Chapter Five
The family held hands in a human chain as they followed Isabelle through the labyrinth of corridors and elevators between them and Jonathan. Tony clutched his daughter's left hand and Angela's right with every ounce of strength he had left, half-fearing he would never see them again if they got left behind in this sterile, echoing maze. Mona, holding fast to Angela's left hand, was visibly winded. "No wonder Isabelle's in such great shape," she panted. "Would it kill the hospital to install a little monorail in these long hallways? Or a miniature bus system? Maybe buy some golf carts to use as taxis?"
"No. But if you get really worn out, just find an empty wheelchair and pretend to be a patient," Isabelle advised. "Some good Samaritan will usually come along and give you a push."
Good advice, given that, from the sound of things, they were going to be spending a lot of time in this hospital in future days. He noticed Samantha was slowing down. Poor kid. She'd been up for nearly twenty-four hours now, many of them extremely harrowing. He toyed with the idea of offering to carry her the rest of the way, but eventually dismissed the idea. It would just embarrass her.
Angela, luckily, was making up for the drag on his right arm by pulling full-speed-ahead on his left. "Isabelle, Dr. Adams said they'd be keeping him sedated, right? Do you know for how long?"
Isabelle shook her head. "That's something you'll have to ask the intensivist when you see him. Shouldn't be too much longer. They're getting his room ready now." Finally, she led them to a viewing window, where several beds lay hidden behind swathes of curtains, a nurses station manned by several weary-eyed women tucked off in a corner. Isabelle tapped on the window, getting the charge nurse's attention, pointed at the family and one of the curtains.
The nurse seemed to understand the silent request, drawing back one of the curtains, to reveal a small figure in a bed that seemed far too large for him, the bleached-white blankets and the cage of an elaborate back brace nearly swallowing him up. The nurse raised the head of the bed to give them a better look. The boy's face was pale in some spots, bruised in others, and taped with patches of bloody gauze in others. "He looks like a patchwork quilt," Samantha observed.
"From what Dr. Adams said, I think a quilt would contain fewer stitches," said Mona.
"Why is he still wearing his bike helmet?" Angela demanded, pressing her face up against the glass, as if to get as close to her child as physically possible.
"That ain't his bike helmet, Angela. The one you got him had the Ninja Turtles on it," Tony reminded her. This one was a plain charcoal grey with little air holes punched in it.
"It's a brain injury helmet," Isabelle explained. "Kind of a deluxe version of a bike helmet. To protect his brain until we can close his skull back up. Don't worry, it's padded like a marshmallow on the inside, and should be fairly comfortable."
Angela couldn't seem to peel her eyes off of her son, continuing to stare through the window as she fired off questions. "What's in that IV he's getting?"
"Sedatives, mostly. Along with a loop diuretic. It'll help keep him from retaining too much water, which is something we see a lot with blood transfusions."
"A diuretic? Is that wise? I mean, how is he going to get to the bathroom in this condition?"
"Don't worry, he's been outfitted with a catheter." Isabelle pointed to a plastic bag slung near the foot of the bed.
"This ain't their first rodeo, Angela," Tony reminded her.
"When are they going to put his head back together?" Mona asked, grimacing at the sight of her grandson's battered face.
"Yeah, the thought of him running around with his brain hanging out of the back of his skull is really freaking me out," Sam added queasily.
"The hole's actually in the side of his head," said Isabelle.
"And it beats having him pop like a water balloon, right?" Tony teased, giving his daughter a playful nudge. He regretted it when the nudge nearly knocked her off her feet. "Sorry, honey." Tony looked up at Isabelle. "He's not in any pain, is he?"
Isabelle opened her mouth to answer and was beset by a huge yawn, so she shook her head no instead. "Sorry. I was due to go off shift eight hours ago."
"Go home, Isabelle," said Angela, finally tearing her eyes from her son's lifeless face. "You've done enough. More than I can ever thank you for."
Isabelle shook her head again. "Really, I'm okay. I'll stay with you until the PICU nurse comes to get him."
