Deadline (5 page)

“Where am I,” Jake tried to ask, but it came out garbled. The woman in white looked surprised.

“Mr. Woods. Glad you could join us.”

“Where…?” Jake sensed the word coming out his mouth wasn’t the one he was getting at. He hoped someone would fill in the blanks.

“You’re in Lifeline Medical Center,” said white dress. “It’s Monday morning, about ten o’clock.”

Jake considered this a few moments. Lifeline? That was where Doc worked, wasn’t it? “Car…hit,” he stammered. Yes, that was it. A car wreck. He and Finney and Doc were coming back with the pizza, Doc was screaming, he swerved and…

“Yes, Mr. Woods.” The nurse’s lips tightened. “There was a car wreck.”

“What…How…?”

Jake didn’t like the expression on her face. It was the look of a competent in-control professional faced with the prospect of bearing bad news.

“I think I should get the doctor to answer your questions, Mr. Woods. I’ll be back in a moment.” She walked out quickly, as if to outrun the sound of his voice in case it tried to follow her.

CHAPTER THREE

T
he moment seemed an hour. It was really four minutes. White dress was now accompanied by blue coat, a tall and commanding presence. There was someone else, someone smaller, who was almost hidden behind him. It was Sue, Finney’s wife. Jake moved his head to the side, glad it obeyed his brain’s command, and caught Sue’s eye. Sue smiled at him, but the smile washed up out of a sea of pain, and the implicit message frightened Jake.

Blue coat cleared his throat as if everyone was waiting for gems of insight to fall off his lips, which hid beneath his thick brown mustache. He seemed slightly perturbed that Jake’s eyes were on Sue rather than himself.

“Mr. Woods…Jake,” blue coat said as if he wasn’t reading it off the chart in front of him, which he was.
Are you going to tell me my blood type and impress me some more
? Jake had a way of sizing up people quickly, and for some reason he didn’t like this doctor.

“I am Dr. Bradley.” Jake sensed he was supposed to be impressed. He wasn’t.

“You, Mr. Woods, have a renal contusion.”

Jake waited for the explanation. It didn’t come, suggesting anyone with a three digit IQ was supposed to get it.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you have a bruised kidney. You’ve still got blood in your urine, but it’s subsiding. You also have some soft tissue injury, including neck and lumbar strain.” Though Jake could figure this one out, Dr. Bradley was quick to add, “an injury to your lower back caused by the whiplash.” He added with just a hint of a scold, “You also have a mild concussion that we’re watching. Your injuries are considerable, but we think they’ll heal without complications. Considering the condition of the vehicle, so I’m told, you’re fortunate to be alive.”

“Doctor…what about my friends?”

The doctor paused a moment too long. “Dr. Lowell has a fractured larynx. We intubated him…put a tube into his throat, to allow breathing, which is otherwise prevented by the swelling. We’re administering steroids to reduce the swelling until he can breathe on his own. He’s been given penathol. He’s still unconscious.” The doctor paused again, as if working up to something. “He also has some injury to his spinal chord. We’re not sure how extensive. We won’t run the necessary tests until we get his breathing under control.” The dull pain in Jake’s side got worse.

“The other individual,” the doctor turned to hear the voice behind him, then turned back, “Yes, Mr. Finney.” Another pause. “Yes, Mr. Finney
Keels
has a subdural hematoma.”

“A what?”

The doctor looked up in the air as if searching for alternative expressions, straining to put the cookies on the lower shelf.

“There’s a blood clot pressing on his brain. It’s between his brain and skull, restricting proper blood flow.”

Jake hesitated, then asked the question as if he were suddenly diving off a fifty foot cliff. “Will they live?” It was more than a question. It was a plea.

“Both are in critical condition. It’s too early to say whether they will live. There are too many variables to take into account. In medicine you cannot just…”

Jake’s dull ache spread within him to every corner of his body, drowning out the rest of the doctor’s words, which meant nothing to him. His friends could die. For a moment he was three hundred miles away and thirty-five years younger, standing with Doc and Finney down by Benton Stream, pocketknife in hand, performing that silly blood brother ceremony they’d laughed about so often over the years, but cherished nonetheless. They’d survived so much, even Nam. And now…a stupid car accident?

Jake’s focus abruptly returned to the room in the form of a threatening glare. He thought of vowing to write a column on physician incompetence, naming names, if either of his friends died. He realized this was irrational. The doctors would do everything they could to save Doc and Finney. Yet the adversarial feelings welled up inside. In desperate times, Jake was still a warrior, and warriors needed enemies to do battle with. If they couldn’t find enemies, they made them. It gave them an obstacle to overcome, a reason to push on.

