The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [25]
Huttner gave the kind of shrug that said, “Nothing worse than other things we’ve dealt with, right?”
David tried to respond, but could manage only a shake of his head. He had seen sores and wounds countless times from every conceivable source. But this …
“It’s Dr. Huttner, Charlotte,” Huttner announced as he flicked off the lamp and turned on the dim fluorescent light set in a cornice over her bed. He drew the sheet up above her waist and stepped to the other side of the bed. David followed, glancing at the I.V. bags and the restraints that held her on her side, at the urinary catheter snaking from beneath the sheet, at the oxygen and suction tubes. He understood the need for them and accepted their presence without a second thought. They were all as much tools of his trade as were the giant saucer lights and variegated steel instruments of the operating room.
However, in those first few seconds the one thing he noticed most about Mrs. Thomas was the emptiness in her face—a static soulless aura centering about her eyes, which were watching him through the dim light with a moist flatness. Even the sound of her breathing—soft, rhythmic cries—was empty.
Charlotte Thomas had The Look, as David had come to label it. She had lost the will to live, lost that extra bit of energy essential to surviving a life-threatening illness. The spark that was often the single difference between a medical miracle and a mortality statistic was gone.
David wondered if Huttner saw the same things he did, felt the same emptiness. Then, as if in answer to his question, the tall surgeon knelt by the bed, slipping his hand under Charlotte’s head and cradling it to one side so that she could look directly at his face. For nearly a minute they remained that way, doctor and patient frozen in a silent tableau. David stood several feet away, swallowing against the heaviness that was building in his throat. Huttner’s tenderness was as genuine as it was surprising—another facet had shown itself in this strange kaleidoscope of a man.
“Not exactly feeling on top of the world, huh?” Huttner said finally.
Charlotte forced her lips together—an unsuccessful attempt at a smile—and shook her head. Huttner smoothed the hair from her forehead and ran his hand over her cheek.
“Well, your temperature is down near normal today for the first time in a while. I think we might be getting on top of that infection in your chest.” He went on, carefully mixing encouraging news with questions that he knew would be answered negatively. “Is the pain in your back any less?” Another shake. “Well, if things settle down the way I expect them to, we should be able to get that tube out of your nose in a day or two. I know what an annoyance it is. While I have you rolled over like this, let me take a listen to your chest, then I’ll put you on your back and see if there ate any new noises in your belly.”
He examined her briefly, then glanced at the fluid levels in the intravenous bags and catheter drainage cylinder before kneeling beside her again. “You’re going to make it, Charlotte. You must believe that,” he said with gentle intensity.
This time Charlotte did manage a rueful smile to accompany her negative response.
“Please, just be patient, have faith and hang on a little longer,” Huttner implored. “I know the pain you’re going through. In many ways it’s as awful for me as it is for you. But I also know that bit by bit you’re turning the corner. Before you know it, you’ll be putting on lipstick and getting ready to see those beautiful grandchildren you’ve told me so much about.” He paused. In the silence David studied the man’s face. His brows were drawn inward, his jaw taut as a bow string. He seemed to be trying, through sheer will, to transfuse the energy of his words and hope. The woman showed no reaction. “My goodness, I almost forgot,” Huttner said at last. “Charlotte, you are in for a treat. I know how tired