"That's my cue!" a short, sprightly woman with curly hair chirped, coming up behind Isabelle. "Hey, Dr. Schae—I mean, Ferguson. Sorry, I still haven't gotten used to that."
"I've been called far worse things," Isabelle replied, resting a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Some of the people in our Parents' Association are pretty vicious, huh Tony?"
"Oh, these are friends of yours?" The nurse smiled. "Well, hi!" She glanced down at the clipboard in her hand, then pointed at Angela. "You must be Angela, Jonathan's mother." Then she glanced down at Tony and Angela's joined hands. "Dr. Ferguson just mentioned that you're Tony." She tapped her clipboard. "It says here that Jonathan's father is named Michael, so I guess that makes you his stepfather." She looked at Mona next. "Is this pretty young lady an aunt?"
"Sure. Let's go with that," said Mona, the look in her eyes just daring the rest of the family to speak up. "Call me Mona."
"Nice to meet you, Mona. And who do we have here? A sister? A cousin?" She looked to Samantha, leaning half-asleep against her father's side.
"My daughter, Samantha," Tony replied.
"Ah. Jonathan's stepsister. Got it." She made a note on Jonathan's chart. "Just need to let our people know who they'll be seeing around while Jonathan's staying with us. By the way, I'm Kate." She shook Angela's hand, then Tony's. "I'm a nurse with the pediatric ICU, and I'm going to be taking care of Jonathan tonight. Just Jonathan. He's going to be getting one-on-one care until he's a little stronger, so he'll be my one and only. So don't worry about bothering me if there's anything he needs, or if you have any questions. That's what I'm here for, all right?"
"Thank you," said Angela.
"Don't mention it. Listen, Dr. Adams mentioned that one of you has the same blood type as Jonathan, and offered to donate?"
"Yes, that would be me." Mona raised her hand. "Aunt Mona."
"Well, Mona, if that offer's still on the table, we could really use a couple more units."
"We depleted our supply of his type pretty severely while we were working on his brain, pumping blood through that leaky aorta of Jonathan's, just to keep his heart going," sighed Isabelle. "It wasn't terribly efficient, but it was the best solution we could think of on the fly."
"Dr. Kelly—that's the intensivist on duty—believes he's going to need another unit, maybe two, once he gets upstairs. We've put in an order to a local blood bank, but this time of the night, the wheels turn relatively slowly, and the sooner Jonathan gets the transfusion, the better."
Mona nodded. "Of course. Anything for my favorite nephew."
"Excellent. I'll have the phlebotomist come and get you as soon as Jonathan's all settled. I've got to go touch base with the recovery room staff, but once we make the hand-off, you can all follow me upstairs. He'll be limited to two visitors at a time, so you'll have to take turns, but we have a family waiting area where the rest of you can set up camp. Stay put, okay? I'll be right back."
"Excellent, I was hoping he'd get Kate tonight," said Isabelle as the door swung shut behind her coworker. "She's one of the best pediatric nurses we've got. Terrific with kids. Okay, well, now that I can see you're in good hands, I'd better get home. Or Doyle's going to conclude that I've left him and remarry." She hugged Angela one last time. "If there's anything I can do, or if you just need someone to talk to, you've got my number."
"Thank you again, for saving my baby's life," said Angela. Her eyes were dry, but her voice was choked, as if with tears.
"In all fairness, Stan and I couldn't have saved him if Tony and Samantha hadn't saved him first." Tony was surprised to find himself the target of Isabelle's next hug. "You're a good man." She turned her head to whisper in his ear. "Just see that you look after my friend as well as you looked after her son, huh?" Before Tony could discern her meaning, Isabelle let go of him and attacked Samantha. "And you're one amazing kid, little lady. If you were my daughter, I'd buy you a pony for this one."
"I'd rather have a convertible," said Samantha, evoking laughter from the whole family.
"We'll talk, sweetheart," said Angela with a weary smile.
"Say hi to Marci for me, Dr. Ferguson," Sam added as Isabelle released her.
"I will, dear." Isabelle turned to hug Mona.
