Author's Note: I researched medical journals to write this chapter, so hopefully it's mostly accurate.
She didn't see him the rest of the day. Probably best for to avoid him anyways if he felt that angry yet. But it took a lot of strength not to go to him. It was hard to concentrate on work and not worry if he was alright.
The clock struck four. She laid in bed and stared at the dark ceiling, turning their conversation over and over in her head. Guilt chewed at her conscience. Three hours of research online about how to help burn victims heal from their emotional trauma showed that she had approached the topic all wrong. She'd probably come across as blaming him and pressuring him into being vulnerable when he wasn't ready.
Getting up, she threw on her robe and patted down the hall in bare feet toward his room. The door was open and it was dark. "Jason?" The poor man would probably bite her head off for coming in during the middle of the night when he already wasn't feeling up to snuff. She tiptoed over to the bed and would let him sleep if he wasn't awake. Setting her hand on the cool cotton sheets, she patted around. "Jason?" The bed felt cold and empty. Lifting a corner of the curtain to let the moonlight flow in, it revealed an empty bed. It didn't look like he'd even slept in it. She frowned and went downstairs. Surely he wasn't still up at this hour.
A sweep of the downstairs didn't disclose him either. She went back upstairs and peeked in Pete's room. Trudy stood in the room with him, only the full moon providing light. "Trudy?" She turned on the light to see them both looking worried. "Is everything alright?"
"Yes, Ms. Hoplin." Pete's face told a different story.
Trudy wrung her hands, with the curlers in her hair disheveled. "No. Mr. Port took ill and had Stevens fly him to the hospital."
She stepped into the room. "What do you mean 'took ill'?" Her heart picked up speed. Ill so close to surgery likely meant some kind of infection.
"He took a fever around midnight, and his eye started paining him. He wouldn't let me look," she fretted.
"He let me. It was swollen and red. I'm not a doctor, but some kind of bad infection was brewing," Pete said. "Mr. Port called the doctor, who said to take him to the hospital. The doctor said something about maybe surgery again. He was worried about it getting to the brain or something. Mr. Port looked terribly pale. I took him by helicopter, and he demanded I return home. He ordered me not to wake you."
"Get your stuff on because you're taking me there." She turned to go get dressed.
"Ms. Hoplin," Pete said.
She turned and pointed at him. "I don't care what he said. If you don't fly me, I'm taking the car." Then she hurried to her room, worry eating at her stomach.
As soon they pulled up to the hospital, she jumped out of the car and threw over her shoulder, "I'll call you." Then she slammed the door and ran inside, ignoring her ankle protesting the jostling. She ran up to the reception desk. "Room number for Jason Port, please."
A woman older than dirt smiled. "Port? P-o-r-t?"
Oh god, she didn't have time for this. "Yes. Jason." Adrenaline made the room seem sweltering. She pulled off her parka and slung her purse on her shoulder again.
"Let me see, let me see." The woman was the slowest typist in the world.
She danced on her toes. "Can you hurry, please? He might be going into emergency surgery."
"Oh. If he came through ER, I have to look in a different screen."
She groaned. Come on, come on. Her fingers drummed on the desk.
A thousand minutes later, the woman said, "Room 314. The elevators are straight back and-"
"Thank you!" She ran off, not waiting for her to finish. She jumped into the elevator with a bunch of doctors just before the door closed.
"In a hurry?" one of them smiled.
"Yeah." She hit the button for the third floor without looking at him.
"Do you need help finding anything?"
"No, just going to the three hundreds."
"Then you want floor four."
She looked at him for the first time as he pushed the button for her. He was a young, handsome doctor about her own age. "Thank you."
His brown eyes met hers. "Of course. Do you know where you're going? I have a few minutes before rounds and can take you."
"Oh, no, I'm okay. Thanks." A couple of the doctors elbowed each other.
"Alright. I'm Tom Parks, by the way." He held out his hand.
