Trapped (11 page)

Chapter Nineteen

The next few weeks sped by in a blur for both Mike and Lisa.

Phoebe was happy for her friend, but complained, “I never see you
, anymore. Why don’t you move in with Mike?”

“I’m sorry, Phoebe.”

“Don’t be. You’re a lucky woman, and I’m jealous.”

“I won’t let anything interfere with our friendship. Next to Mike, I’ve never been so close to another human being.”

“Tell him to find me a nice Jewish doctor. My mother would be eternally grateful.”

“Mike’s your biggest fan, Phoebe, and he tells me
that he has several candidates in mind.”

Phoebe smiled. “Bring ‘em on
!”

By the end of the second week, everyone was in love with Ella Sanchez.

They used Maria’s breast milk, but had to supplement it with tube feedings.

When Mike entered at eight a.m., Lisa greeted him. “Ella doesn’t look so good, this morning.”

“What is it?”

“Her belly is a bit swollen, and she spit up twice this morning.”

Mike’s pulse raced as he approached the incubator. There was some redness around the baby’s belly button. His hand covered the baby’s entire
abdomen, and he noted the swelling, and he thought that he felt a swollen loop of bowel in the right lower quadrant.

“Shit,” he said. “Put a syringe on that feeding tube
, Lisa. Let’s see how much residue she has in her stomach. Then get blood cultures, a routine blood count, and electrolytes, and a stat portable x-ray of her abdomen. Stop the tube feedings. I hope I’m wrong, but I think it’s Necrotizing Enterocolitis, NEC. I need to talk with Maria.”

“Work with me, Lucy,” Mike said to the translator as they sat in the waiting room. “I need Maria to understand what’s going on.
”

“NEC is a disease of some premature babies that affects the intestines. Tell her
that it’s an infection that can be serious. We’re running some tests, and starting her on treatment.”

Mike watched as Maria listened
. Her face became ashen as his meaning came through. She looked at Mike with pleading, wet eyes.

“Is there a Mr. Sanchez?” Mike asked.

“Yes,” said Lucy, “but he’s frightened of the Immigration Service.”

“Nobody’s calling the INS,” Mike said.

As he rose to leave, Maria again grasped his hand. Looking up into his eyes, she said, “
Por favor, Doctor. Por favor.
”

“You know how we work here, Lucy. Tell her.”

An hour later, Mike stood before the x-ray digital display with Bernie Myers, an experienced radiologist.

“Don’t like the looks of this, Mike.” He pulled a chrome pointer from his shirt pocket, extended it to its full length, and then used it to indicate areas of interest on the films. “Look at the distention, the stacked loops of bowel.” He pointed to a small area on one film, and continued, “that’s air in the bowel wall. I don’t see any free air, yet, that would indicate a perforation, but it wouldn’t surprise me to see that, soon. It’s classical NEC. How’s the baby doing?”

“It’s too soon to tell. We’ve just started treatment.”

Bernie shook his head. “I’d get films two or three times a day. If she perforates, the sooner you get her to surgery, the better.”

Chapter Twenty

When she looked at Mike, Lisa felt warm all over. It wasn’t his individual parts that had her—not that anything was wrong with his parts—it was the whole. A man of his size might easily evoke fear in some, but Lisa felt his bigness was a good match to the size of his easygoing nature.

She often just watched him.

“What are you looking at?” He asked that morning as he brushed his thinning hair across his scalp.

“I’m looking at you. Can’t I look at the man I love?”

“Looking’s okay, but I sense an element of appraisal, like when we dress to go out, and you say, ‘you’re not leaving the house wearing that, are you?’”

“Well, now that you mention it, it’s time to do something about your hair.”

“There’s not much to do with someone as follically-challenged as I. I’m not getting a transplant, nor will I use medications to repopulate this barren land.”

“I have something a lot simpler in mind.”

“I’m listening.”

“The curls in the back are okay, but the comb-over’s got to go.”

“What comb-over?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“It’s the way I comb my hair—I guess as I lost more in front, it naturally spread over the impoverished territory. I don’t see what’s wrong with it.”

“It looks like what it is, a vain
attempt to hide the fact that you’re follically challenged, you know, pardon the word, bald.”

“I’m not bald, Lisa.”

“Of course not, sweetie, nature has malapportioned your hair. We simply need to do some redistricting.”

“You want to Gerrymander my head?”

“Exactly, and I’ve contracted the right person to do it. Phoebe will be over tonight after dinner, scissors in hand.”

“Great,
” he said shaking his head. “I can’t wait.”

That evening, Mike sat on a chair in the middle of the kitchen, while Phoebe and Lisa circled, critiqued his head, and discussed their strategy.

“Are you sure this is necessary?” Mike asked.

“Without a doubt,” Phoebe said, as she approached with scissors and comb in hand. “You’re about to become three pounds lighter, Samson. You’ll survive.”

Phoebe went to work with gusto. Lisa watched
, smiling and pointing here and there.

