Chapter 9
Deaf.
This wasn't the first time Milt had been near a situation like that. One of his son's friends had been born deaf. Milt had learned a few hand movements all those years ago, but he didn't remember them. He hadn't spent much time with the little boy since he was working as a police officer during the day and going to law school at night, but Nancy had told him of all the things they had taken for granted that the little boy had to take extra precautions for. For instance, crossing the street, you had to look left-right-left before crossing, but you also listened to hear if a car was coming. Tommy's friend had to always pay a little more attention than the others. What if? Milt was only starting to see the future for McCormick.
He banished that thought from his head. He was putting too many carts before too many horses, and no one knew anything yet. He needed to wait until they knew something.
Milt had strolled down to the other end of the hall when the doctors came out of the room in consultation with each other. He paused as he watched their seriousness in their body language. He swallowed hard and headed back to hear the latest on McCormick's condition.
"So what do you fellas think?" he asked.
"We're going to take him down for a CAT scan, and we're discussing calling in our colleague from Sacred Heart Hospital. He's an expert in audiology, particularly in noise induced deafness. Gunfire and explosions are definitely something he's had some experience with before. He's worked at the State VA hospital for many years with many of these types of patients," Dr. Bishop explained.
"Yeah, sure, whatever he needs," the Judge nodded his full agreement. He was afraid to ask the next question. Dr. Guthrie saw his apprehension and addressed it first.
"We think Mark may be suffering from Conductive Deafness due, of course, to the explosion. We want to make sure there's no skull fracture that we may have missed on the x-rays we took yesterday. That's why we want to do a scan on him."
"Is the loss of hearing permanent with this Conductive…?" Hardcastle was at a loss for words.
"We won't lie to you, Judge. It can be, but sometimes it clears up and there's also an operation that's possible if the ossicular bones are dislocated. But we can talk about that after the scan and after we have the audiologist come and see him. It could be that there's simply some swelling going on in there and his hearing may return in a few days. You never really know with concussions of this nature. Right now we need a closer look. We're going to set up the CAT scan in about an hour. Try to reassure him. He's getting a little worked up over things we don't know yet."
Milt pursed his lips, "I'll do my best."
OOOOO
The room wasn't exactly quiet when he walked back in. McCormick had gotten hold of the TV remote again and was scrolling the volume up and down, watching the green lines increase and decrease on the screen, still unable to hear any sound coming from the television. He didn't move a muscle when Milt pushed the squeaky door open either. Hardcastle physically walked over and plucked the remote out of his hand. "I don't think that's gonna make your hearing return." He said, again, speaking and then realizing it was no good.
"Quit doing that to me, Hardcase," Mark reminded him. "It's not funny."
Hardcastle set the remote out of his reach and looked around the room for the tablet and pen. He spotted them on the floor on the opposite side of the room where apparently McCormick had tossed them in frustration. He casually walked over and picked them up and stepped back to the bed.
He started writing on the tablet as he returned to Mark's bedside. "YOU NEED TO RELAX, SPORT. THIS IS ONLY TEMPORARY."
"That's not what I heard them say," he shook his head with disgust, and added, "That's not what they wrote." He opened up his hand and handed the judge a crumpled piece of paper. Hardcastle opened it up and read what one of the doctors had written out loud. "WE'RE NOT SURE RIGHT NOW." "See, to me that means, sorry, McCormick, but you're deaf because we don't know how to fix you, have a nice life." He dropped the paper on the table and forced himself to now deal with the situation at hand. The kid was getting way ahead of himself. "Yeah, see, Judge? Quit trying to sugarcoat it for me. Even though I can't hear you say it, I can see it all over your face. You don't know, and they don't know. And that leaves me deaf and no one knows if it's permanent or not. It doesn't get any plainer than that."
"THEY"RE RAKING YOU FOR A REST."
Mark read the note, or at least he tried to. "Huh?"
"TAKING -- TEST?" Hardcastle rewrote.
"Oh, yeah, this is going to be a real blast. Not that there wasn't a real one already," he said, alluding to the explosion he couldn't recall, "But you can't even write, Hardcastle. How is this ever gonna work?"
"SO THEN WE'LL LEARN TO SIGN IF WE HAVE TO."
"You said this was temporary, now we're going to learn another language? Make up your mind will ya," McCormick's biting commentary certainly hadn't been injured.
Hardcastle scribbled down something else, this time taking the time to get the words right. He handed the piece of paper to Mark.
ONE DAY AT A TIME. LET THE DOCTORS DO THEIR WORK. I'LL WORK ON MY PENMANSHIP.
Mark almost smiled, but his body and mind were racked with too much pain at the moment.
