Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [60]
“Yes, so we encourage you to take a break. Get something to eat. You need to keep up your strength—for Charlie’s sake,” Dr. Lee implored. And then after reassuring them once more, the doctors left Charles and Fran alone again.
Neither spoke. The silence was such that anyone passing by would’ve thought the room empty—except for the two frozen forms and the vestiges of temporary residence scattered about: newspapers, a coat and sweater, lipstick-smudged coffee cups and reading glasses.
A nurse finally directed them to Charlie’s room around midnight, when they made the decision that Charles would drive home and settle things there, bringing back a change of clothes for Fran. He trudged out to the dimly lit parking lot with a list of things to do, people to call, and various items to bring to the hospital. He hated the thought of not being there when Charlie was brought to his room, but nurses assured him Charlie would be so groggy that he’d be barely conscious.
Fran was sipping a cup of coffee when she heard voices just down the hall. She rubbed sleep-deprived eyes and ran a hand through disheveled hair, prepared herself as best she could. Aides and nurses pushed open the door. Wheeled in a tiny, pitiful form enveloped in a huge bed, swathed in bandages, hooked up to even more lines, wires, and machines than earlier. The shock of it all caused Fran to draw a quick breath.
Standing back, Fran could only peek at Charlie as she anxiously waited for the nurses to get the IV adjusted, blood pressure pump and heart monitor readouts set up, and begin preparing to elevate Charlie’s leg. The stump, Fran thought to herself. Tears threatened again but she willed them away.
The nurses were so busy at first they largely ignored her. Finally acknowledging Fran’s presence, they began coaching her. “His IV bag is nearly empty,” the nurse pointed out. Her words were clipped, movements efficient. “When it’s empty, it will start beeping, this button flashing. Here’s Charlie’s call button to the nurses’ station. Let us know when that happens by pressing it. Got it?”
In Fran’s grogginess, she concentrated hard to take it all in. “I think so.”
“Normally we’d be teaching Charlie about this, but he’s pretty much out of it still. I’m hoping he’ll sleep fairly well till morning, though we’ll need to keep taking his vitals throughout the night.”
The nurse continued adjusting various lines, a catheter bag, and the sling system which held up his stump.
“Before I leave tomorrow morning, I’ll show you the pressure garment. You’ll need to know how to remove it yourself before Charlie can leave the hospital. Then you’ll have to clean the wound and reapply the wrapping.”
Fran nodded at her, suddenly overwhelmed by it all. I haven’t yet absorbed the fact that my son’s had an amputation, she thought frantically. How can I remember all these steps?
“If he should wake and complain about pain, call us right away. Okay, I think that’s it for now.” Her pocket’s contents—pens, hemostat scissors, other unknown small items—made a unique clicking sound as she hurriedly walked back down the hall toward the nurses’ station.
Fran looked down and saw Charlie’s eyes staring into hers.
“Mom?” His pupils were dilated, hazy. She watched them grow smaller as he focused on her face.
She searched for his hand, taking it gently between her own, mindful of the attached IV. Forced a reassuring smile. “Oh, love. How are you?”
“Leg hurts.”
“The nurse just left, but I’ll get her back here immediately.”
His eyelids were already getting heavy, closing slowly. Fluttering back open as he struggled to stay awake before closing again. “Nah, don’t bother. I think I’m gonna …” he yawned, slurring his words now, “just go back to sleep.” He smiled, mumbling just before he nodded off, “Whatever. They’re givin’ me. Good stuff.”
Fran reached up to smooth back the curls from his forehead, luxuriating in the very feel of him … his skin, hair, hands. She traced the small scar on the back of his hand with her thumb—a reminder of Bradley’s puppyhood and his razor-sharp