The redhead backed away in disgust. "Stop right there! I'm incredibly thankful for your kind words, and your tireless efforts to save my nephew. But I don't do well with blood." She examined the spatters on Isabelle's scrubs, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Or whatever else is included in that mess."
Isabelle looked down at the stains around the collar of her shirt. "That one's iodine. That's cerebrospinal fluid. As for that one, I'm not sure I want to know." The doctor made a face. "I think I'll take a shower before I hit the hay."
Back in the recovery room, Kate was shifting various tubes and wires around, while a muscular blond orderly flattened Jonathan's bed out and unlocked its wheels. The orderly pushed the bed to the door, while Kate trailed behind with his heart monitor and IV pole. "All right, let's get this show on the road. Samantha, you look tired. Do you want to ride with your brother?" She patted the foot of the bed.
"We're not technically supposed to do that, but he doesn't weigh much and neither do you, so it's not going to hurt anything. I've got muscles enough for both of you," said the orderly kindly.
Samantha didn't need any further encouragement, climbing up on the foot of the bed and patting one of Jonathan's legs. "Hey there, Pop-Tart. We missed you."
Another interminable maze of corridors and elevators later, they arrived at the pediatric ICU. It was a little less drab than the rest of the hospital, at least. The walls were painted with murals of winging birds, rainbows, and hot air balloons, and the furniture came in bright shades of red, yellow, blue, green and purple. It was a nice break from the sterile whites and greys dominating the rest of the hospital. The family waiting room had books, toys, and games strewn about. Another unlucky family waited inside—a mother who looked half asleep, with a crying toddler and an equally fussy infant tucked into each of her arms.
Dr. Kelly, a handsome man with auburn hair, wrinkled scrubs, and heavy bags under his eyes, greeted them in Jonathan's room with a reassuring smile as Kate enlisted the help of a CNA to get Jonathan plugged into various monitors and poke a tube into his nose. "It's to keep him fed," the doctor answered their unspoken question. "We're going to be keeping him under heavy sedation until the swelling in his brain goes down, and we don't want him going hungry."
"He's gotta eat through his nose?" Tony's stomach flip-flopped uneasily at the thought. That sounded like the type of threat a schoolyard bully might yell at one of his victims during a beating. By the time I get through with you, you'll be eating through your nose, chump!
"Well, it's not that much of a leap. He already know how to drink through his nose," said Sam, wrinkling her nose.
"Aunt Mona taught him that trick. Though I expressly asked her not to." Angela gave Mona a reproving glance. Mona just smirked.
"Which one of you is Mona Robinson?" A young man with a pencil tucked behind his ear appeared in the doorway.
"Right here. Aunt Mona to the rescue." Mona raised her hand. "Are you the vampire that's come to suck my blood?"
"That's me!" Unruffled, the phlebotomist playfully bared his teeth and brandished imaginary claws.
"Thank you for agreeing to donate, Mona. Your nephew's been a bit of a vampire himself, from what I hear. Been gobbling up quite a bit of blood." Dr. Kelly chuckled as the phlebotomist led her away.
"And this is Angela, Jonathan's mom; Tony, Jonathan's stepdad; and Samantha, Jonathan's stepsister," Kate filled the doctor in, pointing at each of them in turn. "Candace, down in the recovery room, says Jonathan's been behaving himself so far, all things considered. His vitals have been stable, for the most part, although she did note his skin's been cold and clammy, and she thinks he's probably still a touch hypovolemic."
Dr. Kelly did not appear surprised. "I suspected as much, after a look at the blood pressure readings Stan and Isabelle sent us. We're lucky a suitable donor came along when she did." He felt Jonathan's forehead, pressed down on a couple of the boy's fingernails with his thumb, then peeled back the covers and gave the same treatment to his toes. "Yeah, his circulation isn't where I'd like it to be." He glanced at the monitor over Jonathan's bed. "Blood pressure's at eighty-five over sixty-two. We've still got room to spare in those veins before we'll need to worry about his sutures popping. Let's give him one more unit."