Milt took the seat beside McCormick and began to write down a rather long note. He took his time so that it would be neat and legible and most of all hopeful. By the time he finished it, he glanced over to McCormick had tired out from the whole situation and had given himself over to sleep. The Judge folded up the note and placed it along side of his hand where he'd be sure to find it.
A half hour later, the orderlies came to take Mark out to have the CAT scan.
OOOOOOO
Look, kiddo, I don't know exactly what you're going through right now, but I know you must have all sorts of scared thoughts running around inside your head. I'm not even going to try to tell you not to worry, but what I do want to tell you is to be patient. No one has any answers yet. We didn't know until you woke up that your ears were giving you any problems. Let's wait for the doctors to do their tests. I just want you to know that you're not alone in any of this. They said it may clear up on its own. It might be something as simple as swelling. If it doesn't, then I'll do whatever I can to help you, be it doctors, specialists, operations, penmanship classes, whatever. We'll get through it together, and I'll be right here beside you all the way. You can count on that. It's a bet that will pay off.
Milt
Mark let the words soak in as reread the note about a half dozen times as they wheeled him from the CAT scan back to his room. Reassurance, ha! It sounded a lot like a write off, didn't it? The Judge writing out sappy notes just didn't cut it, did it? Enough! Mark mentally kicked himself for having those kinds of thoughts. Here was a retired Judge who finagled him out of jail and set him up in house of his own. This was the same guy who didn't leave his side when he got shot. This was the same guy who was waiting right there in the hospital with him. He knew he could count on the Judge. He'd always been able to count on him before. Being a complete burden to him though, that might be even more than the Judge would want to handle.
His mind danced back and forth with so many thoughts, some morbid, some not-so-hopeless, some more positive.
Okay, it was beyond nice to have the reassurance from the judge and for a brief moment, he actually let himself relax. Seemingly trapped in the utter silence he found himself in, it was so strange to see people talking and laughing as they carted him down the hall, and he could only wonder what they were discussing and what all the giggles were about. The total absence of noise, it was something he'd never considered before. He wondered if the gurney he was on had a squeaky wheel or if the elevator had one of those high-pitched squawks as he rode back down to the 3rd floor. It was the first time he thought that he might be glad he couldn't hear it since his head still hurt from the concussion. Noise and concussion together were pretty painful. While waiting for the elevator to come a little girl of about seven came up along side his gurney and said hello to him and asked how he was. He was surprised that he could actually read her lips and make out the words. He mustered up a smile for her and said he was just fine. Happy and satisfied with the answer she'd gotten from him, she actually lovingly patted his cheek and trotted off down the hall.
God, McCormick, what's in store for you now? He could only wonder.
Chapter 10
No noise.
Complete silence.
Milt couldn't even imagine what the sound of silence sounded like. All those times he'd yelled at McCormick for everything dumb thing imaginable like slamming the doors or clomping through the house, but he could hear all that. What if he suddenly couldn't?
What if Mark never heard Milt yell at him? What if he never heard anything ever again?
Worse still, what if the explosion had taken Mark away permanently and Milt never heard those sounds ever again?
Milt closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. This job of theirs, going after the bad guys, it had nearly cost Mark his life before. Now, it may have cost him his hearing.
Getting bad guys wasn't worth any of this. It was far too high a price to pay.
For the second time in under a year, Milt Hardcastle gave serious thought to stopping what they were doing. No more going after bad guys, no more putting the kid through who-knows-what…Too many more of these could be permanent.
No, the price was too high.
The ringing telephone interrupted his thoughts. Before he spoke, he composed himself. He picked up the handset on the second ring. "Hello?"
"Milt, it's Frank. How's Mark?"
"He's awake. He's got a headache and…"
"And? And what Milt?"
"He can't hear, Frank, he's got some sort of deafness," Saying it out loud wasn't going to make anything better or worse. Hardcastle closed his eyes and waited.
There was momentary silence on the other end, then, "He can't hear?"
Milt took a deep breath. "No. The doctor said it was something called Conductive Deafness. It might clear up on its own, but if it doesn't…. Anyway, they've taken Mark down for some tests."
"Damn, Milt, I don't know what to say…."
"Me either," And so the Judge quickly changed the subject. "Did you see the story on the news?"
"Yeah. I'm looking into it. This is really big. A warehouse owned by a contractor for the Customs department and leased to Kerns? I think this is way out of your usual league, Milt."
"No argument. At least now we know who the group is behind all of this. Anyway, we're out of it, but Kerns may come after Mark."
"I've already got some guys at the hospital as long as you two are there, and there are a few making more drive-by patrols at the estate. There's a problem, though."
"Don't tell me. Let me guess. The entire operation wasn't official, we weren't official, so we can't expect any 'official' help from the police," Milt concluded.
"The officers are the ones who were working on this with us. They know the score and the drill. They're doing this on their own time, but unless there's an actual threat made against Mark…"
"We can't expect someone to baby-sit us 24/7, I get it. Let's hope this is all tied up pretty soon."