She shook it, half watching the floor numbers tick away. "Emma-" The elevator dinged for fourth floor. "Thanks!" She ran out the door and followed the signs.
A nurse stopped her at the surgical unit. "Visiting hours are over, miss."
"I know, but there's someone-"
"Miss, I have to ask you to leave."
"No, please. He was just admitted a couple hours ago-" She danced on her toes trying to look at room numbers around the nurse. The other nurses at the station started to look at her.
"You need to leave. You can come back at seven."
"My husband was admitted for an eye exenteration infection," she blurted out. "Please, they mentioned surgery and maybe a brain infection.
The nurse sighed. "Stay here. What's his name?"
"Jason Port." She nibbled on her nail as the nurse went to the desk. She could make a dash for it, but security would probably throw her out.
The nurse talked to another and then looked something up in the computer. Then she walked back over. "What's your name? We don't have anyone listed as an emergency contact."
"Emma." She dug out her wallet and showed a driver's license. "We just got married, so I didn't change my name here yet." She'd probably burn in hell for lying, if Jason didn't rip her head off first.
"Just a minute." The nurse went down the hall and disappeared into a room.
She counted doors. That must be 314. Now it was just hoping Jason would go along with the story and not kick her out.
The nurse walked back. "He said for you to go home."
Her heart dropped, and almost audibly breaking. Surgery and on watch for a brain infection, and he wanted to go through it alone. She blinked back the tears and brushed at her eyes. He must be so incredibly angry still. She nodded. "We had a fight last night. Can I just sit in a waiting room? Just so I'm here if he changes his mind?"
The nurse's face softened. "Of course. It's right over here." She escorted her to a small room with only a few chairs.
"Thank you." She dropped into a chair and set her coat and purse down. Then she leaned her elbows on her knees and held her head. This was going to be an awful few hours not knowing if he was in surgery, in pain, dragged under a fever...her stomach rolled. She took some deep breaths. This was just the first five minutes of how many hours.
"Mrs. Port?"
Her head popped up.
The nurse stood there. "I mentioned to him that you're in here, and he said for you to come in. He doesn't let us turn on the lights unless we absolutely must to clean the surgical site. He asked me to keep the room dark for you to come in." She led the way down the hall.
She nodded and brushed away the tears of relief. "He's self-conscious about the burns."
The nurse nodded but not before a slight shudder ran through her. They stopped at his door.
Her mouth fell open in shock, and her feet screeched to a halt. The woman hadn't really just shuddered at the thought of Jason's face...
"Right here." Then the nurse left.
"Emma?"
Her head whipped around to see the dark room behind a half-closed door. She slipped inside and shut the door, more for privacy than the dark. Dropping her things in a chair, she rushed over to the bed, the moonlight through the curtains casting only enough light to see vague outlines.
"We're married now?"
Biting her lip, she hesitated. "I'm sorry. They wouldn't let me see you."
"I told her to have you go home," he said, sounding confused.
She took his hand that was a dark contrast against the white sheets. "Oh god, you're burning up." She needed to stay focused because he probably wasn't going to give her much time. "I know I hurt you and you're still upset, but you should know that someone is here if you need anyone. I woke up and went into your room to apologize for being so insensitive. I looked for you and then found Trudy and Pete. Don't be mad at him, I told him to bring me," she rushed out and then bit her lip, waiting for him to throw her out.
"I'm not upset. There's no point in you sitting in a chair all night when you could be home in bed."
She sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes beginning to adjust to the darkness. Everything began to take on a grayish hue. He wore a hospital gown and tape covered the back of his other hand where an IV hung overhead. She diverted her eyes to keep from seeing his face when he didn't want it.
"You can see it, can't you?" He sounded so weary and heartbroken.
"I think I could. I'm starting to adjust to the darkness."
"Would you pull a chair up instead?"