Seeming to take the doctor's touching of Jonathan as a sign that it was safe, Angela perched on the edge of her son's bed and grabbed his hand. She clutched it tightly, as if she expected the Grim Reaper to come and engage her in a physical tug-o-war at any moment. Sam placed a hand in front of his face. At first, Tony thought she was going to pat him on the head or something. Then he realized she was checking to make sure he was still breathing.
"So, another blood transfusion ASAP," Tony repeated. "What else is he looking at?"
"Well, as I said, he's going to be under sedation until the swelling in his brain goes down. Barring any complications, he's looking at a few days, at least. We're also going to need to do some pretty extensive imaging to assess the damage to his brain and spinal cord. Those are the areas I'm most concerned about. Once all the new blood he's been getting has had a chance to circulate around his body for a while, we're also going to need to run some lab work. Check for certain proteins that can indicate advanced damage to the central nervous system."
"What about the damage to his lung?" Angela asked. "Maybe you should look around in there a little more." She placed a gentle hand on her son's chest. "I notice he's got a rattle when he breathes."
"I assure you, that's normal, under the circumstances. We'll keep an eye on his lungs, too, naturally, but I'm not as worried about them. The damage was serious, but not life-threatening, and I'm confident the lung will make a full recovery, in time. Although I do plan to keep him on oxygen during his stay with us, to promote healing as well as compensate for his decreased lung capacity." Dr. Kelly gestured at the CNA, who was kneeling beside Jonathan's bed, trying to find an appropriate home for his catheter bag. "Jane, could you see what's keeping Danny? I sent him to get a concentrator and a mask from the O2 closet ten minutes ago. It shouldn't be taking him this long." Jane nodded, finished hanging the bag, and took off like a shot.
"So, he's looking at a few days of hibernation, and some pictures. When do we find out if he'll be able to move, or walk, or use a toilet instead of a tube, or have s…" He noticed the warning look Angela was giving him. "Or do other physical things?"
"It's his brain that I'm worried about, more than his mobility," said Angela, still clinging tightly to her child's hand. "Jonathan's interests have always tended toward the intellectual, rather than the physical. When will we find how, or if, his mental faculties have been impacted?"
"Well, once we're sure he's strong enough, we'll wake him up and let him show us what he can do. Once he's awake, he'll stay with us for another day or two, to make sure he's going to stay that way. Then, from there, we'll probably move him to the children's neurology wing. They're more than I am knowledgeable about the intricacies of the brain and spine, and they'll be better equipped to aid in his physical and mental recovery."
"So, the ER's job was to get him strong enough for the ICU, the ICU's job is to get him strong enough for the neurologist, and the neurologist's job is to get him strong enough to go home?" Samantha summarized.
"Here's a smart one. I guess you guys specialize in raising intellectual kids. That's exactly right," said the doctor, giving Samantha a smile. "Now, then, we've got a limit of two visitors per room, so I'm afraid someone's going to have to step out."
"I'll go," Sam volunteered. "I need to sit down." Unable to hug Jonathan properly, with the back brace in the way, she reached up, as if to pat his head. Then she noticed the helmet and made a face, probably remembering the hole in his head, laying hidden underneath. Getting frustrated, she pried his hand away from Angela and hugged his left arm. "Get well soon, Jonathan. Please? Don't me alone with them." She indicated her father and Angela.
"Ay-oh, oh-ay, that's enough out of you," said Tony, jerking a thumb at the door in an unsubtle hint.
"Tony, you already gave a fairly comprehensive medical history when you brought him in," the doctor observed as Samantha closed the door behind her. "Angela, is there anything you'd like to add?"
Angela glanced over her shoulder at Tony. "Did you them about the tonsillectomy, the chickenpox, and the head lice?"
"Yeah."
She shook her head, her eyes already back on her son. "It sounds like Tony covered everything."
"Excellent. I'm going to get started on the intake paperwork. I go off shift at seven, and I'll be by to check on Jonathan at least once more before then. In the meantime, if you have any questions or concerns, just tell Kate or Jane, and they'll come and get me. Try not to worry. We're going to take excellent care of your son." He shook each of their hands in turn.