"I'll tell you what I find out, Milt. Give Mark my best."
"I will. See ya."
Hardcastle put the handset back in its cradle and listened to the relative quiet of the hospital room. Relative. It wasn't quiet. The volume on the TV was turned down low, the sounds of someone calling over the intercom, the general hubbub of people walking up and down the corridor… no, it wasn't quiet, he could still hear all of it, every rotten sound.
It just wasn't all that noisy.
OOOOO
The tests had really wiped Mark out. Milt saw the exhaustion in his tired face and body. The kid didn't bother to say anything, he was so fatigued. He fell asleep within minutes after they brought him back to the room. Hardcastle watched as the nurses got Mark settled and gave him a mild dose of pain killer in his IV. He was out like a light right shortly after.
"How long will he need that?" Milt asked the nurse, pointing toward the IV.
"It's up to him, mostly. We'll get him a liquid lunch and see if he can handle it. If he can, we'll try something a little more solid tomorrow. I think the doctor may want to keep him on the IV for a couple of days since it's easier to give him his pain meds and antibiotics with it."
The nurse double checked some numbers on the readout. "He seems to be running a slight fever."
"How bad is that?" the judge asked her.
"It's only 99.4 degrees. It could be a side effect of the meds or moving around as much as he has today. I'll tell the doctor about it."
Milt waited a moment then asked, "Did the doctor find out anything from all the tests yet?"
"I don't know, Mr. Hardcastle. The doctor will have to talk to you himself."
After the nurse left, Milt sat down and picked up another magazine. He glanced at his watch. It was only a little after 10:00 in the morning? He felt like it should be much later.
Chapter 11
For Mark, another day passed, only it seemed to be blurred and out of focus. More of the same tests as the previous day, followed by what seemed to be the endless Hardcastle notes and the picking and prodding of the nurses and their nearly constant act of injecting him every hour on the hour with some sort of potion or drawing blood from him for some sort of count. Every time they moved about him or whenever their lips moved, it made him frustrated. He strained to hear them, wanting to will himself to do so. He grew tired and discouraged from the hearing tests that he couldn't hear. First they'd stick something in his ears, then on his head, then they'd remove everything and the result was always the same. Nothing. How many ways did he have to tell them?
By late morning, the mental blurriness had merged into disconnection, nausea and exhaustion. Every part of him was aching or throbbing or burning or stinging. Wasn't all the stuff they insisted on doing to him supposed to make him feel better? He tried to tell them it wasn't working.
He remembered them writing down what they were doing, but his head was still swimming from the combination of the concussion and the cocktail of drugs. Antibiotics for infection, pain meds, hydration solution, tranquilizers -- a little bit of everything was flowing in his right arm. The words they had written down to explain things to him seemed out of focus and nonsensical. Every time he was ready to sleep, someone came to 'check' on him. He wanted his head to be clear, so he could think and remember, but no one seemed to be listening to him. They said they could hear him, didn't they? Not even his best friend, the Judge, was listening. Milt always listened to him when he was in the hospital. At least, he always had. Funny wasn't it? He was the one who was deaf and yet they couldn't seem to hear him.
He asked for water, didn't he? He thought he did. He couldn't think of a reason why he couldn't have some water. Some cool water would sooth his dry throat. He felt like it had been so long since he had a drink of water.
He swept his head from side to side, but no one was around. Weren't they all just in there? The doctor and the two nurses, even Hardcastle? Where had they all gone?
OOOOO
For Milt, only a few hours had passed, only it seemed to be hectic, chaotic and worrisome. Mark's fever had drifted around 100 for a while, then it skyrocketed to 103. Milt had watched the numbers climb one after the other in minutes. He'd called for the nurse who was already rushing into the room with the doctor.
Dr. Guthrie asked them all to step out of the room. Milt guessed that it was habit rather than necessity. How could Mark have heard them anyway? "He's got a pretty severe infection right now. I increased the antibiotic dosage and, with your permission, Judge Hardcastle, I'd like to increase his pain med's. I think it would be best if he would sleep through most of this. If he's awake and fighting, the antibiotics won't have the same chance to work. We need to limit his movements right now and the best way we can control it is through the pain meds."
"If you think that's the best thing for him, then yeah, let's do it," Milt replied, "What's causing the infection?"
"It could be the burns or the smoke, maybe coupled with a delayed reaction to everything that's happened to him. The burns are what concern me the most, although his lungs aren't clearing up as well as we had hoped either. I'm also going to have the nurse put him back on the O2 just until we get his fever to break. He's not really in any sort of respiratory distress, but even though he's not coughing much, his lungs aren't clear and he seems to putting a lot of effort into gaining a simple breath," Guthrie explained.
