Trapped (19 page)

Part II

Chapter Thirty-Five (Weeks 1-6)

Lisa had dipped the tip of the pregnancy test strip into her urine, and had stared at the device. In a dreamlike state, she watched as the little gray window read ‘pregnant’
.
When she repeated the test, and again the result insisted that she was pregnant, Lisa felt so weak that she needed to grasp the edge of the bathtub and ease herself down.

All that time, all that suffering and disappointment, and now with Mike near death, I’m pregnant
.

Phoebe rushed over. When Lisa threw open the door, Phoebe embraced her so hard
, she could barely breathe. When Lisa groaned, Phoebe said, “Oh, I’d better be careful.”

They walked into the kitchen
, where Lisa brewed a pot of coffee.

As they sat across from each other, Phoebe said, “So, say something.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Phoebe stared at the friend she knew s
o well. “I’m trying to read your expressionless face.” She smiled at Lisa. “C’mon, it’s me, Lisa. Don’t hold back, now”
.

When Phoebe cocked her head in a questioning gesture, Lisa burst out laughing. Phoebe joined her
, and said, “You know perfectly well what I want you to say.”

“I feel like Alice in Wonderland. I don’t know how I got here
, or where I’m going.” Lisa wrapped her arms around her abdomen. “We want this baby. It is to be a part of us, to share in the essence of our love. It’s supposed to be for us, not for me, alone.”

“You’re happy about this baby, right?”

“Happy? I’m overjoyed. It’s Mike. He’s part of me, and if I’m not to have him, above all else, I want his baby.”

By the end of Mike’s first week in ICU, Lisa and the staff had reached a point of equilibrium. Frenzied uneasiness had settled into watchful waiting. One agony replaced another.

Although Mike had minor problems with IVs, tubes
, and maintaining nutritional support, they banked each day without a major complication like a lay away deposit—the payoff, if there was to be one, lay ahead in an uncertain future.

“You’re going to be a
daddy,” Lisa said to Mike’s expressionless face. The nurses taping his eyelids closed for the protection of his corneas only made the situation feel more ominous. “This baby is the miracle we prayed for. Is it too much to ask for another?”

Lisa, Nora, Mike’s sisters, Phoebe, and several NICU nurses had implemented the full
coma arousal program. Someone was usually at his bedside as they challenged Mike’s five senses. They used flashing lights, strong perfumes, drops of vinegar or mustard on his tongue, and vigorous massage. When they weren’t talking to Mike, earphones played his favorite music, and intermittently blasted the shocking sound of banging two saucepans together in an attempt to elicit the startle response.

Carter Reynolds
assessed Mike’s condition each morning by shaking his head. He was so phlegmatic that Lisa wanted to punch him out. “We’re doing everything possible.” His expression of hopelessness said more than his words.

By contrast, Julie Kramer had something encouraging
to say each day. She was like a mother who finds some way to magnify the smallest success of her child. Her approach wasn’t planned, Lisa recognized, it was the essence of Julie’s personality.

Phoebe and Lisa sat in Dr. Harvey Russo’s crowded waiting room.

This must be his obstetrical office hours
,
Lisa thought as she scanned the pregnant bellies that ranged from imperceptible to inescapable. Some abdomens were so enormous that the mother-to-be was merely an appendage.

Staring at one uncomfortable young woman who looked like she could almost place her chin on her abdomen, Lisa said, “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

They’d painted the waiting room walls pale blue, and decorated it with baby and pregnancy photography. Newborn and first-year baby photographs in bright colors lent warmth to the space, while stark high-contrast black and white photographs elicited a sense of uneasiness.

Phoebe pointed to one black and white photograph of a naked woman at term. “I guess that’s
what they call feminist art. To me, it's an angry version of Demi Moore’s cover of
Vanity Fair.
To tell you the truth, Lisa, I can do without the hostile imagery.”

Lisa noticed that the office chose oversize wooden
arm chairs in the waiting room, a deliberate concession to women late in their pregnancies.

About half the women had men accompanying them. Some
men were comfortable, while others looked like caged animals.

Oh, how I want Mike here with me
, Lisa thought.

A woman in her early twenties sat next to them. She looked fifty weeks pregnant. “I’m going to burst,” she said, “if I don’t have this baby soon. I can barely move.”

When they called her name, the woman struggled, but couldn’t get up. Lisa remembered her body mechanics class in nursing school and came to the rescue. They watched as she lumbered into Dr. Russo’s office.