She did and sat down near his chest so she wouldn't have view of his right side. But she kept her eyes diverted, not feeling right to look at even the unscarred side of his face when he felt so nervous.
He held out his hand and she took it. His fingers laced with hers and held tight. The heart monitor started sounding like a symphony.
"Jason, I don't have to be in here," she said. Coming and causing him more stress wasn't good for him.
He reached up and pushed a button on the machine to silence it. "This is so pathetic," he whispered. "I haven't been this scared since I fell off my bike and had to get stitches when I was four."
Leaning forward to rest her elbows on the bed, she held his hand with both of hers and cradled her cheek against it. She kept her head turned away from him. "Jason, I came here to help, not make it worse. What did the doctor say?"
He released a shakey breath. "They can't operate until the fever is under control. The transplant didn't take, so they're going to remove it before the infection spreads to the brain. A surgical dressing will act as the skin until it regrows."
"How long do you have to be here?"
"They're still debating. One surgeon said five days, given the infection."
"Is it alright if I come at night? Pete said you let him check the dressing, so maybe he can stay days?"
"There's no need-"
"Stop. That's not an option." She brushed a kiss over his fingers. How was it possible to worry about someone so much? To feel this much love? She wanted to see his whole face, simply to put his fears to rest. To show him the beauty of love being blind.
"Emma?" he whispered.
"Hm?"
His voice shook. "Can you look? Just at this side? It'll be hard to avoid it because you were right-I can't wear the mask. Not for the next month or two to avoid infection."
Her stomach churned at the thought of her being the cause of this. "Did it get infected because of the mask?"
"No, but it might have eventually. With the warmer months coming too..."
"Looking only at this side, what is the worst you think will happen?" she whispered. She needed to know his fears as much as he needed to realize they weren't truth.
Silence. "The other side will seem so much more grotesque, if you ever see it." His voice cracked.
"Jason, I don't understand how this fear was born. May I look up what some of these names are that you've been called? I don't know how to help if I don't understand."
"Do you have your phone?" He swallowed hard.
She got up and fetched it from her purse. Then she gave it to him before resuming her seat.
He handed the phone back. "Worse has been said to my face when I first went in public without a mask."
It was a link to a newspaper in California. The comments section...it screamed.
A man with no face. How gross.
The picture should be banned. He shouldn't be allowed in public to terrify kids.
Monster.
Is this real or one of those alien photos? It's disgusting. The best sci-fi I've seen.
I'd kill myself if I looked like that.
Poor thing. No one can ever see past a face like that but a mother.
Can you say 'freak'?
The list went on and on, but she flung the phone down on the bed in disgust without reading any more. She swallowed hard, trying not to retch at the cruelty as she stared at the bed. They didn't know him. What was the article about? Did they even read it? Her hand slipped into his, and a tear glided down her cheek. Her eyes slowly raised to look at him, already knowing he was beautiful. His trim waist under the sheet led up to a chest that's heartbeat was as familiar as her own. Those strong shoulders that carried burdens with grace and dignity...
Just then, the light flipped on. She whipped around in her chair just in time to see the nurse look at him and jump five feet. He must not have a bandage on.
It was the last straw. She shot up and advanced on the nurse, who was five inches taller and probably fifty pounds heavier. "Get out," she seethed.
"But-"
"No, get out!" she snapped, almost wanting to slap the nurse.
The woman looked a bit frightened and stumbled back.
She flipped off the lightswitch and slammed the door in the nurse's face. Hard. Then she leaned her hands against the door and bowed her head, letting the anger burn itself out.
"Emma, she didn't know what to expect."
"Don't." Her chest heaved as she tried to calm down.
"You can't assault every nurse or doctor who reacts. It's instinct to be frightened. You would be too if you saw me." Compassion flowed through his voice. Him. When he'd just been humiliated in a way no human should be.
"If I ever do that to you, don't ever speak to me again."
"Emma," he sighed. "You can't change how things are."