Angela had kept her back to the doctor throughout most of his conversation with Tony. She knew she was being rude, but she couldn't seem to take her eyes off the shallow rise and fall of her son's chest. It was like a very flimsy rope keeping her tenuously anchored to sanity, and every time she tried to look away, she felt as if she were going to come apart at the seams.
A slight rustling at her side drew her attention, and she managed to briefly drag her gaze a bit lower. Tony was hunched over the foot of the bed. He had thrown back the covers, and was tickling the soles of Jonathan's feet, as he did whenever the children were slow to wake up in the mornings. It was no use this time, though. Her son's toes didn't even twitch. Tony noticed her eyes on him, and shrugged sheepishly. "Didn't hurt to try, did it?"
"No." She sighed. "When he was a baby, he used to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, and in the oddest places. I'd find him snoozing under the kitchen table, or on the stairs, or in the coat closet. Sometimes he would break out of his crib in the middle of the night and I'd find him under the changing table or slumped against the dresser."
"I know. I've seen the pictures," said Tony. "If we'd known he was gonna end up in a coma someday, it would have been a lot less funny, huh?"
As if they'd both had the exact same thought at the exact same time, they met midway around the bed and fell into each other's arms. "Tell me he's going to be okay, Tony," she pleaded. Even if the words weren't true, she needed to hear them from the voice she trusted most in all the world.
"He's going to be okay," Tony replied, stroking her badly-mussed hair. He tilted her head up to look her in the eye. With all the crying she'd done and all the sleep she'd missed, she realized she probably looked awful. Yet she didn't feel the least bit self-conscious about giving him a close-up of her face. As a very smart little boy had once pointed out, Tony had seen what she looked like in her bathrobe, and hadn't been scared off yet. "If he's half as strong as his mother is, he'll live forever."
And then his lips descended onto hers. Some distant corner of her brain noted that she should feel shocked, but she couldn't quite manage it. After everything that had happened over the last several dreadful hours, perhaps her body had run out of adrenaline. Whatever the reason, the physical comfort and closeness Tony was providing felt like the most natural thing in the world, and the thought of rejecting it never entered her head. Her arms instinctively twined around his neck to keep him close. As his hot, velvet-soft tongue lapped at her lips, seeking entry, she parted them without hesitation. He made a low noise of approval, deep in his throat, and his tongue swept gently over own. Her knees began to buckle. He moved his arms, which had been dangling lazily around her shoulders, lower, cinching them around her waist to keep her upright. She stroked his hair in gratitude.
A loud clank alerted them to the presence of others in the room, and they sprang apart like guilty teenagers. Jane had arrived with the concentrator, goodness-knew how long ago, and had rolled it right past them while they'd been wrapped up in each other. She had just snapped a fresh canister of distilled water into it and was busy adjusting the attached plastic face mask around Jonathan's ears. Kate, too, had managed to get past them, and was hooking a plastic bag of blood—probably fresh from Mother's veins—up to a pump on his IV pole. As she looked up from her task, she seemed to notice the guilty looks on their faces. "Guys, relax. Kissing is allowed, it's smoking that we frown on, around these parts."
"Seriously, no smoking around the concentrator, or you'll turn this whole room into a bomb," said Jane, tucking the blankets around Jonathan's chin before leaving the room. "You can kiss all you want, though. That's a much safer, healthier method of coping with stress, and those kinds of sparks won't hurt anybody," She gave them a wink as she shut the door behind her.
Kate chuckled. "Normally, this is where I tell my patient's parents to go home and get some rest, as you're no good to your child when you're fainting with exhaustion. However, it's almost four in the morning, and you people don't look like you're in any shape to be driving. Is there anyone who could come and get you?"
"Wendy would," said Angela. "Though I hate to wake her."
"I don't think she'd hold a grudge," said Tony. "I think you're making excuses because you don't wanna leave Jonathan yet. Neither do I." He gave Kate a hopeful smile. "Is it okay if we stick around a little longer? Maybe just till the day shift comes on duty?"
"And then we can call Wendy to come and get us once she's had a chance to get up and get Jenny off to school. Good thinking," Angela agreed.
