Seventy-Two Hours (19 page)

I held his body against me while I swayed and
talked to him. After only a few seconds, Clinton was fast asleep. The ordeal
had worn him out. I kept him upright, his little diapered butt seated in my
left hand and my right hand holding him against my chest. His wispy hair tickled
my neck. So as not to disturb him, one of the technicians packed his discarded
clothes into the diaper bag while the other went to retrieve a blanket fresh
from the warmer to wrap him in.

I was sent to the waiting room. And waited.
And waited.

Forty-five minutes later, I was called to the
checkin window for the radiology department. Clinton was being admitted and
they needed me to take him to the pediatric floor. Someone from admissions
would meet us there with paperwork and Clinton’s doctor would arrive shortly.

I phoned my mother after we were settled into
his room. She was sitting with Carson and would need to get Hudson off the
school bus.

Before I ended my conversation with her, I
said, “Will you please get in touch with Chris’ office and tell them he needs
to call me as soon as possible?”

“I’ll do that as soon as we’re off the
phone. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Save your worry for your
grandson. He’s the one in a crib with an oxygen tent.” My voice caught.

“No really, Jenny. Are you okay?” my mother
asked again.

I took a deep breath as I attempted to bring
my emotions under control. “Not really. No.”

“I’ll call Marti and we’ll make sure Hudson
and Carson are taken care of. One or both of us will come to the hospital to
keep you company,” she told me.

I exhaled a shaky breath. “That would be
nice.”

“Okay, sweetie, you just hang on. Give my
grandbaby a kiss and tell him Grandma’s coming, alright?”

“Thanks,” I said wondering to myself what I’d
do without my mom.

It wasn’t the first time she’d come to my
rescue in Chris’ absence. I was extremely fortunate to have such a loving and
supportive family.

Shortly after our call ended, Clinton’s
pediatrician breezed in wearing a disposable yellow smock. He apologized for
taking so long before opening the plastic curtain and talking to his patient in
that animated way he always used. My children loved him. He was like Robin
Williams in Patch Adams; fun and goofy with his patients while being thorough
and professional. Although, you’d never know this from Clinton’s reaction. He
wasn’t impressed at all by his doctor’s antics.

He finished his exam and made notes in
Clinton’s chart. I watched as he returned it to its holder on the crib. He
removed and disposed of his gloves before encouraging me to take a seat. He
pulled up another chair and sat across from me. “Clinton’s in great hands,” he
said with a reassuring smile. “So that means you need to take a deep breath,”
he paused and waited for me to comply, “No. Really. A deep breath.”

I gave in and despite my worry, a smile
formed.

“See? Just from a deep breath,” he said
about my smile. “Let’s go over Clinton’s condition.”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

He put up quelling hands and said, “Relax, Jen.
Clinton has Respiratory Syncytial Virus. It has a big, scary name, but it’s
very treatable. For older children and adults, RSV comes and goes like the
common cold. Sometimes in younger children, like Clinton, it goes into
Bronchiolitis and the best place for them to be is in the hospital where we can
monitor their oxygen levels and make sure they stay hydrated.”

“Is he in any danger?”

“Clinton has what we consider a mild to
moderate case. He’s an otherwise healthy little boy. I have every faith that
he will be feeling better in a few days. Someone from respiratory therapy is
going to come in shortly and give him a breathing treatment from a nebulizer.
The Albuterol will help open his bronchial tubes.”

“Is it contagious?” I asked worried about the
other boys.

“Highly. But unless it’s a small child, and preemies
are more at risk, or the elderly, it will pass like the common cold,” he
assured me. “I’m sure Hudson and Carson will be fine.”

I rubbed my eyes. My sleepless night was
catching up with me. I felt his hand on the edge of my knee.

“Are you okay?” he asked and then he removed
his hand to avoid any improprieties.

“I slept on the floor of his room last
night. We have a baby monitor, but I couldn’t leave him. I had to keep
checking on him.”

He moved to the edge of his seat and gave me
a sympathetic smile. “You did the right thing bringing him in. There’s
nothing more you can do for him at home. You did everything you were supposed
to do. Let us take care of him now, okay?”

I nodded. “One of my school colleagues was
permitted to spend the night at the hospital when her daughter had her tonsils
removed. Do you think they’d let me stay with Clinton?”

“I don’t think that will be a problem. I’ll
talk with the charge nurse and get it squared away. If one’s available, they
even have chairs that fold out into a bed for parents.”

I went over to Clinton and stuck my hand
through the seam in the curtain. He reached out for my hand and grasped my
fingers with both of his hands. Even sick, he gave me his lopsided grin. He
was such a good baby. Always happy-go-lucky.

It made my heart break to see him struggling
for his every breath. His little abdomen was even working like a bellows as he
used his diaphragm to aid in the breathing process. And then there were the
wires monitoring his heart rate and another attached to his big toe for his
oxygen level. It was a wrenching sight.

Marti and my mother came in after lunch.
Both of them suited up in disposable gowns. While my mom gave me a tight hug,
Marti rubbed my back in a soothing manner before she had her turn. My father
was taking care of Carson and Conrad would get Hudson off the bus. Everything
was being taken care of which meant I’d be able to focus on Clinton.

Marti and my mom stayed with us until 7:30.
They were going to take turns spending the night at our house until Clinton was
released from the hospital. At least being in their own home would allow Carson
and Hudson to have some semblance of routine under the circumstances. For the
time being, their parents were elsewhere.

