A DARK DAY IN MAY
CHAPTER 8
I looked around the room to make sure that everything was in order. Captain Dobey, myself and some other officers from police headquarters had spent the entire day getting ready for Starsky's homecoming. After almost three months in the hospital, he was finally well enough to come home. But he still had a long, long way to go.
He still needed almost twenty-four hour care since he still couldn't do much for himself. And since he couldn't tolerate climbing steps, I had helped Hutch find a two bedroom cottage on the beach that he could rent with the option to buy. It had large open rooms to make it easier for Starsky to get around. He was still terribly weak and confined to a wheelchair most of the time because of his unsteady balance and almost constant pain as his injuries continued to heal. I had also helped Hutch sublet his apartment and Starsky's on a long-term basis. The doctors estimated that with physical therapy and the amount of healing that Starsky still had to do, it could be at least a year before he was completely healed physically.
I had made sure that the refrigerator and freezer were both stocked with food. Starsky was able to eat solid foods again but he was still on a strict, rigidly controlled diet. His digestive system still couldn't tolerate certain foods or combinations of food and there were other foods he could only eat in moderation. He still vomited frequently from both his medications and his slowly healing digestive system. Cooking meals he could eat and manage to keep down was going to prove to be a challenge for Hutch.
The others had spent the day rearranging furniture and setting up a slightly larger then average hospital bed in one of the bedrooms for Starsky to sleep in. A regular bed was still out of the question for a few weeks. Starsky's own bed was stored in the second bedroom along with the rest of his bedroom furniture. Hutch's bed and bedroom furniture was stored in the two-car garage behind the house. The garage also held another surprise for Curly, his Torino, repaired as good as new thanks to Merle the Earl.
Hutch was moving in with Starsky to care for him during his convalesce, a fact that didn't surprise anyone who knew the two men. Although Starsky's medical insurance would have paid for a live-in nurse, Hutch wouldn't even consider it. He knew that nobody could care for Starsky as well as he could. Everyone knew that it was his care and his attention that had brought Starsky this far so quickly. There had been some major setbacks in his recovery thus far, including two bouts of pneumonia, a severe infection of the one of the surgical wounds that didn't want to heal, and problems bringing Starsky's weight back up to an acceptable level so he could leave the hospital. He was still underweight but at least he had lost the skeletal appearance he'd had for so long.
Captain Dobey and the others left when Hutch called to say that he was ready to leave the hospital with Starsky. They didn't want to overwhelm Curly with a lot of visitors his first night out of the confines of the hospital. I stayed to fix a light supper for them so that Hutch wouldn't have to worry about cooking and to help him get Curly settled in for the evening. Forty-five minutes later, I heard Hutch's car pull up beside the deck that ran along the front of the cottage and stop. I curbed the impulse to rush to the sliding glass doors that opened onto the deck and look outside.
Ten minutes later, Hutch slid open the doors and pushed the wheelchair with Starsky sitting in it inside. His face was pale and pinched with pain even though it wasn't that long of a drive from the hospital. But after three months of limited activity and physical exertion, it had obviously worn him out. Hutch pushed the chair over to the sofa and gently helped Starsky out of it, lying him down on the sofa and making sure he was comfortable before handing me a paper bag with all of his various medications in it, along with his discharge instructions, list of doctor's appointments and physical therapy schedule. Starsky's eyes had already closed and he appeared to be sleeping.
"I have to unload the car yet." Hutch said in a tired voice. "Would you mind putting all his meds on the kitchen counter for me?"
I nodded and set about my task while Hutch went out to bring in the various items out of the car. There were over twelve different pill bottles. Medications that Starsky still had to take. There was morphine for the pain, pills for nausea, three different kinds of antibiotics, stool softeners, pills to control the muscle spasms, pills for the migraine headaches he'd suffered from since the shooting, pills to help with his digestion, valium to help him sleep at night, and Diazepan for his lingering depression and frequent nightmares. There was also a salve to put on his surgical incisions to help keep the scar tissue from tightening up and easing some of his discomfort. And there was an inhaler that he had to use because of his still impaired lung. By the time I had finished, the kitchen counter looked like a pharmacy counter.
I glanced at the discharge instructions. He wasn't allowed to do much of anything. No lifting, no bending, no stretching, no climbing stairs, no driving, no showers only tub bathes, no restrictive clothing, and no sexual activity. I had to grin at that last one. Somehow I had a feeling it would be a long time before Starsky felt up to that particular activity again. The bandages had to be changed twice a day, in the morning and in the evening. At least all of the stitches had finally been removed.
His list of doctor's appointments and physical therapy schedule went on the refrigerator for easy reference. He had appointments with an internist, a lung specialist, a cardiac specialist, and a neurologist. And he had physical therapy three times a week for two hours at a time plus a list of exercises that Hutch had to do with him at home. The list of appointments made me exhausted just looking at them. I wondered how Starsky and Hutch were ever going to manage to do all that.
