They say the worst time after an operation is the second day, and this certainly proved true for Bobby. The anesthesia had fully worn off, and despite being on painkillers, which only slightly deadened the pain, his jaw and the entire side of his face just ached horribly. His jaw hurt from being the site where the doctors worked through for more than six hours; his face and the rest of his body just plain hurt from the god-awful beating and torture he suffered at the hands of the inmates. On the bright side, and Bobby kept telling himself this: it would get no worse, from here on out it could only get better. Right?
Another good thing was that most of the nurses were rather taken with him, and sought to make his stay there as comfortable as possible, which surprised him greatly, considering he was accused of murder. He figured they probably didn't know, and once they did, they'd avoid him like the plague. It never occurred to him that they just found him to be a very sweet, gentle man, and they never believed for a second that he was guilty of anything.
Any day now Bobby would be going home, and he was both excited and, truth be told, a little nervous. He hadn't been home in months. He would be alone, which was extremely nice. He could sleep in relative quiet, which was a rarity here lately. It was never quiet at Rikers, at all hours of the night there would be someone yelling, someone screaming, all kinds of strange unidentifiable noises. And at the hospital, they were always waking you up at all hours for something: medication, blood pressure checks, taking of one's temperature, whatever was required. A good night's sleep was virtually impossible. And Bobby needed sleep desperately. He had hardly slept in months had never felt so worn and drained in his life.
He thought about what it would be like to actually be home again. He pictured his big king-sized bed at home, and being able to stretch out his long body on it's length. He pictured his old coffee maker, and having the right, the pleasure, of having coffee just whenever he wanted. He pictured his amazing collection of books filling every available bookshelf in his apartment, and him being able to just choose one whenever the mood struck. Amazing how the little things suddenly took on such importance when you've been denied them for so long. It put everything in a new perspective.
But Bobby, always the thinker, suddenly had a thought occur to him, and it scared the hell out of him. He thought of all the prisoners at Rikers, and how all the little amenities of life were being denied to them. He wasn't in the clear yet, far from it. What if he was convicted? His life would never be the same again. All the little things in life he took for granted—gone forever. And prison life, even the little he experienced, was not to his liking at all. He'd been stripped of everything, including his dignity. One of the things he'd hated most had been the lack of privacy. Bobby had always been a very private person, and every move he made had been watched, from taking a shower to using the urinal. His food had been portioned out, and it was never enough. He was always hungry; he'd lost thirteen pounds in the time he was in there. But the worst thing of all was the constant threat to his life. That would never let up for as long as he lived.
Thinking that his life would be like this, forever if he was convicted, started making him a little panicky; it was all he could do to try and prevent a major panic attack. It wasn't working; his heart rate had gone up dramatically, enough to bring his nurse hurrying in.
"Are you all right, Bobby?" she asked, placing a stethoscope on his chest and moving it around.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay…" he said, still unable to speak without mumbling. "I had a…a… dream, that's all."
"You seem a little on edge," she continued. "I'm going to put a little something in your IV. It'll relax you a little." She left his room, only to return a few minutes later. The medication she put in his IV seemed to work, his heart rate slowly returned to normal, and he finally dropped off to sleep.
A few hours later, Alex arrived at the hospital, and soon was on Bobby's floor, stopping at the nurse's station to inquire about his condition before proceeding to his room.
"Hi, Kelly," Alex greeted Bobby's nurse.
"Hello, Detective."
"How's Bobby doing?"
A slight frown appeared on Kelly's face. "Well, he's doing very well, actually…"
Now Alex was frowning. "But…?'
"Oh, no, it's nothing serious. He just had a bit of a panic attack earlier today, but he's fine. He's sleeping now."
"He's okay? You're sure?" Alex knew Bobby well enough to be concerned about his state of mind.
"I'm sure, really. I just gave him a little something to calm him. He's fine."
" What about physically?"
"Physically, he's doing fine. His vitals are exactly where they should be. As for the panic attack—he said he'd had a dream."
Alex just nodded, and went on to Bobby's room. Just as Kelly had said, he was sleeping. She looked down at Bobby's battered face and body. She felt so bad for him. Poor Bobby, he didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of this, She wished there was something she could do to help him, to comfort him. The best thing she could do for him now would be to continue to encourage him, and put the real killer behind bars.
She sat in a chair by his bed and just waited. It became obvious after a while that Bobby was in a deep sleep and wouldn't be waking up anytime soon. Alex just watched him for awhile, and decided that Bobby's body needed the sleep more than he needed the company. She decided to just let him sleep, and come back later.
As soon as Alex returned to One Police Plaza she was met by Deakins.
"How's Bobby?" he asked.
"Fine. His nurse said he's exactly where they want him to be." She didn't seem as "up" as normal.
"So why the long face?"
"I'm not sure," Alex said. "They said he's fine, but he did have a panic attack, and I'm just worried, y'know?"
Deakins smiled at her. "I know you're worried for Bobby, but try to remain up, for his sake. Hell, Alex, if I'd been through what he's been through, I'd be having panic attacks, too, and probably a lot more of them. He's had a rough go of it Alex, and it's been ongoing for months now. It's gonna take some time for things to feel right with him. And remember it's still not over. You just have to have faith that once it is over, and I mean all over, he'll be fine."
"I guess so." Alex agreed. She felt kind of numb. Would it ever be over for Bobby?
Much later Bobby awoke again. It was dark in his room. The dimmed light over his bed put out whatever illumination there was, just enough for him to see. He must have slept the entire day. That was good. One less day of pain, but now the pain was coming back, strong. He needed some more medication, and found that the nurse's call button had somehow fallen out of his reach. Had both arms not been injured and in slings he might have managed to retrieve it, it was only about three inches away. But despite nearly straining his already hurting arms, he couldn't get it. Luckily for him, the night nurse would be in shortly to check his vitals.
"Bobby, you're awake!" she said, surprised, putting a blood pressure cuff around his arm, difficult because of the sling. "How are you feeling? Are you hungry? I can have them bring up some broth or Jell-O for you if you want." Bobby shook his head. "Pain," was all he said.
"Sorry, honey," she said sympathetically. "We'll fix that up for you in a jif." She continued with the job at hand, taking his temperature and all the rest of the vital signs she needed. After the little "beep" she read the results and noted them on his chart, and left. She returned about five minutes later with the pain medication. "This will put you back to sleep again," she told him.
Bobby didn't care, he just wanted some relief. And a few minutes later, it was back to la-la land for Bobby.
The next morning Bobby awoke early with a whole new outlook. He felt refreshed; he'd gotten more sleep in the last twenty-four hours than he'd had in weeks, the pain in his face had lessened somewhat, and he felt good. He considered his thoughts from yesterday, and was more excited than ever to get home. In his current condition he wasn't sure yet just how he was going to manage once he got home, but that didn't discourage his good mood. As for the thoughts of life in prison, he figured he cross that bridge when he came to it. If and when it came down to it, well it didn't matter anyhow. There was no way he was going back to that hellhole. Right now all he wanted to think about was going home.
tbc