"Watch me." She walked out and slammed the door shut to keep away prying eyes.
She stormed down to the nurses's station to see several of them talking with the one she'd kicked out. They eyed her, clearly she and Jason the topic of interest.
The nurse turned. "Ma'm, I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
"Then maybe you'd better read your charts first!" she barked. Her eyes scanned the four other nurses there, who looked flustered. "Who can cover for her?"
A young nurse, probably barely out of college, timidly raised her hand. "That'd be my section."
"Whatever she was coming to do, you do it."
An older nurse came over. "I'm the supervising nurse. Is there a problem here?"
She turned. "Oh, there's a big problem. Your nurse here didn't bother to read the full chart, so when she walked into the room, she had a strong reaction to seeing my husband's burned face. He deals with enough humiliation; he doesn't need it from medical staff too."
"I understand you're upset..."
"Mrs. Port."
"Mrs. Port. I'm sorry this happened. Are you requesting a different nurse?"
"Yes."
"Stef." She turned to the young nurse. "Please get up to speed and then attend to Mr. Port."
The poor girl looked intimidated but nodded and logged into the computer to read the chart.
"Thank you."
"Again, I'm sorry," Jason's attending nurse said. The woman did look remorseful.
Her temper calmed a bit. "This exenteration now is really hard on him, and I'm sensitive to how people react. His chart needs to be flagged or something so staff know what to expect instead of him being humiliated each time someone comes in."
"Yes," the supervisor said. "I can flag his chart so that pops up when it's opened. Stef here is very good with patients. I think you and Mr. Port will be happy with his care."
She nodded. "Thank you." Then she walked down the hall and waited outside the door for the nurse.
The girl looked scared of her when she arrived.
"Sorry, I kind of overreacted."
She seemed to relaxed. "No, it's perfectly understandable. He needs a different bag of antibiotics now that we got the culture results back, and probably the wound cleaned again. His thigh wound is doing fine on it's own, so I won't do anything with that if it still looks good."
She nodded. "The left side of his face is severely burned-"
The nurse nodded. "Yes, I saw everything in the chart, like the reconstruction of his ear is incomplete and-"
"Okay, good." She cut off the nurse, not knowing if Jason would want her to know all of this. "I'm going to grab a coffee and be back in a minute." That sounded like a plausible excuse for not being in the room when the lights were on.
"Take your time. It can be draining watching a loved one be in the hospital. I'll keep an eye on him."
This girl seemed kind already. She nodded and hung around in the hall when Stef went in and flipped on the light, just to be sure he was in good hands.
"Hello, Mr. Port. I'm Stef. I'll be your nurse until six tonight." It didn't sound like she batted an eyelash seeing his face. "How are you feeling?"
"Hello. Did the surgeon decide how soon I can go?" He sounded slightly anxious.
"You're ready to leave me already?" she teased.
"Yeah." The smile was apparent in his voice, and it made her smile.
"The doctor comes in a few minutes to start rounds. I'll check with him. We got the lab results back, and the doctor is switching your antibiotics. I'll just switch the IV bags here, and then let's check how your surgical site is doing. Are you having pain still?"
"Did my wife go somewhere?"
She frowned. Either he was avoiding Stef's question or worried if she'd left.
"She ran down to get some coffee quick. On a scale of one to ten, with ten excruciating, how is the pain?"
"If I say 'one,' do I get to go home soon?"
Stef laughed. "Coy, but no."
He sounded so serious. "They said there wouldn't be much feeling there anymore. And with the burn scar tissue..."
"Is it pretty sore?" She sounded empathetic.
"When..." He seemed to hesitate, and it hurt to hear him reluctant to tell anyone he was in pain. "Postsurgery, it hurt almost as bad as when I was in the burn unit. The nurse said it wasn't possible, that I probably was killing my pain threshold because I'd been taking ibuprofen almost daily for the cyst pain the last few months. I don't know if it hurts too much or not."