"This came on really fast," Hardcastle remarked. "And he's been like this for hours, unsettled, it's troubling..."
"Infections of this nature often do. Don't worry, it's not unusual, I've seen it before. As I've said, we've got a plan so we'll go ahead and get started. Let's get this young man back on the road to recovery."
OOOOO
Back into the room came the foursome. Dr. Guthrie noted something on his chart while the nurses were busily preparing more injections.
"Judge," McCormick's voice cracked, "Can," he took a breath as some muck caught in his throat, changing the sound of his voice, "Can I get water?" he managed to expel, just before he started coughing. Milt looked over to the doctor for an answer.
"By all means," Guthrie smiled, and nodded toward the pitcher and glass. "Get him to drink as much as possible."
Milt patted his arm, "Coming right up, kiddo." He poured a half a glass and picked up Mark's head off the pillow so that he could drink it. "How's that, better?"
McCormick didn't nod or shake his head like he would have otherwise. Milt had to remember, he couldn't hear anything being asked of him. The judge eased him back down to the bed.
One of the nurses came over, started to put the nasal cannula for the O2 on him and he tried to bat it away.
"Don't want that, hurts my nose," he said turning his head away from it.
Milt tried to intervene and get McCormick to settle down, but the fever was causing him a lot of distress. "Sorry about that," The Judge said to the nurse. "He's not normally like this."
He watched McCormick's breathing. His breaths were shallow, rapid and loud. It scared him to see the kid working so hard just to get a breath.
Guthrie noticed it and said to her, "Let's not upset him. He'll be asleep in minutes. Wait until then and put it on him." She nodded her understanding and went about her next task. "I'll be completing rounds if you need me."
Nothing seemed to be helping Mark at all, only aggravating him. He couldn't seem to regulate his body temperature. One minute he was so hot, he thought he would burn up and the next minute he shivered from the cold that chilled him to his core. He knew he was drifting in and out but he thought they were doing this to him on purpose. What was the most frustrating thing was waking up to see people, including Hardcastle, hovering around him, talking and not hearing any sound in his ears. It was a maddening delirium for him. He woke up one time, startled by some shriek of a nightmare and reached out and grasped and clawed at the Judge's arm something fierce. The judge held on to Mark's arm -- was he pushing him away? "JUDGE," he cried out. He tried to raise his head up off the pillow, but he didn't seem to have the right control over his neck muscles. Hardcastle's lips were moving, but try as he might, he couldn't make out the words. He tried to sit up in the bed, but the Judge's strength overwhelmed him and pushed him back to the prone position. A couple of nurses stepped in, one went to checking his pulse and his temperature. He kept spitting out the thermometer, until she finally held it place against his will. The other nurse came at him from the other side carrying another syringe of something and she aimed it right into his IV.
"No, not anymore, please," he begged, his forehead wet with sweat. What were they doing to him? He looked at her and pleaded and then over to the other side where the Judge and the other nurse were standing. He tried to push her away, just as the Judge had done to him. It was no use, he had no strength and he felt her powerfully take his right arm in hers to steady it to give him the medication. The other nurse took a cool cloth and bathed his face with it. "Can't take it, don't want it…" he said to all of them. "Please, Judge, make them stop, no more, please."
His breathing was rapid and shallow, interspersed with congested coughs as he fought with all his might against everything they were doing to him He mustered up enough of his own strength to shove the nurse off of his arm and reached out both hands toward Hardcastle. "Judge, don't let 'em, please," he begged. In the fog he was in, his aim was way off base, but the Judge, reached down for him and took hold of his left hand, while the nurse had grabbed his right arm again, this time even more snuggly and gave him the injection. "Why's everyone doing this to me?"
"Relax, kiddo, it's just a fever, you're okay," Milt said, still not fully realizing his spoken words had no impact on McCormick. This was going to take a while to get used to. Instead, he gripped Mark's hand harder. The old human touch was going to have to be enough to let the kid know not to worry.
"Judge, no…" he cried out.
"It's just the fever talking, Judge. The med's are in," the nurse said to him. "His temperature is up to 104. The doctor ordered another dose of tranquilizer to let him rest a little more comfortably. It should take effect rather quickly."
"Judge… take me home, please… make 'em stop… don't want this, no more," his voice wavered.
Hardcastle finally felt the tiny bit of strength McCormick had in his hand slacken inside his own.
McCormick felt himself slipping into oblivion, "No, no, no," Mark cried out as the medication quickly went to work. His hand completely slid out of the Judge's grasp and Hardcastle set it down on the bed at his side. "No more," he cried out again, directing it right at Milt. Tears slid down out of his eyes as his breathing changed to a deeper, slower even rhythm. His lips parted as he slowly and dopily let his eyelids close down. One more time he whispered, "No…."