Woman after woman waddled into the inner office
, and, finally, the receptionist said, “Lisa Cooper, you’re next.”

The nurse weighed Lisa
, took her blood pressure, pulse, and got a sample of urine for examination.

When Harvey Russo finally entered the examining room, he hugged Lisa
, and smiled. “I’m so pleased. There’s only one thing that could make things better…”

Lisa looked down, her eyes filling.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. This feels like a miracle to me. I thought you’d…”

“No, Harvey, it’s me, and you’re right, this is a miracle
. I’m beside myself with joy.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired and nauseated, but otherwise fine.”

“Your blood pressure’s normal
, as is your urinalysis. Everything’s routine. Let’s keep it that way.”

Harvey ordered some prenatal vitamins
, and had Lisa make an appointment for one month.

The news of Lisa’s pregnancy thrilled Sandy, her mother. “I’m going to be a grandmother. I’m so happy for you. How are you feeling, and is there anything I can do?”

“I’m fine,
Mother, just tired.”

“I want to be there for your delivery
, if it’s okay with you.”

“Of course.”

“If you’d like, I’ll stay with you for a few weeks after the baby comes.”

“That would be great
, too.”

This time, Lisa did not hesitate to make the call to Nora. “It’s Lisa.”

“Oh, I was thinking about you. I’m meeting the girls to celebrate my birthday Friday.” She lowered her voice
, and said, “I thought a celebration was inappropriate with Mike so sick, but they insisted. Can you make it?”

“Of course,” Lisa
said, and then she hesitated for a moment, and asked, “Are you sitting?”

Alarmed, Nora said, “Is everything okay?”

“Nora, it’s a miracle…”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m pregnant!”

After a moment of silence,
Nora wept.

“Nora
—Nora, are you okay?”

“I’m so happy
. Ecstatic. This will blow the girls away. How far along are you?”

“Six or seven weeks. The obstetrician says everything looks good.”

The line remained silent for a moment, and then Nora said, “If only Mike…”

“I know,” Lisa
said. “I know.”

Six months after the Edna-Sue Jones fiasco, as Harvey Russo entered his office, his secretary held up a thick envelope. “I hope I didn’t make a mistake by signing for it.”

Harvey looked at the registered letter and felt his stomach turn. The letter carried the return address for Richard Boardman, Attorney at Law.

No good deed goes unpunished,
Harvey thought as he read the document. It was the typical notice of intention to enter into litigation against: Harvey Russo, Kirby Dornan, Mike Cooper, Ernie Paul, Brier Hospital, and one hundred unnamed individuals. The allegations: performance of an inappropriate and unnecessary hysterectomy, and multiple acts of negligence against Edna-Sue Jones and Baby Boy Jones. The plaintiff sought actual damages, punitive damages, and lifelong support for the disabilities of Baby Boy Jones.

The next step in litigation was equally unpleasant, as three agents for the plaintiff invaded Harvey’s office with a subpoena for Edna-Sue’s medical records.

Harvey and the staff watched in disbelief as they pulled her charts, x-rays, and laboratory records for the copy machine they
had brought with them.

As they rummaged through the patient files, Harvey grasped the drawer
, and shoved it closed. The agent barely missed a set of crushed fingers. “Don’t touch those records. That’s privileged information.”

“We have a ri
ght to all of Ms. Jones’ records, Doctor. It’s a crime to withhold any such information.”

“You’ve copied every record in our possession; now get the fuck out of here.”

Harvey couldn’t blame his partners for being upset at the threat of litigation. Malpractice suits were a pain in the ass. Skillful trial lawyers easily manipulated medically naive juries in malpractice cases to sympathize with the alleged victims, and ignore whether or not the physician had done anything wrong.

“I told you,” Kirby Dornan said, “that these Medi-Cal cases are nothing, but trouble.”

“Maybe so,” Harvey
said, “but I didn’t hide the fact that this practice accepted these patients when you joined me.”

Turning to the other junior partners, Kirby said, “That’s true, Harvey, but we’ve been here long enough to have a big stake in what happens to the practice. We’ve talked about it. Hear us out.”

“Go ahead.”

“You’re a great guy, Harvey, and a compassionate one
, too. That’s part of what drew us to join the practice.”

“Thanks, guys. I’m waiting for
the ‘but’.”