Oh god, that's why he wouldn't take the second tramadol yesterday.
"Everyone has different pain thresholds, just naturally. I can tell you that if any man had to go through labor, he'd be begging to be shot. Yet women pop out babies all the time."
That got a chuckle out of him.
"Whether you are or aren't lowering your pain threshold, you still feel pain. Your job is to tell me what you feel, and the doctor and I will figure out what we can do to make you comfortable. If there is a drug tolerance building up, then we'll figure out how to help get that straightened out. You don't worry about what amount of pain is 'normal.' How would you rate it?"
She could kiss that nurse, who was so good with him.
"With the migraine, it hovers around a seven, sometimes more."
"Migraine?"
"Yes. It started after the surgery and hasn't let up. The doctor said to expect migraines, and the postsurgical nurse said it was normal."
"OK. I'll call the doctor about that, and we'll see what we can do."
"Thank you."
"I'll be right back, Mr. Port." The nurse flipped off the light and tore out of the room and down the hall.
She followed the nurse, her heart beating faster with each step.
The nurse was on the phone and talking fast in medical jargon. She was so shaken up after hearing 'brain infection' that she couldn't follow the rest. The girl spotted her and slapped a pen and paper on the counter. "Alright. Yes, Doctor." She hung up. "Mrs. Port," she said, as calm as could be. "I need you to sign for a CT scan for your husband. We just need to rule out a cerebrospinal fluid leakage, which can occur after exenteration."
"Wait, you think the fluid around his brain is leaking?" That would explain his migraines. And it wasn't good.
"We want to make sure because how we treat the infection would change."
"Let me go talk to him. He's a doctor." She grabbed the papers and ran. "Jason!" She darted into his room. "They want a signature for a CT. The nurse thinks you have a CSF leak." She thrust the papers at him and darted for the lights.
He cursed. A pen scratched. "Done."
She flipped off the lights and went back over to get the paper. "This is serious, isn't it?"
"Well, it probably means the infection is in the brain, which explains why the fever is climbing and the headache is getting worse."
While he got the CT, she updated Trudy and Pete.
The doctor came in his empty room where she paced. "Mrs. Port?"
Her heart stopped beating and tears welled in her eyes. It was never good when doctors sounded solemn.
"I'm Dr. Munstein, a neurosurgeon on staff here. Let's have a seat."
Oh god. 'Have a seat' was code for bad news. Why else would a neurosurgeon be here She practically dropped into the chair when her knees buckled.
He sat across from her. "Mrs. Port, your husband has fluid leaking that normally surrounds the brain. It seems to be coming from a small hole in the bone from where the muscles were cut away in the eye socket. From what I can tell on the scan, it will be easy to repair. The risk here is if the infection has reached his brain."
Her hands shook as she tried to absorb all of this. "But you can treat it, right?"
"Yes. He's already given consent for the surgery, and he's being prepped now. While we're in there, we're going to check if the infection has reached his brain. The good news is this hasn't been going on for long. Just because of the infection risk, he'll be admitted to the ICU after surgery. It's just a precaution, I don't want it to scare you." His pager beeped, and he turned it off. "They're ready in surgery. He asked me to pass along the message that he doesn't want you fretting." He set his hand on over her shaking one in her lap. "This sounds scary, but it's a simple surgery. I'll be working with the eye surgeon. I'll be back out in two or three hours. The nurse will be by to show you the waiting room. There's a screen that will show the progress time of the surgery. He'll be the only number on the board, 9374."
"Thank you."
He left.
It didn't really sink in, everything moving in slow motion like a dream. She pulled out her phone and dialed.
"Thank the lambs, what's going on?" Trudy answered.
"Trudy?" The tears welled and her voice broke. "He's in surgery." The frightened sobs bubbled up. "The fluid from his brain is leaking, and they don't know if the infection is in his brain," she hiccupped.
Trudy sounded scared. "We're comin', Emma."