Alex spent every spare moment at Allegheny General Hospital, whether it was sitting next to Portia’s bed, watching the newborn baby in the nursery, or sleeping in the waiting room. The waiting room was large and airy. Crowds of visitors murmured day and night. The low light from the fluorescent bulbs cast the room in a hazy blue glow although it was just after noon. Even when Alex draped a magazine over his face, it hardly helped him get any good sleep. The chairs were, at least, comfortable and well padded.
Alex was curled in a chair when Mr. Gatteau woke him from sleep.
“How’s Portia?”
“She’s good. The baby’s good, too. Every day it’s gotten stronger and stronger. The NICU pediatrician says it’s coming along just fine, but they’re worried about his respiratory system.”
“What’s wrong?”
“He isn’t producing enough enzymes. Fluid keeps getting into the lungs and they’re having trouble keeping the lungs inflated.”
“Will he need surgery?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe just respirators.”
“Let’s go visit him.”
Alex walked with his father to the baby’s room. He stood outside while Mr. Gatteau went inside. The old man stood over the crib and leaned his hand over the baby. His hand was as big as the baby’s body and his finger almost as big as the frail baby’s arm. As he did, the baby shifted about and clenched one of its grandpa’s fingers. The tiny hand pulled Mr. Gatteau’s finger gently towards it’s mouth.
The smell of stale cigarette smoke wafted over the infant’s face. The baby sneezed and Mr. Gatteau pulled away. This smell was one the infant already knew and loved. He recognized his grandfather like a dog knew its owner.
“Look at you, little big man, tugging on my finger. You’re gonna do just fine. You’re a fighter, like Uncle Alex or me; never one to be counted out.”
The baby smiled at grandpa, gurgling up a bubble of spit. Mr. Gatteau grabbed the infant’s pajama sleeve and wiped it away. After ten or so minutes more, Mr. Gatteau went with Alex to Portia’s room. She was doing fine, too.
Mr. Gatteau and Alex sat beside Portia, who still slept. They sat silently and flipped through magazines as they waited for her to wake.
Through all of Portia’s drama, Phoebe got lost in the shuffle. She’d spent the day waiting, too. She sat on the cold hard benches of a criminal courtroom, waiting for her turn in front of the judge. She sat with Tracie and the on the second pew. As the judge heard another case, her court-appointed attorney returned from the bailiff’s bench and crouched beside her.
“We’ll be next. Are you ready?”
Phoebe nodded.
“Don’t be nervous. This is all commonplace. Just plead guilty and we’ll be done with this in no time.”
After the judge fined the defendant, the bailiff called Phoebe to the stand.
“Miss Phoebe Gatteau, you are charged with solicitation and practicing massage without a license. How do you plead?”
“Uh…no contest.”
Her attorney cleared his throat.
“Your honor, may I have a word with my client?”
“Yes, of course.”
The attorney approached the witness stand and whispered in Phoebe’s ear.
“But I want to plead my case.”
“You take a big risk if you don’t plead guilty.”
“But there are circumstances.”
“You cannot take this risk.”
“It’s my life, not yours.”
Her attorney stared her down for a second and then relented.
“Alright, but I’m telling you the best way to go.”
“I know. Let me do it my way.”
The defense attorney turned and went to his seat.
“Miss Gatteau, how do you plead?”
“No contest, your honor.”
“You do understand that…”
“I do, your honor, I do.”
“Alright, state your case.”
The judge propped his chin upon his hand and stared at Phoebe. There was a look upon his face as if to say, “You’re jumping into shark-infested waters, little girl.”
“I didn’t really,” she stammered, “I didn’t. I just don’t get the difference in stripping off my clothes in a club or doing it in a hotel room. I’m getting paid to sell my body either way.”
The judge nodded.
“I think it should be legal anyhow.”
The judge glanced towards defending council.
“Your honor…” he pleaded.
The judge nodded and the defense attorney approached Phoebe.
“You can’t do this. You’re hanging yourself.”
Phoebe exhaled, loudly and fully.
“Don’t do it.”
Phoebe sat there for a moment and thought. Then, she nodded and shooed the attorney back to his seat.
“Your honor, I just…”
Hot, warm tears ran down Phoebe’s cheeks. Her lips quivered as she tried to compose herself. Instead, she sat there, alone on the stand, facing a courtroom full of strange faces.
“Bailiff, get her some tissue.”