“We get paid shit from Medi-Cal. We could live with that as part of our obligation to some form of public service, but look what comes along with the package. Obviously, this doesn’t apply to all patients, but it does to enough, so it matters. These patients are more demanding, less appreciative, less likely to follow treatment
recommendations, and, as we’ve seen, more likely to sue. We’ve had enough of it, Harvey.”

“You think I don’t understand?” Harvey
said. “I’ve been doing Medi-Cal for years. I know the problems, the drug addicts, the alcoholics, and the many HIV cases, and I agree with what you’ve said, but, if practices like ours don’t accept some Medi-Cal patients, who will? Take some time to look at the county prenatal care programs of the Medi-Cal ‘mills’ where they push through patients like cattle.”

“Harvey, you need to think on this. We’re not happy.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Kirby, but I’m not here to make you happy. I don’t have that many years left in me. After I’m gone, you guys can do anything you want with the practice.”

Chapter Thirty-Six (Weeks 1-6)

How long can this go on?
Lisa thought as Mike entered his third week in the ICU.
Each day has become a mirror image of the day before.

Carter Reynolds showed his first signs of humanity through his own frustration with the same questions. He said something that brought as much hope as despair. “I want to find a way to say something positive, but I won’t sacrifice my credibility. You need to trust me as we go along in treating Mike.”

“I understand,” Lisa said.

“Traumatic Brain I
njuries (TBI) resulting in coma offers the greatest chance of recovery when compared with other causes of brain damage. The problem is that it takes time, many months, or even up to a year, to be sure.”

“A year?” Lisa
asked. “We may not know for a year?”

“It’s possible, although the longer this goes on, the poorer the outcome.”

Lisa helped most mornings with Mike’s care. After Phoebe took his vital signs and assessed his neurological status, Lisa bathed Mike, scrubbing him vigorously, as she told him about her day
, and shared an edited version of her thoughts. Afterward, she helped Phoebe change his hospital gown and the linens.

Eyes are iconic of life, the entry to the soul
, and a reflection of our emotions. While Lisa managed to ignore the tubes, the drains, the IVs, and even his coma, she could not abide his eyes. The first time, and every time the nurse removed the tape over Mike’s lids to check his eyes and apply lubricants to protect his cornea, Lisa shuddered with their lifelessness.

Lisa stood across from Phoebe
as they completed the change of linen.

“I talked with Eileen Baker,” Lisa
said. “I’m going to take a shift in the NICU from time to time.”

“I can’t believe she asked you to do that.”

“She didn’t ask. I volunteered. I know we’re doing a lot with Mike, but I’m going stir-crazy. I need a break—a diversion—or I won’t be any good for Mike, the baby, or myself. I’m here seven days a week.” She paused. “It’s time I made myself useful.”

“Just don’t overdo it.”

Lisa was right. She felt an enormous sense of relief when she returned to work. The pace of NICU didn’t allow much time to dwell on Mike
, or her future. She discovered that when she returned to Mike’s bedside after working she felt more energized than ever.

Away from the hospital, Phoebe managed to strike a balance, allowing Lisa the reflections of her private moments, maintaining her commitment to their efforts on Mike’s behalf, and driving Lisa to deal with this new phase of her life.

Dwayne Keeler, the respiratory therapist assigned to the day shift in NICU, had hit on Lisa when she first arrived at Brier. A good-looking man, he had started with slight touches, pats on the arm, and then moved to, “I give great neck and shoulder massages.”

His coarse off-color jokes made Lisa wince, and finally, she
had said, “You appear to be a nice guy, Dwayne, but I’m not interested.”

When he walked away and
muttered “bitch” under his breath, Lisa had followed him outside.

“
If you come near me, or if I hear that word again, you’re going to lose your job. Be smart, Mr. Keeler, you work with women. Remember who runs this unit.”

Later that day, Lisa discussed Dwayne with Sharon Bridges.

“He’s a great tech,” Sharon said. “I’d hate to lose him.”

“I’m not asking you to do anything right now, but I wanted you to know what was going on.”

When Lisa mentioned Dwayne to Phoebe, she said, “I know the type. Keep away from him.”

Lisa
had gone through a week of Dwayne’s sneers counterpoised against ultra-formal courtesy—an adolescent game—but when she and Mike had gotten together, he had lost interest.