"Does he have a phobia about hospitals?" the nurse asked.
"No. Drugs," the Judge told her. "I don't know why. He doesn't even really like taking aspirin unless he's really hurting."
"Whatever the reason is, it must be pretty big given how much he's fighting us on this."
"It's gotta be the fever. He might argue the point if he was feeling okay, but he'd take the medicine."
The nurse fastened the O2 nasal cannula on Mark and took another look at his readings. He was still fairly unsettled as he lay in the hospital bed, flailing about. His breathing changed… heart rate changed… his temperature spike to 105. "I'm getting a cooling blanket," the nurse rushed out while Milt went into the bathroom and wet another washcloth with cold water. He hurried back and wiped Mark's perspiring face as the nurse came back in. She placed the blanket hurriedly on Mark and switched it on. Then she injected another med into the I.V.
"This should bring his temperature down fast."
"Is this normal?"
"Temperatures can spike, Judge. If it stays like this, we'll call the doctor back."
Milt waited and watched the temperature readout on the monitor. It seemed to be stuck on 105. He couldn't help but focus on McCormick's face. Besides the overly heated, sweat-laden skin, his eyes were rolling up and down, beneath his eyelids and every painful breath he took in and exhaled was sending an aching chill into Milt. He was helpless to do anything for his friend, except to be with him, at his side, until the bout passed.
105.
105.
104.
"It's going down?" His eyes shifted over to the temperature monitor.
The nurse watched as well. "It seems to be," she answered.
They watched the numbers click off to 103 where it stayed. "I'll call the doctor and let him know it spiked. I'll check back in a little while. Call if there's any change before a nurse comes back in to check his vitals."
Hardcastle sighed heavily as he held the washcloth on Mark's forehead. For hours during the long afternoon, he'd watch Mark deliriously beg him to make them stop whatever they were doing. Mark never begged. The fever had such a grip on him and he couldn't hear anything anyone said. He didn't realize what the notes said. As soon as Mark seemed to truly slip into a deep sleep, Milt took a nearby seat and waited. The fever had to break soon.
OOOOO
A few hours after that, the fever had indeed broken and it was down to a more reasonable number, 100. Dr. Guthrie was satisfied with his quick turnaround and ordered the O2 to be removed. McCormick slowly woke up not remembering the better part of the day at all.
Hardcastle had been there the whole time, listening to the broken snatches of sentences Mark was muttering. He couldn't make a lot of sense out of most of it, but the idea that someone was hurting him seemed to be what was echoing through Mark's deliriums, that in and of itself tore at the core of Milt. If there was anything in his power to do what he wanted, it would be to take the kid's pain away, so the thought of him hurting and not being able to do anything left him beyond frustrated. Some sentences sounded like he was asking someone to not go away. Milt almost thought that Mark was remembering talking to his mother when he was ten, when she was so sick before she died. Other bits and pieces made Milt think that Mark was reliving the time he was shot and the hospital stay afterwards. Sometimes, he was asking the judge to 'make them stop.' The problem was that Milt had no idea what it was Mark was asking to be stopped.
Finally, the mutterings stopped, and Mark was sleeping and the judge noticed that the temperature indicator on the monitor was going down bit by bit. In a matter of minutes, he had watched it go from 103 to 102. A few minutes later, the number 101 was showing. He'd been hovering around 101 for the last hour, and now, it was teetering between 99 and 100. The worst part of the fever had broken.
With the Judge's attention elsewhere, McCormick woke up and spied his friend, still camped out at his bedside. He mustered up a tired and exhausted smile. This guy was more than a Judge, he was an overgrown St. Bernard, ever faithful to a fault. Mark wondered why the guy stuck by him in the hospital. Didn't he realize that people went there to rest, not to have someone hovering over them? And look at him, he looked like he needed some rest himself. "Judge," Mark's voice was weak, "take a break. Go eat."
A startled Milt looked over and saw Mark's fever bright eyes looking at him. He just shook his head, indicating he wasn't hungry.
"Go on. Leave me alone for awhile," Mark whispered.
"FEVER BROKE," Milt wrote out.
Mark managed a little nod of understanding. "Guessed that." He still felt warm. "I'm just gonna sleep, you need a break too."
Poor kid. Milt got it. Mark needed some space. He got up, poured some water into a cup and placed it where Mark could reach it. He then took out a pen and pad and wrote, "BE BACK IN ABOUT AN HOUR?"
Milt was wanting to know how long he needed to leave someone who felt like he definitely needed to be left alone. Was an hour too long in his condition?
"Okay," Mark muttered. "Go eat. I'm okay now, fever broke."