Clinton’s nurse was a middle-aged woman named
Judy. Judy was a godsend. Even though she had her share of patients she was
in charge of, she did her best to make me feel comfortable. Maintenance had
delivered my “bed” earlier in the day. It was one of those tri-fold seats that
opened up into a simple bed. It was covered in caramel-colored vinyl and
well-used. When Judy came on at seven, the two of us chatted while she took
care of Clinton. She had a very warm, nurturing personality that was perfectly
suited for her profession.

At nine, she came into my room with a pillow
and blanket setting them on my bed. “If you would like another blanket, let me
know. We have plenty.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll be fine.”

“It does tend to get chilly at night so don’t
be afraid to ask.”

“I’ll let you know,” I replied with a smile
and then said, “If my husband calls, will they put the call through with it
being after hours and all?”

“There’s a note requesting his call be put
through. They know he’s overseas.”

I nodded. “I knew he shouldn’t have left,
but he’s so damn stubborn when its work related.”

“I’m sure they’ll get in touch with him.
You’ll see.”

Despite the stress and worry from the day, I
found myself consumed with irritation where my husband was concerned. Looking
back to when he found me that morning in Clinton’s room, he seemed almost
annoyed with me for being “overly dramatic.” And maybe, sometimes, I could be
that way when our children’s health and wellbeing was the subject, but after
losing Spencer, I had a newfound respect for how fragile life was. If
something had happened to Clinton because I didn’t react appropriately, I would
never forgive myself. I had to accept the fact that I couldn’t help Spencer.
It was hard. Even with medical professionals informing me of that fact, it was
still hard for me to accept.

The phone rang at four in the morning and I
scrambled to answer it. Clinton was still wide awake from his last breathing
treatment that ended twenty minutes prior. He always seemed to have an
abundance of energy afterwards. No one told me, but I surmised it was some
form of stimulant. After the long day I’d had, I could’ve benefitted from a
stimulant.

“Hello?”

“Jesus, Jen, what’s going on?”

I’d had so much time to prepare for his
call. Hours and hours to prepare. “Where are you?”

“I’m checking in at the hotel in Tainan. They
gave me a note to call you at this number. What’s the emergency?” he sounded
worried and tired.

“Clinton was admitted into the hospital. He
has something called Respiratory Syncytial Virus and he’s being monitored
inside an oxygen tent. He has bronchiolitis because of it and they are
administering breathing treatments from a nebulizer every two hours or so,” I
said giving him the facts first. I’d save the admonishing for the end.

“But how? They said it was a cold when you
took him on Saturday.”

“It changed that quickly. Dr. Barnes said he
has a mild to moderate case and should be noticeably better tomorrow,” I told
him and then remembered it was already tomorrow. “Well, today. This
afternoon.”

“So, he’s okay?”

“He should be.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t have a crystal ball,
Christopher, to see into the future. Right now, our baby son is in an oxygen
tent where his oxygen levels are being monitored by a sensor so he doesn’t
become oxygen deprived. I wish I could paint a sunnier picture for you, but I
can’t. I told you yesterday morning that he was worse. You said I was being overly
dramatic.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should’ve been here with him instead of
traveling to the other side of the goddamn world.”

“You were right, okay? And I am sorry I
didn’t listen to you.”

I closed my eyes tightly and got a hold of
myself. “Yea.” For some reason, being right didn’t give me the same sense of
satisfaction I wanted. Not with it coming at Clinton’s expense.

“I can’t leave until 9AM, your time, at the
earliest. Shawnda is trying to get me on a flight. How long does Dr. Barnes
think he’ll be in for?”

“He hasn’t said. Judy, the one nurse, told
me they usually keep them for a few days and that’s provided he doesn’t develop
pneumonia.”

“Jesus Christ.” His frustration was loud and
clear.

It was wrong of me to throw his error in
judgment at him like I did, but I couldn’t stop myself. He should’ve never
left.

“Are you there?”

“Yep.”

“You went quiet.”

“I had nothing to add.”

He sighed loudly before saying, “I would have
never left if I’d known how serious it was.”

“I told you and you left anyway.”

“We’ll talk about that when I get home.”

“You can count on it,” I said disconnecting
without a goodbye.

Present Day

I followed Chris’ stretcher as a team of four
rushed him into the ER. Dr. Kingsley came running in and began ordering
everyone about. Her entire demeanor had taken a one-eighty since I’d last seen
her.

“Pulse?”

“124.”

“BP?”

“150 over 90.”

I watched from the outer perimeter. My hands
still managed to shake while I held them pressed to my mouth.

Chris’ sweaty polo shirt was cut up the
center as they connected leads to his chest for an EKG. Another person drew
blood from him. Dr. Kingsley watched as a machine began spitting out tape.

“What medications are you on, Chris?” she
asked without meeting his eyes.

“None.”

And he wasn’t to my knowledge. Chris was
always the picture of health. Until then.

“Any Viagra today?” He shook his head. “Good.
It can cause an extreme drop in blood pressure if it’s mixed with certain other
medications,” she told him as she then looked to me for my response.
Apparently, all of his bragging earlier made her inclined to believe otherwise.

I took a deep breath and shook my head no.
My face and hands were wet. That was when I realized fat tears were falling in
a torrent.

“Ma’am,” a woman in scrubs put a hand on my
shoulder. “We need you to take a seat in the waiting area. We’ll give you an
update as soon as we can.”

I resisted at first, but she was firm. I
went out and found a seat. Thankfully, it wasn’t as busy as it had been just a
few hours ago. I’d never been in that position. Waiting on Chris through a
health crisis. I couldn’t even call anyone. My phone was dead. Hospitals probably
had phones available for such situations, but I didn’t know what I’d say. Calling
before I knew any information wasn’t a good idea.