, and somewhat annoying in his ear, like a mosquito that wouldn't go away. It droned a little closer, instead. "Charlie. Wake up…"
He tried to turn away from it, and his head slipped off the side of the chair, and banged into the rail of Alan's hospital bed. He jerked his arm up in reflex, dropping Alan's hand. His shoulder protested mightily, and he swore when his forearm became trapped on the other side of the rail.
He heard a light chuckle behind him. "Well, that oughta wake him up."
He extricated his arm, raised it to rub at the bruises he had clonked on the bedrail, and turned to see Megan behind him. "Ow," he mumbled.
She smiled and looked past him at Alan, the smile fading. "No better?"
Charlie followed her gaze. "No."
She tried to force a positive tone into his voice. "He'll be improved enough tomorrow to move into Don's room by the time they release Colby." Charlie didn't say anything. She rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. "I came to give you a ride home. I'll bring you back in the morning."
He shook his head, still looking at Alan. "I still have to go see Larry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."
She snickered. "Well you did a good job of it. It's almost 10 o'clock. Visiting hours were over a long time ago. I got kicked out of Larry's room and hid out in Don's for a while, but they just kicked me out of there, too."
Charlie stood up a little too quickly and staggered a little as he turned around. "What? I came down here at 7!"
Megan stepped around the chair and reached out to steady him. "It's okay. You were where you were needed the most."
He still looked unhappy. "How's Larry?"
"Sleeping. A lot. At least the fever has stopped increasing. It's been holding steady for about five hours." She tried to steer him toward the door. "Come on. Everybody will be better in the morning."
Charlie took one last look at his father, and then, although he knew it was dangerous to hope, he let himself believe her, and be led to the door.
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Alan was moved the next day, but not to Don's room.
Charlie was awakened at 6 a.m. by his cell. It was the hospital, and a nurse informed him that Alan's blood pressure was dangerously low, and his kidneys and liver were not functioning at full capacity. He was being transferred to the ICU, now officially in septic shock.
Charlie sat up in his bed, clutching the phone and breathing rapidly for a few seconds before he decided he wasn't waiting for Megan. He was showered, dressed and in a cab before 6:30. He called her from the back seat to give her the news.
Once at the hospital, Charlie was informed that one family member could see Alan for 10 minutes each hour. Throughout the day, he spent his time with Alan and then alternated the balance of the hours with either Don or Larry. Three times he gave up the time to Don; once in the morning, another time in the afternoon, and a third time in the evening.
During Charlie's visits, Alan was occasionally awake. When he was, he was confused, short of breath, sometimes agitated. During the 2 o'clock visit, he watched Charlie come in the room and shouted, "What are you doing here, you son of a bitch! I told you NEVER to come near my wife AGAIN!" He continued to rant, growing increasingly angry and agitated, until Charlie finally left early, stumbled into the nearest men's room and sat on the floor hugging his knees and trembling until it was almost time for the 3 o'clock visit. A few minutes before, he went to Don's room and offered it to him.
Between ICU visits, Charlie tried to concentrate on other hospital news. Colby had been released that morning as planned, and was expected back on full field duty in only three weeks. Don, when he wasn't sleeping, was alert and showing no signs of complications. A late-morning CT scan was again clear of any brain swelling or bleeders, and Dr. Headson was talking about releasing him the next day, or the day after. Full recovery would take weeks of rest, of course, but both Don and Charlie looked forward to his being able to do it at home. Finally, Larry's temperature began to drop. By afternoon, his oxygen supplementation needs were reduced enough that they were able to replace the mask with a canula, and he was much more comfortable. He would likely be in the hospital several more days, and was due for his own long recovery after that.
Charlie wheeled Don to ICU for the 6 o'clock visit, and they arrived as Dr. Stevenson was exiting Alan's room. He invited them to a family waiting area, and Charlie was suddenly glad he had Don's wheelchair to hang onto. Don, on the other hand, was glad he was sitting down already.
Once in the waiting area, Dr. Stevenson was brief and to the point. He didn't even sit down, so neither did Charlie. He just stood behind Don and gripped the wheelchair handles harder. "Your father's kidneys have begun to fail. If we can't turn that around in the next few hours, we'll have to begin dialysis."
Don spoke. "Will there be permanent damage? I mean, after he comes out of this septic shock, will dialysis have to be continued?"
The doctor looked at Charlie and then down at Don. "Perhaps. There's no way to tell, right now. If your father recovers from this, he may have permanent damage to several organs: brain, heart, liver, kidneys…"
Don bristled. "If? If he recovers?"
"I assumed your brother had passed on the information I gave him regarding the mortality rate of septic shock."
"My brother is always talking numbers," Don said, as if to dismiss the statistics, and then he remembered that when Charlie talked numbers, he usually knew what he was talking about. Always, in fact. Don still had a headache – for two days, now – and he crained his head carefully up to look at Charlie.
His brother smiled down at him. "Come on, Don. This is Dad we're talking about. What do these people know from Dad?"
Don relaxed a little. Charlie had been able to spend a lot more time with Alan that he had. Charlie was not especially given to blind optimism, either. If Charlie said it would be all right, Don was going to go along with it. "Take me inside," he said, dismissing Dr. Stevenson, speaking to his brother. "It's my turn."