Even Fiona couldn't make a stalled 18-wheeler disappear, so it took them 45 minutes to get to the hospital. Fi dropped Michael off at the ER entrance and went to park. Michael walked in and looked around the waiting room. Not seeing his mom, he asked at the admitting desk and found out she was already in an exam room. Michael followed the clerk's hand directions and, 15 seconds later, walked in on his mother reading the riot act to a young, male doctor.
" . . . so I don't understand what the hell is the problem with taking me to the goddamn operating room! I'm here! I'm ready! You're here! Let's go, for Christ's sake!"
Dr. Hating-His-Job took a deep breath. "Like I said, ma'am, I certainly understand you want to have surgery right now. But I'm not a surgeon. We have paged the orthopedic surgeon on call to come see you, and once she gets here, I'm confident she will admit you to their service and get you into the O.R. as soon as possible." The doctor turned to see Michael coming in the room. "Hello, sir. Are you a family member?"
"Believe it or not, yes. Ma, how're you doing?"
Madeline threw her head back against her propped-up pillows. "How am I doing? Did you not just hear that? My wrist bone is in pieces, and nobody here seems to give a damn."
"That's not actually what I heard, Ma," said Michael. He extended his hand to the doctor. "Michael Westen. I'm her son. So we're waiting for the surgeon?"
"Hi. Dr. Randall Selles. Yes, exactly. Waiting on ortho. And I'm hoping just as much as you, ma'am," Dr. Selles said, "that she gets here as soon as humanly possible."
Madeline threw her head back again and huffed loudly. Then she started to cough and choke because, you'll recall, she still has mono and she refuses to quit smoking.
"Has she had anything for pain, Dr. Selles?" asked Michael.
"Well, here's the thing. Whatever we give her for pain will make her a little loopy, which means she can't legally consent to the surgery. And it's gotta be ortho that explains it to her to get the consent. I've explained that we can give her pain medication now and she can consent when she wakes up, but that will probably mean the surgery won't happen until late tomorrow afternoon. She wants to get it done now."
"Ma, what are you doing? Take the pain killers. What's the difference when you have the surgery?"
"Michael, these people charge you for the amount of oxygen you use up in one of these places. I'm not staying one single second longer than I have to. My insurance is for shit. I'm not going to end up with some huge bill just because these idiots can't get their act together and get me into the goddamn O.R!"
More coughing. More choking.
"Dr. Selles, you've done an admirable job here. I trust you have somewhere else you'd like to be. I'll be in here with her and will let someone know if anything changes." Michael extended his hand again, and Dr. Not-Hating-His-Job-As-Much shook it with a smile. Then he bounced out of the room. Baby bounces, but bounces nonetheless.
Michael pulled a chair next to his mother's bed, kissed her forehead, and sat down. "Mom, listen. Why are you making yourself miserable? Trust me. I've been in lots of pain. No pain is better than pain."
"Oh, what's the point? I've made it this long. Besides, who knows what kind of poison they'd give me."
"You do remember that you have an entire table at home with all your pill bottles, right?" asked Michael.
"Just . . . ahhhh, Michael, just leave me alone. Go kidnap a surgeon or whatever you people do if you want to be useful." Madeline closed her eyes and forced her breathing to slow.
Michael's cell phone rang. FIONA. "Hey," he said.
"I'm heading in. Where are you?"
"Take a right after the admitting desk and follow the smell of martyrdom."
Four hours later, Jesse was on his way to pick up Charlie, Michael and Fiona were in the waiting room on the surgery floor, and a very unconscious Madeline was strapped to an operating table. Everyone was happy.
Fiona closed the magazine she was reading and leaned back to stretch. "This is like lightning striking twice," she said. "Who breaks their wrist while they have mono?"
"Only Madeline Westen," Michael replied.
Fiona smiled and was quiet for a moment. "You know, this is probably a sign that we need to think ahead a bit."
"Mmm?"
"Well, Charlie is clearly going to be staying with us for the foreseeable future. She can't take care of a preschooler with a broken wrist."
"I know. That's fine. So . . . what's to think about?"
"The long term. Your mother won't be getting younger. It's going to be harder for her to take care of Charlie as time goes by."
"Yeah, but by then he'll be home with Ruth," Michael said. Fiona didn't say anything. "Right?" he prompted.
"Maybe, maybe not."
"What 'maybe not'? Why wouldn't he be?"
"She's been in the hospital for six months now. Have you noticed she doesn't call as frequently?"
"Yes, but . . . I mean, we knew it was going to be at least a year that he'd be with my mom."
Fiona turned to face him directly. "Would you be okay with him leaving?"
"It doesn't matter if I'd be okay with it. She's his mother. Obviously he's going to be with her." Michael looked away, then down.
Fiona waited a bit before speaking. "Michael, it strikes me as odd that you, who plans for every contingency in every situation, aren't acknowledging the possibility that he may need to be with you permanently."
He looked up. "Me? What happened to us?"
"Well, obviously I'm not planning on us breaking up, but I didn't plan it the other times, either. But the fact is, if we break up, I don't have any legal stake in his life."
"And, Fi, I mean, Ruth's got family. He wouldn't necessarily need to be with me. You're just assuming." Then he looked down again.
"Michael, it's not important at this point who all is in the equation. What's important is that there's at least a possibility that Charlie may want or need to live with you permanently, and you seem to be in total denial of that fact." She paused a few moments. "And you haven't mentioned a word about how much you love him."
"How does that matter? Of course I love him. Apples and oranges," said Michael, still looking at his legs.
A few moments passed. "I think you're terrified of him living with you, and you're terrified of him not living with you, and it's all because you love him," Fiona said quietly.
Michael lowered his head to his knees and covered his head with his arms. Not a word. Fiona rested her head on his back and hugged him as best she could.