Chapter 20 - Broken
Jon couldn't drive himself to the hospital. When he had handed over the keys to the bike, he had handed over all of his keys. He ended up having to call the Matthews again, and Alan came over to drive him.
Alan didn't try to speak on the way over. Jon was thankful for that much. As soon as they arrived at the emergency room, Jon hurried out of the car and practically ran to the front desk.
"I'm Jonathan Turner. My foster son was checked in here, motorcycle accident."
The receptionist didn't even have to look at her computer. "Teenage boy?"
"Shawn Hunter. Is he OK?"
"He's lost a lot of blood, the doctors can tell you more."
"Where is he?"
"He's going into the OR. He—"
Jon didn't wait for her to finish. He ran straight into the hospital.
A doctor rushed up to him almost immediately. "Sir? Sir. You can't be in here."
"My kid is in there."
"We'll call you—"
"It's my fault…" He pushed past the doctor, and almost ran into a cart that was passing by. He could hear a few people calling after him, telling him to go back to the waiting room, but he wasn't thinking straight. He just kept pressing forward.
Suddenly, a hand was pressing into his chest. "Jonathan."
He looked up down to see Ashley, whose eyes bore into his. "Get out of my way," he said, drawing himself up to his full height, at least a head taller than her.
"Shawn's being operated on for internal bleeding."
"I need to see him."
"He needs you to wait for him."
The words hung in the air for a moment.
She dropped her hand, letting her breath out. "You can't help by going in there right now. Go take a seat, we'll call you."
Jon shook his head, looking past her. "No, no no no, I can't . . . I have to—"
"Listen to me. Hey." She gave his cheek a firm tap.
He blinked a couple of times, eyes focusing. The impact didn't quite sting, but it did wake him up.
She spoke gently but firmly: "Shawn needs you out there, and me in here. In a couple of hours, we'll switch places. I will personally ensure he receives the best care possible. OK?"
Dazed, Jon turned and walked back to the waiting room.
Alan was waiting for him there. He had taken a seat in the waiting room. Over the course of the next few hours, Jon alternated between pacing, sitting beside him, standing leaned against the wall, and hunching over in a bathroom stall, worried he was going to vomit. Throughout all of it, Alan kept an eye on him, but he never moved from his seat. A couple of times an hour, a doctor or nurse came into the waiting room, but they always spoke to other people.
It was close to four in the morning when a doctor came out and said, "Jonathan Turner?"
Jon had been seated. Alan clapped him on the back, and he stood on shaky legs. "How's the kid?"
"He's stable, for the time being. There was minimal damage to the brain and spinal cord, which is always the first concern. Fortunately, he was wearing a good helmet. He has a mild concussion, but that's the extent of the head trauma."
"And the rest of him?"
"We think, and witnesses seem to confirm, the car hit his left side and he fell on his right side. His right leg is broken in two places, his left elbow is shattered, and the shoulder is dislocated. Left collarbone is also cracked. He has two broken ribs and two fractured, his spleen was ruptured, and he has severe scrapes covering most of the right side of his body. He needed stitches in a few places. However, we've managed to stop most of the internal bleeding, which was the immediate life threatening danger."
"So...how long until..." Jon didn't even know what to ask.
The doctor looked up from his notes. "He's young, he'll heal fast, but it's still going to be at least a couple of months in the hospital, as he'll be in and out of surgeries for quite a while."
"I understand," he said, numbly.
The doctor looked back down at his notes and turned a couple of pages. "It says here you're his foster dad?"
"Yeah, I am."
"We expect to hear back from his social worker in the morning. I'm assuming you'll want to transfer him to a family specifically equipped for placements with a long-term injury?"
Jon blinked. "Excuse me?"
The doctor spoke in a soft voice: "Most of the time, when a foster child is injured… Sir, there's no shame in it. These are going to be a hard few months, and he's not your son."
Jon pointed a finger. "Look, I don't know who you think you are, pal, but I'm not going anywhere. Until Shawn's dad gets his act together, Shawn is my kid, you hear me?"
The doctor smiled, just slightly. "He's in room 103. You should go see him. He's on some pretty strong meds, he probably won't wake up or respond to you, but he may be able to hear you."
Jon looked back at Alan, who gave a nod, then he ran into the hospital, seeking out and quickly finding room 103.
He thought he was ready. He had spent the whole night wanting to see Shawn. But nothing could have prepared him for this.
Shawn's arm and leg were wrapped up in bandages, temporary casts. His skin was badly bruised and cut everywhere it was exposed, and his face was scraped up. He was hooked up to an IV, a heart monitor, and breathing tubes.
"Oh, Hunter," he breathed, stepping to the side of the bed and lowering himself to his knees.
Shawn's eyes didn't open. No part of him stirred. Jon took his hand, which was connected to the IV, and it hung limp.
"I'm sorry." His throat choked up, eyes burning. "I'm so sorry… I wanted to tell you I was proud of you."
No movement. Nothing but the slight, steady rise and fall of his chest.
Jon reached up to stroke the kid's cheek where the skin wasn't broken. "It should have been me," he whispered, hot tears beginning to flow. "God, it should've been me."
A very light to knock on the door frame, and footsteps approached the bed. It took Jon a moment to clear his eyes enough to see who had come in. Ashley. Remembering his encounter with her a few hours before, his cheeks felt warm. "Hey. I'm sorry…"
"It's okay. You were in shock," Ashley said, and she began replacing Shawn's IV bag, then checking the needle. "Sorry, I'll give you space."
She was almost out the door when he called after her, "Ashley."
She turned back to face him.
"Is it as bad as it looks?"
She frowned and came to stand beside him. "It depends on what you're talking about," she said.
"He just looks so..." To his mortification, his eyes began to fill with tears again. He blinked a few times.
She looked over Shawn and glanced at the chart by his bed. "Scrapes always make it look bad," she said softly. "But they heal quickly. Most of them will be gone in a few days. The breathing tube will come out in a day or two, the heart monitor won't be necessary by then. We'll have him off the IV in a week, maybe two."
Jon drew in a deep, shuddering breath, nodding.
"The broken bones take longer. Typically, I'd say six weeks for the ribs, a little longer for the leg. That elbow could take a few months, but he'll have gone back to his normal life by then."
"Typically?"
She shook her head. "His body is trying to heal a lot at once. I'm sure he'll be up and walking in a couple of months, but it could be two or three times as long before completely he's back to normal. Maybe longer."
4 to 6 months. That was the full time Jon would have him, assuming his father met the deadline to get his son back at the last minute.
He took Shawn's hand in his. "It's my fault," he said, voice breaking. "I let him ride the bike when he was upset. And he wouldn't even have been upset if I'd just…"
Ashley's hand came to rest on his shoulder.
Jon wiped at his tears. "I, uh. I was his teacher before I was his foster parent," he said.
"Yeah?"
He shook his head. "One of the most frustrating students I ever had. You could tell the potential was there, you know? He just wouldn't get the work done."
"Yeah."
"I pushed him a little, and his grades came up, and I figured, he proved I was right. He was capable of more. So I just... didn't stop pushing. Didn't even tell him I was proud of him."
"You'll get to tell him," she said softly.
Jon couldn't hold it in any longer. He hung his head, and he wept.