The phone calls began a week after Lisa returned to work. The first time he called, it was heavy breathing. Lisa laughed at first, and then said, “Cut it out, Phoebe, it’s not funny.” Then came the electronically distorted voice spewing obscenities. When Lisa realized what was happening, she slammed down the phone, held herself, and shivered.

After the third call, Lisa notified the phone company
, and they connected her to the annoyance desk.

“Notify the police, so it’s on the record,” the clerk
said. “We’ll set up a trap to see if we can nail him.”

After another call, the phone company called, “It’s a disposable cell phone. There’s no way we can trace it. We’re assigning you a new number.”

Dwayne approached to adjust the respirator on one of Lisa’s preemies. “I was so sorry to hear about Dr. Cooper.”

“Thanks, Mr. Keeler.”

“Please
, call me Dwayne.”

“Listen, Dwayne, I don’t…”

“Don’t say it, Lisa. I was a jerk. That was a bad time for me. I’d separated from someone I’d been with for three years, and I was angry. Let me apologize.”

Leery at first, Lisa noted that Dwayne found excuses for lingering with her and her babies. No subtlety there, she thought.

The next day when he entered the NICU, Lisa said, “Come into the nurse’s lounge, Dwayne.”

Fortunately
, the room was empty. Lisa pulled out a chair and sat, indicating that Dwayne should sit across the table.

“Let me make this as clear as possible, Dwayne. I’m not interested in having anything but a professional relationship with you…”

“Wait just a minute…”

“No, you wait. You’re a good tech, Dwayne, and we’d hate to lose you, but that’s what’s going to happen if you keep this up.”

He reddened, and then suddenly stood, violently throwing his chair against the wall. He stared icy hatred at Lisa, and left the room.

When Lisa explained what had happened, Sharon Bridges said, “That
’s it. He’s got to go.”

As Lisa prepared to leave for the day, she looked at Mike, ran her hand over his cheek, and kissed him on the lips. She grabbed her purse, and then left the ICU for the parking garage and home. It had been another frustrating day. She searched the second floor of the darkened parking garage for Phoebe’s car. Lisa’s car was in the shop, and Phoebe had agreed to drive her to pick it up. After walking to the far end, she saw the red Celica convertible, and smiled. A Phoebe car for sure, she thought.

Lisa walked to the wall
, and looked down at the plaza entrance to the garage, waiting for Phoebe to appear.

When Lisa heard the sound of footsteps approaching, she said, “It’s about time, Phoebe…” but when she turned, Dwayne Keeler stood twenty feet away.

“Oh, you frightened me, Dwayne. I didn’t see you.”

“Don’t give me that Dwayne shit, you bitch. You cost me my job.”

Lisa felt her legs weaken, and her mind transformed the images of Dwayne into Rudy, her father.

“Don’t do anything that will make things worse, Dwayne. If anything happens to me, you’re number one on the list.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he yelled as he approached.

Lisa scanned the area for a route of escape, but he’d trapped her between Phoebe’s car and the wall.

“I’ll scream,” she chirped, barely able to get the words out.

“Go right ahead.”

From behind Dwayne came a strong voice. “What the hell’s going on here?”

It was Phoebe in her scrubs, carrying an armful of books. “Is this the Dwayne creep you told me about
, Lisa?”

“Keep out of this, bitch, or you’ll get yours.”

Phoebe lowered her load onto the trunk of her car, and, in a soft voice, said, “I think you’d better leave while you can.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” he shouted as he approached Phoebe, who by now had assumed the fight stance with elbows at her side, and clenched fists up to her chin.

“You’re kidding,” he laughed, and then swung at Phoebe, who sidestepped, and delivered a left jab to Dwayne’s nose, which erupted in blood.

He grasped his nose, then looked at his bloody hand, and said, “I’ll kill you.” He rushed toward Phoebe, arms open to crush her.

Instead of retreating, Phoebe stepped inside his grasp, and delivered a right hand to Dwayne’s belly, sending him doubling over instantly.

Lisa looked into Phoebe’s eyes and knew what would come next. “Don’t
, Phoebe,” she shouted.

Phoebe’s eyes remained fixed on Dwayne, and when he stood and again approached her, she spun and delivered a roundhouse kick to a point below his ear. Dwayne Keeler’s head reeled back, suspended in space for a second, and then he collapsed to the cement floor with a sickening thud.

Lisa and Phoebe embraced.

“It’s incredible that you came in time,” Lisa
said.

“Yes,” said Phoebe, smiling. “And that really felt good.”