I glanced around as Hutch slid the glass doors shut with a soft click as he brought the last of the things in from the car. There were stuffed animals and balloons that friends and co-workers had sent to Starsky, along with cards and letters from people he'd never even met. There were pictures that Rosie Dobey, Captain Dobey's seven year old daughter had drawn for her 'adopted' Uncle Starsky and books that Hutch had brought to the hospital to read to Starsky at night when he couldn't sleep. And there were enough plants to start another greenhouse. Starsky had left the flowers behind with instructions to the nurses to pass them out to the other patients.
"Something sure smells good." Hutch said as he sank down in a chair at the kitchen table.
"Chicken soup ala Huggy Bear." I said proudly. "And strawberry fluff for desert."
"Sounds great. Thanks, Hug." Hutch said in a grateful voice. "For everything…"
"Hey, that's what friends are for. You want to eat now or wait a little while?"
"Let's wait a little while. Starsky's worn out and I want him to rest as long as he can before I wake him up to eat."
"It's good to have him home." I said, stealing a glance at the brunet sleeping peacefully on the sofa.
"Yeah, it is." Hutch agreed. "There were times when I never thought I'd see this day. But he's still got a long hard road ahead of him."
"Yeah, but he has you to help him travel it." I pointed out. "You look pretty wiped out yourself."
"Yeah, I think we're both going to eat and then call it a night."
Frankly, I wondered how Hutch had managed to hold up this long. Besides spending most of his time at the hospital with Starsky and working on the Gunther case, in the past three weeks he had been working closely with the nurses at the hospital to learn how to care for Starsky's wounds at home. They had also been showing him how to provide some of his other care, while the physical therapists had been teaching him how to do the exercises he would have to do with Starsky to help him regain his mobility. He had also been learning massage techniques to break up underlying scar tissue to prevent contractions or any restrictions of movement as well as techniques to ease the painful muscle spasms and cramps that Starsky frequently experienced as his injuries continued to heal. Talk about burning the candle at both ends. Hutch had been burning it at both ends and in the middle.
Hutch decided it was time to wake Starsky up so he could eat and take his night time medications. He crossed to the sofa and knelt down beside his friend, gently calling his name as he ran his fingers through his curls. Starsky opened his eyes and smiled at Hutch sleepily. "Hey, Blintz…" he said, his voice stronger than I'd heard it in quite some time. "Is it time to get up?"
"Yeah, you need to eat and take your meds. Then I'll change your bandages and we're both gonna hit the sack."
"Okay."
Hutch slipped one arm underneath Starsky's shoulders to help him to get up off the sofa. I saw the grimace of pain that twisted his face as he moved. He rose stiffly to his feet with Hutch's assistance and the big blond helped him to the kitchen table, ignoring the wheelchair that Starsky hated to be confined to so much. Every measure of comfort and independence that Hutch could allow him, he was going to make sure Starsky got, no matter how small or insignificant. After Starsky was comfortably settled in his seat, Hutch got his evening meds and a glass of water. It looked like an awful lot and it was but Starsky patiently took each one with a tiny sip of water.
I got each one of us a bowl of soup. It was my mother's secret recipe, complete with thick egg noodles, rich broth, and a mixture of vegetables. I knew that Starsky had always loved it, even as a kid. That's one of the reasons I had fixed it. It was well worth the effort when I saw the smile that crossed his face when I sat the bowl down in front of him. He ate slowly, taking small bites, but finished the whole bowl, a vast accomplishment for him since his appetite was still virtually non-existent. Puking your guts out whenever you eat will do that to you, not to mention the pain in his chest and abdomen from that little activity as healing muscles and internal organs were taxed well beyond their endurance. The external wounds had healed, even though the scars were still tender and sensitive. The doctors had told him and Hutch that the internal injuries would take several months yet to heal completely with severe discomfort for Curly until they did.
By the time he finished eating, Starsky's eyes were already getting heavy as the medications began to kick in. As Hutch helped him to his feet, he glanced at me and said, "Hug, would you mind giving me a hand getting him ready for bed?"
"Sure." I said, going to fetch the wheelchair to take him back to the bedroom.
"Starsk, do you mind if Huggy helps me? Just for tonight?" Hutch asked
"Guess not…" Starsky said, his words starting to slur and his head starting to bob. He could barely keep his eyes open as it was. "Gotta see it sometime…might as well be now."
I felt a sudden uneasiness in the pit of my stomach as I realized what Starsky's words meant. Hutch had to change the bandages before Starsky went to sleep. I had never seen the damage to his body from the shooting or the numerous surgeries to save his life and I wasn't really sure that I ever wanted to. But, I put on a brave face and followed Hutch back to the bedroom. Hutch gently slipped his arms around Starsky's waist and pulled him to his feet. Pivoting on one foot, he swung Starsky around until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Once he had his balance, Hutch put one arm under his knees and the other arm behind his shoulders, gently easing him back onto the bed. Starsky lay down with a soft sigh of relief.