"Relax, we're not going to kick you out," Kate promised. "Parents have twenty-four-seven access to their kids in this facility. It's just, as an oath-sworn nurse, I feel obligated to prevent death from exhaustion when it appears imminent. If you'll promise to head home and get some sleep once the day shift comes on duty, I'll quit nagging you." She took a seat at the foot of Jonathan's bed and motioned them to a set of padded chairs at the head of it. "Sit down. Tell me a little about my patient, why don't you?"
"He takes after his mom a lot," said Tony with a tender smile at Angela as he took a seat beside her. "Not just his looks—he's smart like her, and a compulsive overachiever."
"I'm not a compulsive overachiever, and neither is Jonathan," Angela protested. "We just don't like to fail."
"Well, I guess that tendency's served the little guy well," Tony conceded. "He's made straight A's every year since kindergarten."
"Although he did wash out of the audio-visual squad." They met each other's eyes and couldn't help laughing at the memory.
"Sounds like there's a story there," Kate observed. "What happened?"
"Well, Jonathan and his little friend—"
Tony nudged her. "Tell her this kid's name."
"Poindexter," said Angela. Kate gave her a look of disbelief, and Angela nodded.
"You're joking."
"Nope, totally serious. And that's not a nickname. It's the name on his birth certificate," Tony added. "I met his mom at a Parents' Association meeting once, and asked her about it. She said it was her maiden name, and since she didn't have any brothers to carry it on, she gave it to her son to keep it alive. If you ask me, it's a name that deserves to die!"
By the time the faint gleam of dawn started to peek through the blinds, Tony's arm had found its way around Angela, and Angela's head had found its way to Tony's shoulder. At the stroke of six, Jane came in carrying a basin filled with towels and washcloths. "Kate, can I borrow Jonathan for a moment?"
"Oh, sure Jane." Kate had been pressing a stethoscope to Jonathan's chest to check his airway, as she had done every fifteen minutes since the child had landed in her care. "Tony, Angela, Jane's going to give Jonathan a bath before she goes off shift."
"The surgeons will have sterilized the immediate areas around the incisions, but the rest of him's still going to have grime from the accident on him," Jane explained. "I should have done it sooner, but since he has extensive skeletal injuries that I don't want to aggravate, I'm trying to minimize the number of times I have to move him around. We're going to get his brief change, his turning, his skin check, and his bath all taken care of at once.
"I'm going to step outside because I figure he wouldn't want more strangers than necessary looking at his naked body," said Kate.
"I'll go with you," Tony volunteered, his joints cracking loudly as he rose. "I need to stretch my legs and check on Sam and Mona, anyway."
"Is it all right if I stay with him?" Jane was right. Jonathan wouldn't feel comfortable with a stranger bathing him, and even though he was unconscious, she still felt compelled to stay and comfort him.
"Of course. If you don't mind washing your hands and putting on gloves, you're welcome to help," Jane offered, reaching into a box of latex gloves stuck to the wall above the head of Jonathan's bed. She squirted a jet of liquid soap into the basin and swished it around in the warm water while Angela washed up. "Hi Jonathan. My name's Jane. I'm here to give you a bath. I know it's a little weird, but there's nothing to be bashful about. I have three boys of my own at home and I promise you don't have anything I haven't seen before. Your mom's right here, and she's going to give us a hand, okay?"
"Can he hear us?" Angela wondered as she awkwardly pulled a pair of latex gloves on over her still-damp hands. She was torn between hoping he could, because it would be a good sign, and hoping he couldn't hear all the embarrassing stories she and Tony had been telling about him.
"Beats me," said Jane, reaching up to untie Jonathan's gown and slip it out from under the bulky back brace. "I try to let people know who I am and what I'm doing whether they're conscious or not. I figure if they can't hear me, I'm not hurting anything by talking to myself. And if they can, a friendly voice is probably nice to hear." She handed Angela a damp cloth. "Just do what I do, and work around the dressings. Like I said, the surgeons will have already cleaned under them."