“Make sure they live, Doctor.”

“Well, of course, the ICU staff is doing everything possible, but you have to understand…”

“You understand—they have to live.” Jake said it in such a way that everyone knew the conversation was over. The high-control doctor, caught in a low-control situation, mumbled he had other patients to attend to and slunk out of the room.

Now Jake’s view of Sue was unobstructed. She moved right in where the doctor had been. Even in her weakness, Sue emanated strength. Jake had seen it numbers of times, especially ten years ago when Sue and Finn’s little Jenny had died at the hands of that drunk driver. Sue grieved deeply, but her trust was unshakable. She was a rock.

“Jake, you’re just as ornery as ever.” Sue’s eyes sparkled. She loved to tease him, and the chance to do so was a welcome relief from the weight of her last eighteen hours. “After all these years working as a nurse, let me give you just a little piece of advice—threatening the doctors is generally not the way to endear yourself to the hospital staff.”

“I just want them to take good care of my buddies.”

“I know, Jake. Me too.” Now her tears flowed freely. A few dropped on Jake’s forearm, above his right hand which Sue now held tightly with both hers. Her tears were warm. The rock was soft and vulnerable.

Jake felt helpless. He’d never been good in the hard moments of life. He ran from people in pain, unless there was a story. But there was nowhere to run now. The thought of a loved one’s death paralyzed him. When his dad died, he never said anything to his mother. What was there to say? In Vietnam two men—no, boys—in his platoon had died, and as a young lieutenant he tried to write letters to their mothers and girlfriends, but never sent them. In the middle of these thoughts, Jake caught himself.
Finney and Doc aren’t going to die. They can’t die
!

Sue rested her head on her limply folded arms. Jake grew self-conscious about his own silence. If only Janet were here. She’d know what to say.

As if reading Jake’s mind, Sue said, “I called Janet when you started waking up. She spent the night here, but had to go back this morning to take Carly to school. She’s at work, but she’s getting off early to come see you.”

“Janet…spent the night here?”

“Sure she did, you big lug. She still loves you, you know.”

There was no response. Jake couldn’t begin to respond to that one. Three years they’d been divorced. He felt guilty life was easier without his wife and daughter. It was also much emptier, and perhaps that penance helped ease the guilt.

The nurse reappeared. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Keels. Mr. Woods needs his rest.”

“Sure. Thanks for letting me see him.” She glanced at Jake, and gave his hand a last squeeze. With an apologetic tone she pointed to Jake and said to the nurse, “He can be cranky, but after twenty years or so he kind of grows on you.” Sue smiled back at him. Jake forced a grin. Both were in terrible pain.

Jake awoke again three hours later. He told the doctor he felt like eating and wanted to get up. He asked to have the IV and catheter removed. To his surprise, the doctor agreed. Thirty minutes later Jake tried to get up, but felt woozy, falling back on the bed. He tried again after a few minutes, and this time walked around the room until he could do it without buckling or grabbing the bed rail. He was practicing his best “I’m really okay” walk. He had a reason.

Once he sat and rested a few minutes, Jake rang for the nurse. He waited for what seemed like too long, then rang again. Twenty seconds later a busy but cheerful figure came sweeping into the room.

“Yes?” It was white dress, still on duty. “Did you have a good nap, Jake?”

This time he read her name badge, determined to prove his mental faculties. “Natalie,” he said in his strongest voice. “I’m feeling really great now, and I’m getting claustrophobic in here. The doctor said it would be good to take a little walk in the hallway when I feel up to it. With your permission, that is.”

The nurse looked at him skeptically. She checked the chart. “Well, your contusion doesn’t appear to be severe. No sign the concussion’s getting worse. You must be awfully sore. The doctor said it was okay to take a walk?”

Jake lied with a nod, and she shrugged her shoulders. “Sure you can handle it?”

Jake put forth his best effort, slid out of bed and stood there convincingly, posing as if he had just run the 100 meters in world record time, winded but fit, so how could anyone even think he might not be able to handle it?

“No problem, Nurse Natalie. I won’t go far. Scout’s honor.” Jake the charmer. A page out of Doc’s book.

“No, you won’t go far. Just around this nurses station here,” she pointed outside. “A lap around that main desk is a hundred feet or so. Don’t go any further. If you get tired, there’s plenty of chairs. Just sit down. I’ve got other patients. Be back in ten minutes. Walk very slowly, okay?”

“Sure, Nurse Natalie. Take twenty minutes. In fact, I’ll give you the rest of the day off.” Natalie gave Jake an uncertain look, not sure yet how to read him. Just as she was reconsidering, a gray-haired nurse stuck her head in the room.

“I need your help with Mr. Sonfeld.”