When Phoebe was
aiming for the curls in the back, Lisa said, “Don’t take them all. I love those curls.”

Mike shook his head as long strands fell to the floor, and said, “Are you done?”

“A few more tiny snips, and then I’ll be through.”

After the last cut, Lisa grabbed Mike’s brush
, and swept it backwards over his scalp. “Done.”

Phoebe held the mirror
, and Mike looked. He was shocked at first by the magnitude of the exposed frontal plane, but he finally said, “It’s okay—better than the comb-over.”

“Okay?” Phoebe asked.

“No, it’s really great,” Mike said, running both hands over his scalp.

This gestur
e, Lisa noted, was to become Mike’s characteristic way of combing his hair.

“I’m so nervous to meet your mother and your sisters,” Lisa said as they drove through the light rain toward Nora’s home. “Can’t I take them on one at a time?”

Mike smiled. “You’re going to love them, and they’ll be crazy about you.”

They took the Lafayette exit of Highway 24, and then traveled to Moraga. Nora had a townhouse on the hillside overlooking the main shopping center.

As they pulled up, Mike’s cell phone rang. “It’s the NICU. I told them to give me a report on the Sanchez baby.”

He listened, and then said, “Thanks. Keep it up.”

They parked in the street in front of the three
-level, ivy-covered townhouse. Lisa looked at her watch, and said, “We’re late. I hate being late.”

Mike held her hands, and said, “No, we’re not late. Nora wanted everyone here before we came. This is your chance to make a grand entrance.”

Lisa looked into the mirror behind the sun visor, checked her makeup, and then looked down across her chest to her dress and shoes, and said, “How do I look?”

“You look beautiful.”

“No, really, how do I look? Should I put my hair up? I want to make a good impression.”

“Lisa, give me a break. You look fantastic. They’re going to love you.”

Mike opened the front door
, and they entered the three-ring-circus that was Mike’s family; aunts, uncles, kids, and all.

As they took their first step into the room, Nora and Mike’s sisters surrounded him with hugs and kisses. “I’d like you all to meet Lisa Cooke, the love of my life.”

The sisters gathered around Lisa, introducing themselves, their husbands, and their broods. Lisa noted a strong family resemblance to Mike in his mother and his sisters.

During dinner, Lisa could feel Nora staring
at her. Each time their eyes met, they’d half smile at each other.

She’s checking me out
, thought Lisa.
Maybe nobody’s good enough for her son?

After the raucous feast, they chased the kids into the backyard
, while the adults talked in normal tones, for a change.

Lisa watched Mike as he rolled on the grass in the backyard with his sister’s children. She’d felt Mike’s affection for his tiny preemies and the loving kindness he showed toward their frightened parents, but this was the first time she’d seen him interact with children.
His comfort in physical play and his patience in talking with them moved her.

“You’re great with the kids,” she said
. “It’s like you’re one of them.”

“Maybe I never grew up,” he smiled.

“You’re going to be a wonderful father.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Would that be so bad?”

He grasped her hand. “Nothing with you can be bad.”

“You’re a smart man.”

“Don’t I know
it.”

Later, Lisa found herself in the corner with Nora and Mike’s sisters. They’d been friendly and warm to her, and Lisa now understood more about her husband-to-be. They were part of what made him the way he was.

“I’ve never seen him so happy before, Lisa,” Nora said, “we couldn’t be more pleased.”

“All he does is talk about you, Lisa,” said Sally, the middle sister.

Emma, two years Mike’s senior, said, “You should have seen some of the girls he brought home.”

“Let’s be fair to the boy,” Lilly said. “His choices were more thoughtful than most at his age.” She hesitated for a moment, and then said, “We don’t know that much about you, Lisa, but we know how much Mike loves you. Tell us how you feel about our baby brother.”

Lisa smiled. That was the easiest question anyone could ask. “I didn’t have it easy growing up, especially with my father
. I’ll skip that for the moment, but Mike—Mike is a miracle to me. I can’t begin to describe how I feel about him. I know infatuation, I know lust, and the passion of new love, but beyond that, there’s Mike. He’s a man, but he doesn’t need to prove it. He loves and accepts me as I am. He’s sensitive without being overly sentimental, and more than anything, he’s the real thing. He’s open and honest and without artifice. I thought I knew what I wanted in a man, but I didn’t really know until I met Mike.”

“So you like him?” Lilly said with a deadpan delivery, as
all the women burst into laughter.

Chapter Twenty-One

Mike rounded on the Sanchez baby four times a day. He’d asked Lisa to put the stomach tube on suction to decompress the baby’s bowel. Afterward, he ordered intravenous feedings.

Repeated abdominal x-rays showed less intestinal distention, but the air in the wall of the intestines persisted.

“At least that’s not getting worse,” he said to Lisa.

When the phone rang at four a.m., and he wasn’t on call, Mike knew this was trouble.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” said Brad Rosin
, who was on call, “but I know how much you care about the Sanchez baby.”

“What’s happened?”