"So, Jonathan—is it Jonathan that he goes by?" Jane asked Angela. "Or does he prefer Jon?"
"Jonathan," Angela confirmed.
"Good name. Classic."
"He was named after my paternal grandfather."
"Oh, a family name, huh? That's how I got stuck being called Jane. I was named after my great-aunt, and in addition to having a really boing name, she was the meanest, ugliest old lady you ever saw!" She made a face. "My folks did it 'cause she had money and they were hoping she'd leave some to her namesake." Jane rolled her eyes. "I hope your reasons were better than theirs. Was the original Jonathan a good guy?"
"I never knew him, but from what I've heard, he very much was. He was a doctor, actually. He earned his license during the Spanish Flu scare of 1918, so he got thrown into the deep end of the pool, so to speak. He survived that whole mess, but didn't make it out of the polio epidemic of 1949 alive. He was always Daddy's hero. I was born the year after he died, and Daddy always said if I'd been a boy, he'd have named me Jonathan, in his father's honor." When her son had been born, she'd been torn between naming him after Daddy, or fulfilling her father's wish by naming him after her grandfather. In the end, she'd floated both names before Michael, and he'd come down hard in favor of Jonathan. Bobby Bower sounds like a Marvel Comics hero, he'd scoffed. "So I decided to pass the name on to my own son, on Daddy's behalf," she concluded simply.
"A brave man with a gift for healing sounds like just the sort of patron saint you need right now, kiddo," said Jane, addressing Jonathan as she sponged the exposed parts of his chest. "I think your mom made a good choice."
"I never told Jonathan that story," Angela realized. "Where his name came from. When he wakes up, I'll have to do that."
"He's probably going to be stuck in bed for a while. Telling stories will be a good way to pass the time." The nursing assistant draped a clean sheet over Jonathan's upper body and went to work on the lower half, pulling back the blankets and removing an oversized diaper taped around his loins.
Tony poked his head in the door. "Angela, I—"
"Tony! Close that door right now!" Angela cried, holding up the edge of the sheet to shield her son's modesty.
"Really, Tony, your wife is right. This young man is in the middle of a bath and he doesn't need an audience!" Jane reprimanded him.
"Sorry, I forgot." Tony stepped inside and shut the door behind him, closing his eyes to placate them. "I just wanted to tell you Mona finally crashed on the couch in the family waiting room. Sam couldn't get to sleep, but she's making herself useful. She's been babysitting for a family who's been having an even worse night than we are."
"Worse than we are?" Angela made a face. "Do I even want to know?"
Tony shook his head. "No, but I'll tell you anyway. They've got a ten-year-old daughter with a recurring brain tumor who's been having grand mal seizures all night, a three-year-old girl who's scared to death, and a sleepy, cranky six-month-old who doesn't understand why everyone's awake and afraid at this hour."
"Ah, yes, the Novaks." Jane shook her head. "Such a sweet family. I hate that we've seen so much of them lately."
How very like Samantha, at a time when she was so tired and stressed, to take it upon herself to find someone worse off and offer them a hand. She had so much of her father in her. In stressful situations, having something useful to do helped them keep their cool. "So she's been looking after their little ones? That's good, for everyone. She likes kids, it'll do her good."
"Yeah. She's already got the baby napping in his carrier. The toddler's still awake, but she's quit crying. I think Sam's got her old man's way with children." He puffed up his chest proudly.
"Let's just hope she doesn't have his humility, too," Angela teased.
"Hey, I ain't gotta take this kind of abuse!" Tony teased her right back. "I'll wait in the hall."
"I'll come get you when we're done. Shouldn't be too long."
By the time Jane had finished bathing Jonathan, changing his bed linens and dressing him in a clean gown, Kate was already reporting to her replacement. "Ah, there you are," said Kate as Angela opened the door to retrieve Tony. "Paulette, this is Angela, Jonathan's mom. Angela, this is Paulette. She's taking over for me as Jonathan's one-on-one, but I'll be back again this evening."
"Good news, we're practically getting two doctors for the price of one with this lady," said Tony with a smile. "Paulette's in her final year of med school. Gonna be a full-fledged pediatrician soon."