“Coming.” With one last look at Jake, she said, “Behave yourself. Don’t go far.”

“Aye aye, Colonel,” Jake said, saluting, but with no intention of obeying. Once out in the hall he looked for a floor plan. There it was, a cut-out in several colors. On the left side was an alphabetical list—Administration, Ambulatory Care, Anesthesiology. Jake skipped down the list. In-Patient Admissions, Infectious Diseases, Inhalation Therapy.
Ah, now we’re cookin
’. Intensive Care Units. Third floor, east side of the building. Perfect. He was in 2294, east side. Only an elevator ride and a few hallways. Piece of cake.

Jake walked to and from the elevator with all the aplomb of a man who must have had a perfectly good reason for walking around at will wearing a hospital gown. He strolled cautiously yet naturally, or so he supposed, into Intensive Care’s family waiting room. He expected to see Sue and Betsy. Neither was there. They’d probably stepped out for lunch. What remained in the waiting room were just a half dozen worn-out people with lots of lines on their faces, pretending to read magazines, while they hoped for miracles and waited for bad news.

Jake sat down and eyed his target, the door that said “Intensive Care Units.”
Garamond.
Beneath were imposing block letters. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Helvetica Bold
, Jake thought, and chuckled at himself. Who but a newspaper man would ponder the typeface of a sign he was about to disobey?

Jake pretended to read a
Modern Maturity
magazine, while running reconnaissance on the room and door and figuring out his entry strategy. A doctor came in, pushed the red button on the panel next to the door, heard a voice over an intercom, identified himself, and entered. Just before the doctor opened the door, Jake stepped over to get another magazine. The doctor swung the door open wide enough that Jake could see the hallway leading to a hub of activity at the far end. The door shut quietly behind him and locked itself with a soft click. The doctor never looked back. Jake wished he’d followed right then, but knew it was better to survey the situation and figure out his tactics in advance. So he took his seat and bided his time.

Suddenly a doctor came out the locked door and went over to one of the mascara-smeared magazine readers, then in hushed tones explained her loved one’s condition. Jake buried himself in the magazine, looking perfectly natural, other than being in bare feet and wearing a thin sissy dress that blew around every time a door shut or the furnace turned on. As the doctor headed back to the door, he flashed a suspicious look at Jake, followed by an atoning “have a nice day” smile when Jake looked him straight in the eyes. Jake’s air of confidence won the moment.

As the doctor walked through the door, Jake covered the eight feet between them and grabbed the handle just before it clicked. He paused a few moments, peeked in, and saw only the doctor’s back, receding down the hallway. Then he walked through. As he did, one man in the waiting room stared curiously, but Jake smiled and gave him a reassuring look. A background in investigative journalism paid off, especially when it came to sheer audacity and a penchant for faking it.

Jake walked near the right side of the wall. Cardiac Intensive Care Unit, Chest Surgery Intensive Care Unit, Dialysis Acute Care Unit, Respiratory ICU, Neonatal ICU.
Good grief, whatever happened to plain old ICU
? Jake eliminated dialysis and neonatal, and decided to start with the general sounding “Medical Intensive Care Unit,” mostly because he could enter it without first parading by the nurses station at the hub. If it came to that he could try crawling under their line of sight, but the difference between combat fatigues and his flimsy gown made him hope that wouldn’t be necessary.

He did wish he could have a quick look at the nurses station to find out his friends’ room numbers, but any attempt to do so would guarantee a quick ticket out. He started room by room down Medical ICU. After six rooms with unfamiliar names and faces, Jake hit the jackpot. The name on the chart, plain vanilla Courier 12 pitch generated by a dot matrix printer, was “Gregory Victor Lowell.” Otherwise known as Doc. Jake’s heart raced as he stepped inside.

He expected to see Doc’s familiar face, a face that always looked straight off the cover of
Gentleman’s Quarterly
—sculptured, poised, tanned, confident. But what Jake saw was a pale plastic looking face, a mannequin with tubes coming out of it, a practice dummy for medical students. Obviously this was the wrong room. If this was a human being, it certainly wasn’t Doc. And yet…

It
was
Doc. Head of the neighborhood, head of the class, head of the team, head of his squad, head of surgery. The head of everything, now shrunken and hollow. As helpless as a newborn child, as frail and dependent as an unborn. The tube coming out of his neck was his umbilical cord to life, attesting to his lack of viability. His life was utterly dependent on the will and expertise of others. Jake drew closer, looking at the pale skin with blue penciled veins. The thought that the spinal column injury could be permanent seemed more believable now. It hit Jake like a freight train. That would be worse than death for Doc. He’d be so embarrassed to see himself like this.