Next, Hutch carefully removed the loose fitting tee shirt that Starsky was wearing, exposing his chest and abdomen. The heavy thick bandages I was used to seeing had been replaced with a light covering of gauze bandage and gauze pads. I sat with Starsky while Hutch got the supplies he needed to do the dressing change.
I sat there and watched in silence as Hutch carefully cut away the old bandage, exposing more of Starsky torso. I noticed that his chest hair was starting to grow back but it was uneven in spots. I knew they had kept it shaved in the hospital to lesson the chance of infection until the incisions were healed. Hutch carefully removed each gauze square, slowly revealing more of Starsky bare skin. The scars stood out, vivid and ugly against his body. His torso looked like some jagged roadmap, a brutal reminder of the pain he had suffered and continued to suffer as he recovered.
One scar ran down the middle of his chest from just beneath his breastbone to below his waist. A second scar ran across his stomach from side to side, twisting up along his left side. A third incision ran from his left shoulder down alongside his left nipple ending just below his ribcage. And those were just the scars from the major surgeries he'd had while he was in the hospital. Four small round, slightly puckered craters marked the entrance wounds the bullets had taken as they ripped into his body. One in his left shoulder that had shattered his collarbone and shoulder blade. One just below his left nipple that had shredded his lung. One in his abdomen, just below his ribcage on the right side that had cost him his spleen and a small portion of his liver. And the final bullet wound, dangerously close to his heart, just to the right of the middle of his chest. I knew that scars from the exit wounds on his back would be even worse. In addition there were smaller scars from drain tubes that had been inserted into his body to drain off the infection and to re-inflat his collapsed lung.
I knew that in time the scars would fade from the angry red color they were now to a pale white, blending in with the rest of his skin tone and partially concealed by his chest hair. But let me tell you, it was still a shock to see them for that first time. I could only imagine how Curly had reacted when he'd caught his first sight of them, knowing they would be a permanent reminder of what had happened to him. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that he'd been shot when he was finally aware enough of his surroundings to start asking questions. He'd been shot enough times in the past to know what it felt like. But it had been hard for Hutch to tell him that this time he'd been hit four times in the chest and stomach and almost died on the parking garage pavement. And Hutch had insisted on being the one to tell him, knowing that he'd take the news better coming from him than from some stranger.
It was even harder to tell him that he actually had died, not once but technically three times. Once in the ambulance on the way to the hospital immediately after the shooting, once during the emergency surgery to stop the bleeding and repair the damage to his shattered body, and the cardiac arrest that had last the longest, for almost four minutes. Thankfully, Starsky had no memory of any of it. The last thing he remembered clearly from that day was playing ping pong with Hutch in the squad room and then waking up almost three weeks later in a world of pain. I hoped that he would never remember the trauma of those few short minutes that had changed his life forever on that fateful day in May.
Hutch had told me about the nightmares that Starsky frequently had since the shooting. Nightmares he couldn't remember much about when he was awake. Nightmares where he cried out in pain, his body jerking sporadically as if he were being shot over and over again. Hutch was positive that during those nightmares, Starsky was reliving the shooting in his sub-conscious. I still hoped that those memories never surfaced. They were ones that Starsky could do without.
After removing the bandages, Hutch carefully cleaned each healing wound with warm soapy water, gently patting them dry. Then he applied the medicated salve to soothe the irritating itch and to ease the tightening of the scar tissue. Then he reapplied the gauze pads, holding them lightly in place with some gauze strips and surgical tape. The entire procedure took almost an hour and left Starsky sweating and close to tears. Starsky had kept his eyes tightly closed the entire time, breathing heavily. Now I knew why Hutch had given him his medications first, especially the morphine. Finally, after Hutch had finished and was putting away his supplies, Starsky fell into an exhausted drug induced slumber.
Coming back into the bedroom, Hutch walked with me to the front door. The dark circles under his eyes stood out vividly against his pale skin. "They look like hell, don't they?" he said softly as we paused in the front doorway to say good night.
"Yeah, they do but just remember that Starsky's alive because of those scars."
"Don't worry." Hutch said ruefully. "I'm not about to forget that. To me, every one of those scars represents a miracle, the miracle that kept him here with me." He sighed heavily. "Starsky can't stand to look at them. He hates the sight of them. All they do is remind him how close he came to being dead for good." His eyes clouded with sadness at a sudden, vivid memory. "He cried the first time he saw them…and then he broke down, shattered into a million pieces."
"Good thing you were there to put him back together again." I said softly, sensing Hutch's turmoil and his pain.
"I'm still working on that." Hutch said with a wane smile. "Good night, Huggy and thanks for everything."
"Anytime, Blondie. Anytime." I said as I let myself out and slowly drove back to my own apartment, lost in my own dark thoughts about hope, faith and my own mortality. I believed that God had spared Starsky for a reason. I just had no idea what that was but his work here on Earth wasn't done yet. Or maybe God had spared him because he knew that Hutch could never survive Starsky's death and had granted Hutch's desperate prayers to save his partner's life. Either way, Starsky was still alive and that was really all that mattered to me.