He was tired, but he was also tired of sleeping. Once the Judge left the room, McCormick adjusted the hospital bed to a sitting position, still searching for some way he could feel comfortable and he grabbed the TV remote and flipped through the channels again. Why didn't hospitals have 'ordinary' television channels? He surfed right past MTV. The idea that he couldn't hear the music was too much for him at that moment. Talk shows, he couldn't hear what they were talking about. My Darling Clementine was on, but his heart really wasn't into watching a western. There wasn't even a ball game on anywhere. He finally settled on a game show. Wheel of Fortune. He didn't have to hear what the contestants were saying in order to figure out the answer for himself. In a way it was just like trying to decipher Hardcastle's written notes, actually Wheel was easier.
At least the ice-pick-in-the-head pain from his concussion had gone down to a sharp, painful throb that kept time with his heartbeat. If he didn't move his head, he could almost deal with the pain. His ribs though, they were another story. Each breath felt like a cord was pulling across his ribs and cutting into him. And then there were his lungs. He kept coughing up the muck he had breathed in from deep down inside, which only aggravated his ribs and his head. No, he just had to lay there in his bed, still, and then everything didn't hurt as much.
He recalled being so tired when he came back from the tests, and not sure exactly why. He had blamed it on whatever the nurses were shooting into his IV. He thought it was probably some pain reducer or something purposely made to make him sleep, not a fever brought about by an infection that had flared up. Even so, he ended up only sleeping for a few hours to help break the fever, and the pain, well, if that's what it was, it really wasn't helping either. Trying to sleep in the complete silence, everything was still too new and too unknown and, he was willing to admit it to himself, he was hurting and he was beyond scared. Even having the judge in the room with him hadn't helped. Mark couldn't hear him. He couldn't hear the judge grumbling about the lack of good TV channels, about how bad the food was in the cafeteria, nothing.
True to his word, the judge came back in an hour, just before the nurse came in again to check his vitals.
"Do I get to eat?" he asked her, not sure if she could hear him.
She mouthed something to the judge who wrote down, "LIQUIDS FOR NOW."
Mark closed his eyes for just a moment. He didn't want liquids. He wanted something a little more substantial. "Can I get something more than that?" he asked.
He could tell the nurse was hemming and hawing. He could see that the judge was trying to reason with her for maybe a little something other than just liquids. Finally, he wrote down, "SOUP, MILK AND JELLO, BUT SHE'S GOING TO LET YOU HAVE SOME OATMEAL TO SEE HOW YOUR STOMACH HANDLES IT. OKAY?"
Well, that was something.
Something but disappointing. The food wasn't all that appetizing although the warm soup, lukewarm oatmeal and milk actually felt good on his throat and in his empty stomach. Even the jello helped fill him up, but to not hear the spoon scrape the bowl? To not hear that slurp through his straw when he reached the bottom of his milk carton? He'd never realized how much of awareness was connected with hearing.
He purposely tried to not think about it, but it kept entering his mind – how would he be able to be Tonto to Hardcastle's Lone Ranger if this was permanent?
Not that he'd tell the judge any time soon, but he was worried. At the moment though, he was inexplicably tired again.
Chapter 12
Another day passed. A new doctor visited. Mark read the note again.
"MY NAME IS DOCTOR PEPPER. I'M AN AUDIOLOGIST AT SACRED HEART HOSPITAL, AND I WORK AT THE VA HOSPITAL WITH VETS WHO HAVE HEARING PROBLEMS."
Doctor Pepper.
It took every bit of precarious control that Mark didn't have at that moment to not laugh. This guy's life had to have been pretty rough when he was a kid with a name like that.
Mark offered him his hand and said, "Hi. I'm Mark McCormick, nice to meet you. I'm having a little hearing problem at the moment." He wanted to add, 'Wouldn't you like to be a pepper too?' but he held his immature comment to himself.
Doctor Pepper smiled and shook Mark's hand. He wrote down, "SO DOCTOR GUTHRIE HAS TOLD ME. I'D LIKE TO RUN A FEW TESTS, IF YOU DON'T MIND."
"I don't have any plans at the moment," Mark said, trying to sound a little more jovial than he felt.
For over an hour, Doctor Pepper ran through the gamut of sounds ranging from those with a strong bass to those with a powerful treble. He had a portable 'sound system' that he used via headphones that ran through a variety of frequencies and volumes. Every time he started a new test, he wrote out a note to Mark telling him exactly what he was doing. For the first time since he woke up, Mark felt a little more settled. At least he could see that someone was trying to find out what might or might not be the problem.
Finally, the doctor ran his last test. "FINISHED. I'M GOING TO CALL MISTER HARDCASTLE BACK INTO THE ROOM."
'Mister' Hardcastle. Mark could almost laugh. He'd heard Hardcase called Judge for so long, hearing the title of Mister seemed a little off. He saw the doctor open the door and the motion for the Judge to come in. Then, he watched as the two men spoke to each other. He wished life had a volume control.