"Guilty as charged. Your boy's in good hands with me," Paulette promised.
"He's freshly scrubbed, changed, and turned," Jane reported, squeezing past Angela to get through the doorway. "But the dressing over his sternum is a little loose."
"I'll change it as soon as we're done with report, thanks Jane," said Paulette. "How have his vitals been, Kate?"
"No further signs of a-fib, I'm happy to report. Pulse has been in the upper eighties. His BP's been holding around the mid-nineties over the mid-sixties, since the second transfusion. O2 was ninety-five, last time I checked."
"Beautiful." Paulette seemed pleased with those numbers, which was a relief. "Tony, Angela, can I get your phone number?"
Angela produced a business card and jotted her home number on the back of it. "This is my work number, this is my home office, and that's the house phone on the back."
"Excellent." The nurse clipped it to Jonathan's cart. "Now, in the nicest way possible, you both look like crap. Please, for your son's sake, go home and get some sleep. At least a few hours. I'll call you immediately if there are any changes." She jotted a string of digits on a scrap of paper and handed it to Angela. "This is our wing's phone number and the extension for Jonathan's room. If you need to call and check on him, you can do that at any time. He won't be left unattended for even a minute."
"But what if he wakes up and he's scared?" Tony protested before Angela could do so herself.
"Then we're firing the anesthesiologist, because he's supposed to be out for the next forty-eight hours, minimum," Paulette replied.
That was true. It hadn't fully sunk in yet, she supposed, that this wasn't normal sleep her son was experiencing. Her natural motherly instincts still expected him to stir at any moment, asking for a glass of water or complaining of a bad dream. "And we can come back whenever we want? You don't have specific visiting hours?"
"Not for his parents," Paulette promised.
"Confidentially, we don't really enforce them for the rest of the family either, unless someone's being disruptive. So far, that doesn't seem to apply to you folks. Your daughter's been an absolute angel with the Novak kids, and your sister Mona just forked over two pints of blood without batting an eyelash. They're not really the kind of people we usually find ourselves chasing off." Kate patted her on the arm. "Go on, before you collapse and end up back in the ER."
"I'll keep you posted," Paulette said again. "If he so much as blinks, I'll be right on the phone. But if your sister just gave two pints of blood, she needs to be in bed, and a growing girl like your daughter needs her sleep even more than you two do."
"I know what you're doing," said Tony, his eyes narrowed as he pointed an accusing finger at the day nurse. "You're appealing to our overprotective side because you've figured out that it's in charge of our brains right now."
"And she's right," sighed Angela.
"She is. And I really hate her for it," Tony grumbled good-naturedly.
Paulette seemed unworried. Given her line of work, she was probably used to such sentiments. "You'll hate me a little less after you're fed and rested. Now, shoo."
When they entered the family waiting room, Samantha frantically pressed a finger to her lips. "Shh! My three little angels are sleeping." She nodded at the infant in his carrier, sucking contentedly on a pacifier, the toddler sprawled in her lap, and then at Mona, curled up on the couch under a blanket, with a throw pillow tucked carefully behind her head.
"If we're not careful, the hospital's going to hire her away from us," Tony joked.
"Shh!" Sam hissed again.
"I'm going to find a payphone and call Wendy," Angela whispered. "I think Sam has the right idea. Don't wake Mother until you have to." She turned and left.
Samantha handed the little girl to Tony. "Here, hold her for a minute. I need to go let the Novaks know we're leaving. Plus, I really, really have to go to the bathroom!" She bolted from the room without waiting for a response.
Too tired to protest his conscription, Tony rocked the little girl weakly in his arms. "I remember when my Samantha was your age. She was every bit as sweet and innocent as you are now. Who'd have thought she'd grow up to be so pushy, huh? I dunno where she gets it."
"Tony!" Angela poked her head back into the room. "I'm all out of change for the payphone. Come do that paperclip trick of yours, and don't you dare tell Mother or the kids about this!"
"Okay, it's all coming together now," Tony told the sleeping child as he rose to comply.