“She stopped breathing, her heart rate has fallen, and her temp’s up. I’m looking at her x-rays—it’s bad, buddy.”

“She’s perforated her intestine?”

“I see free air below both diaphragms. There’s no question.”

“I’ll call Matty Benson from Children’s Hospital. She’s got the best surgical hands in the area for operating on a baby. Try to keep the baby stable, Brad. I’m coming in.” He hesitated, and then asked, “Does Maria know?”

“I’m about to call her.”

Mike brushed his teeth, and washed his face. He threw on his clothes and raced to Brier.

As he approached the Emergency Room entrance, Matty Benson waved.

“I’m sure glad to see you, Matty. I think you’ll need to go in. She’s perforated.”

“Can I take a look
, first?” Matty said.

Matty was in her mid
-forties and was married with four kids. She’d been a gymnast in college and an alternate on the Olympic team. She’d maintained her athletic trim, and her small, but strong, hands had been an asset in operating on these tiny babies.

When the sliding doors of t
he ER whooshed open, the code blue alarm reverberated through the hallways. He turned to the ER nurse. “Yes, Mike. It’s in the NICU.”

Mike’s abdomen cramped as they raced up the stairs.

Nurses and technicians crowded the room. Brad stood over the incubator listening to Ella’s chest. “She back, Mike, but I don’t know for how long. Had to do some compressions and we finally got her back with adrenalin and dopamine.”

Mike turned to Matty
.

She was examining the abdominal x-ray images on the ER monitor.
“I’m going in.”

She dialed the operating room, and then turned to Mike. “They’ll be ready in ten minutes. Let’s get her down there.”

“I’m coming, too,” Mike said.

“You bet you are. I’m not doing this without you.”

“What about permission?” Matty asked.

“The mother should be here in a minute,” Brad said. “I’ll get the permit
, or we’ll have to operate without it.”

Mike,
two nurses, and the respiratory technician pushed the incubator out of the NICU toward the elevator, and to the basement. The tech manually breathed for the baby with an Ambu Bag.

When they arrived in the surgical suite, the staff directed them to operating room two. Matty and her surgical assistant stood before the white porcelain sinks
scrubbing up.

Mickey Katz, the anesthesiologist
, entered the room, his hair still disheveled from sleep. In moments, he had baby Sanchez asleep, and said to Matty, “Any time you’re ready.”

Matty made a midline abdominal incision through the baby’s paper-thin tissue
, and when she entered the peritoneal cavity, the room filled with the unmistakable stench of dead bowel.

“Shit,” Matty said, as she widened the incision and applied retractors to visualize the contents of the abdomen. “There it is,” she shouted. “It’s about four inches of the last part of the small intestine. The rest of the bowel looks okay. It’s got to come out. How’s she doing, Mickey?”

“She’s holding her own.”

“She’s on
dopamine,” Mike said. “I’m giving her blood. Do it, and get out fast, Matty.”

Twenty minutes later, the black segment of bowel sat in the stainless bowl. Matty placed rubber
drains into the abdominal cavity, and closed up the incision with tiny metal staples.

“Let’s get her back to NICU,” Mike said. “We’ll recover her
, there.”

Mike and Matty walked into the surgery waiting room.

Maria was asleep with her head on the lap of a Hispanic man in his twenties. He shifted as they entered the room. Maria was instantly awake. She stared at him with intense, dark eyes.

He looked around for a translator, and then said in his fractured Spanish, “
Toto esta bien
.”

The man rose and offered the doctors his hand. With a heavy accent, he said, “I’m Jose Sanchez, the baby’s father. I speak some English.”

“Ella made it through surgery,” Mike said. “Dr. Benson did a great job, but she had to remove a small part of the baby’s intestine. We think she’ll do well, but we won’t know for sure for another few days. Do you understand?”

“Si, Doctors,” he said
, shaking the doctors’ hands.

“I’ll ask one of our Spanish-speaking nurses to give you a report every few hours until the baby’s out of trouble.”

“Thank you,” Maria said with a heavy accent as she brought the doctor’s hands to her cheek.

Mike slept in the on-call room until nine a.m.

When he entered the NICU, Lisa said, “You don’t look so great,
Doctor.”

“Never mind me. How’s baby Sanchez?”

“She has a temp of 100 degrees, but otherwise, she’s stable. I see you had an exciting night.”

“A testimonial to good luck, Lisa. A few minutes more and most of her bowel would have died.”

“Maybe, Mike, but you made the diagnosis and started treatment. Remember what Pasteur said: ‘luck favors the mind that is prepared.’”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?”
He smiled.

Ella Sanchez gradually improved.

When Maria and Jose arrived to take
Ella home, the nurses dressed her in a pale pink teddy and bunny dress with matching booties, their gift to the Sanchez’s. Maria kissed the nurses, Jose shook everyone’s hand, and Mike again felt the warmth and satisfaction of his small role in this world.

Mike smiled and turned to Lisa. “This is what keeps me
in this business.”