Finally, Hardcastle sat down in the chair and the doctor took the pad and pen and wrote out a long note. "I'M TAKING THE TEST RESULTS BACK TO MY OFFICE, AND I WILL CONFER WITH DOCTORS GUTHRIE AND BISHOP IN A FEW DAYS. THE CAT SCANS SHOW THAT THERE IS SWELLING. SOMETIMES, THAT'S A REASON YOU CAN'T HEAR, BUT I CAN'T SAY RIGHT NOW THAT THAT'S THE CASE WITH YOU."
"Think it's permanent?" Mark asked him.
"RIGHT NOW, I CAN'T TELL YOU BECAUSE IT'S TOO SOON TO KNOW. WE WILL HAVE TO RULE OUT OTHER REASONS, AND THE SWELLING IS A FACTOR THAT COULD CLOUD THE DIAGNOSIS. ONCE THE SWELLING GOES DOWN, WE MAY BE ABLE TO DETERMINE THE EXACT CAUSE."
"You don't know either," Mark muttered.
"RIGHT NOW, NO. I WISH I COULD GIVE YOU AN ABSOLUTE ANSWER, BUT WE HAVE TO BE PATIENT. I WON'T TELL YOU NOT TO WORRY, BUT I WILL SAY THAT YOU HAVE EVERY REASON TO BE HOPEFUL. I'VE SEEN SITUATIONS LIKE YOURS MANY TIMES. WE JUST HAVE TO WAIT."
Mark didn't particular like the "we" nonsense that doctors used. They weren't the ones having to wait. It was the patients.
"How about making a guess? I won't hold you to it," Mark suggested.
The doctor seemed a bit ambivalent, but then wrote down, "THERE IS A CHANCE THAT WHAT YOU HAVE IS CONDUCTIVE DEAFNESS. THAT CAN CLEAR UP ON ITS OWN OR THERE'S AN OPERATION THAT COULD HELP. I'D LIKE TO GO OVER THE CAT SCANS FIRST AND MY OWN TEST RESULTS AS WELL AS CONFER WITH YOUR OTHER DOCTORS BEFORE MAKING THAT DIAGNOSIS."
"Can you make it even if there is swelling in there?"
"MAY I SAY THAT THE ANSWER IS A CAUTIOUS 'SOMETIMES?'"
Mark almost laughed at that. He watched as Doctor Pepper and the judge talked, and then the doctor took his portable sound system and left. The judge tapped him on the arm and handed a note to him.
"DOCTOR PEPPER? POOR GUY, WHAT A HANDLE."
"What's the matter, Judge? Wouldn't you like to be a pepper too?" He laughed heartily. "I wanted to use that line on him but I held back. I had a hard time keeping a straight face with that. What'd he tell you?"
The judge scribbled something out pretty fast. "GOT TO WAIT UNTIL SWEELING GOES DOWN. TAKES A FEW WEEKS, MAYBE A MONTH."
A few weeks to a month.
He was stuck in the quiet for a few weeks without knowing if it'd end sometime or if he was going to be stuck there for the rest of his life.
"And if it is conductive deafness? You've already told me that's what Guthrie was thinking it could be."
"THEN WE GOT POTIONS."
Potions? He meant options. "Judge, you really got to work on your spelling. A few weeks of this, and we'll be driving each other nuts."
OOOOO
"It's been days, Toby….How hard can it be to find a guy who was in an explosion?...There aren't that many hospitals in the area… Just find out where the guy is." Kerns slammed the phone down.
His so-called partners hadn't been happy in the manner that the federal agent was discovered, but at least they knew that the agent HAD been found and killed in the explosion. They were safe unless that intruder had gotten something on them. It had been an extreme situation which called for extreme measures. If the Feds actually discovered their operation…
The phone rang at that moment. Kerns picked up the handset. "Hello?"
"Mister Kerns, I trust you are in a good state of health?"
Kerns closed his eyes in a grimace. "I'm fine for the most part. The burns and bruises are healing up."
"Good, good. Such an unfortunate turn of events for all of us."
"It could have been worse. As it stands now, the explosion may have covered up our tracks and bought us time."
"The local news reports have exposed exactly who is involved in our business. The company's name was mentioned. That is not covering up tracks or buying time."
"Yeah, but you're safe. You've practically got your own version of diplomatic immunity." Kerns was not going to take the fall for this disaster.
"Since it was our warehouse that exploded, we're being investigated by several branches of the government. This has brought us to the attention of people we didn't want in the loop. We are closing down all non-contracted operations temporarily. I would strongly suggest that you cover your tracks by finding the intruder that survived and deal with him. Until then, we will not be doing business. Have I made myself clear?"
Kerns couldn't believe it! He was being dictated to? He was the one who took all the risks! "Yes," he said through clenched teeth. "I've already started searching for him. It shouldn't take long."
"Good. We cannot have any way to trace us. Do not try to contact us, Mister Kerns. We'll contact you," and he hung up.
Kerns sat perfectly still. The veiled threat had been obvious. They cannot have any way to trace them? That meant that he had to find the intruder and kill him or his partners would kill him and sever any connection that way.
Toby had better hurry.
OOOOO
Doctor Guthrie came into the room, finally noting the squeak of the door. Hardcastle's head turned toward him while McCormick's attention was on the fishing magazine he was reading.
"Judge, how are you doing today?" the doctor asked.
"I'm fine. He's not." He thumbed his way over to McCormick.
"Oh?" the doctor watched as the judge got Mark's attention and pointed toward the door. "Sorry to hear that."
"Hi, Doc," Mark all but mumbled.
"It's nothing medical. He's bored. It's hard enough keeping him entertained when he's in the hospital. This time, it's a bit more of a challenge. My hand can't keep up with his mouth."
The doctor nodded, a smile on his face. "I can imagine. Well, I have some news for you."
"Good news?"
"Possibly. What's the easiest way to do this? I could write out everything myself –"
"No, you talk. I'll write," he answered as he pulled out the pad and pen.
"DOCTOR HAS MEWS."
"Mews?" Mark shook his head.
"NEWS SMART ALECK," the judge wrote in.
The doctor laughed. What these two must do to annoy each other when they're not sitting in a hospital…
"First of all, the burns are healing nicely. We'll be taking the bandages off today. Mark's ribs are going to have to heal on their own, so that might take a few weeks. However, he should be okay for everyday activities as long as he doesn't overexert himself."
"That's the easy stuff, Doc, and honestly, he knows it already," Hardcastle said as he wrote down "BURNS DOING GOOD. RIBS HEALING. NO YARDWORK FOR A WHILE."
"I figured that much out," Mark answered. "What about my ears?"
Guthrie tried not to smile. These two really were direct speakers! "Now, according to the tests we've run and the results of the new CAT scan, the swelling has gone down a little. We've consulted with Doctor Pepper, and we all preliminarily agree that what Mark is suffering from is Conductive Deafness. He didn't suffer a skull fracture, but the explosion did result in his having a concussion. We had to rule out a few other conditions because the percentage of hearing loss and vestibular disturbances appearing after the fracture of the temporal bone is higher than in cases with skull fractures without fracture of the temporal bone or with brain concussion alone. Basically, Conductive Deafness was a possibility but it wasn't the first thing we would have ordinarily looked for given his specific injuries."
"I can't write all that, so I'll go with this," He read it out loud as he let McCormick read it. "YOU HIT YOUR HEAD, GOT A CONCUSION, IT AFFECTED YOUR HERRING, NOT USUAL FOR THIS CONDITION."
"Herring?"
"HEARING."
"Condition?"
"CONDUCTIVE DEAFNESS."
"So if how I got it isn't usual, is it permanent?" Mark asked.
The doctor shook his head. "Tell him that this is very hopeful news. Conductive Deafness caused by head injury usually disappears in two months time."
"COULD GET HERRING BACK IN 2 MONTHS TIME."
"Hearing, can you learn how to spell Hardcase, sheesh, although you are making me hungry." McCormick cracked, then he let the words sink in. Milt turned the paper around to reread what he had written down. "Two months huh?" Mark almost shouted out. "Doctor Pepper said something about a few weeks. Now you're saying I won't be able to hear for two months?"
"Possibly," the doctor warned. "However, if the deafness remains, then it's possible that some of the bones inside the ear have been dislocated. If that's the case, then our option would be an operation."
"IF BONES DISLOCATED, NEED OPERATION."
"An operation," Mark groaned.
"Please don't be discouraged. If we have to go in and operate, it's a very easy and quick fix, I've done quite a few of them with a great deal of success," Doctor Guthrie tooted his own horn.
"IT'S QUICK, EASY AND SUCCESSFUL."
"Then let's do it now."
"We have to let the concussion fully heal and allow for the swelling to go down which could take about two months as I've said. In the majority of cases, vestibular disturbances can disappear within six months after the head injury."
"THIS COULD ALL GO AWAY IN 6 MONTHS."
"Now it's six months?" Mark's voice sounded surprised? "Can we be a little more specific here?"
Doctor Guthrie shook his head. "I'm sorry, no. Basically, we'll have to see how you progress over the next couple of months. It could all go away or it might not. We really can't tell at the moment."
"WE'LL HAVE TO WAIT IT THROUGH."
"Wait it through," Mark repeated. He was silent for a moment, then, "Better plan on hanging up your silver bullets, Kemo Sabe. No way you're going on with business as usual if no one's there to back you up."