The bailiff snatched a pair of Kleenex from his desk and handed them to Phoebe. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. She gripped the wad of Kleenex in her hand, unable to speak.
“Miss Gatteau,” said the Judge.
Phoebe nodded her head nervously.
“Phoebe…this is your first offense and by the looks of your records, you’re barely eighteen. You’ve experienced very little of what the world has to offer you, yet you’re grabbing it by the horns. That’s dangerous business. These offenses are going to haunt you for the remainder of you life. I could easily put you into jail, but honestly, what would that do? Instead, I’m going to put you on a different track. I’m fining you $500 and I’m charging you with 40 hours of community service and putting you in touch with my bailiff to see if we can find a suitable punishment for your offenses. I still have to charge you with an offense. I’ll dismiss the solicitation charge, but I find you guilty of practicing massage without a license. That way, you can get it expunged down the road.”
Phoebe sat there in shock, unable to completely absorb it all.
“Miss Gatteau,” added the judge, “that’s all. After you see the bailiff and pay your fine, you’re free to go.”
After Tracie paid Phoebe’s fine, Phoebe dropped Tracie at the strip club and went to her parent’s house. Mrs. Gatteau was busy in the kitchen cooking a shepherd’s pie.
“What is this for?”
“It’s for Portia.”
“She can’t eat this.”
“It’s for Alex and your father, then.”
“What about me?”
“What about you?”
“Sometimes I need attention, too.”
“Your twin sister’s in the hospital with her brand new baby and you’re worried about yourself?”
“But…”
Phoebe’s secret life was at odds with her greed and ego. Then again, it was greed and ego that put her in this position in the first place. Phoebe, who tried to remain humble, was not selfless. She grabbed a piece of shepherd’s pie soon after it came out of the oven. She did, however, go with her mom to the hospital.
“Where could they be? Text your brother.”
“I already did. They’re in Portia’s room.”
“Let’s go visit the baby.”
They went to the nursery and when Phoebe wasn’t allowed in, Mrs. Gatteau made a scene.
“But this is the baby’s aunt.”
“Rules are rules, ma’am.”
“My son goes in all the time.”
“He looks in through the observation window.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Go ahead, mom, it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay…”
All the commotion caught Alex’s attention. He came to the nurse’s rescue.
“It’s for the safety of the baby.”
“I see all kinds of filthy people in there. They should be looking our for them.”
“Mom…”
Phoebe and Alex went to waiting room while Mrs. Gatteau looked over her grandchild and then her daughter, recounting all the ‘silly rules’ of the hospital. After she had her chance to vent, Portia’s parents and siblings switched places. Portia was more than happy for that.
“Hey, sis, how are you?” asked Phoebe.
“I’m fine. What about you? How’d it go?”
“At court, you mean? I’m here, ain’t I?”
Phoebe bent over and hugged her little sister tightly.
“Ooh, be gentle.”
“Sorry, sis.”
“The muscles in my belly are still sore where they cut me open.”
Phoebe gently placed her hand on Portia’s abdomen, tracing the stitches across her belly.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not too much. I should be out of the hospital by the end of the week.”
“That’s good. I can’t wait to have you home.”
“Me either,” said Alex, “I need someone to cook and clean around the house.”
“Jeez.”
“Just kidding. I’m sure it’s my turn to wait on you.”
“Have you seen Darren?” Portia asked her brother.
“Not since you saw him.”
“Tell him he needs to pay me a visit.”
“Sure thing, sis.”
Alex and the parents cleared out as Phoebe decided to stay with Portia until visiting hours ended. They sat and watched television, although Phoebe flipped the remote between Fashion TV and talent competitions. She offered hr cricisms while Portia just listened.
“How are you doing?” Portia asked.
“I’m fine, why?”
“You never spend any time with me unless there’s something wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” said Phoebe. She flipped through the channels impatiently before setting the remote squarely on the mattress beside Portia.
“I really like what I’m doing.”
“And?”
“It’s not something I could do all my life.”
“Then go to a music college.”
“Oh, God, Portia, it’s not that easy.”
“Nothing worthwhile is easy.”
“It never is,” sighed Phoebe.
“Just try one class. What do you have to lose?”
“I’m not you, Portia.”
Portia and Phoebe sat in silence for a little while longer, Phoebe flipping through channels and Portia waiting for visiting time to be over. When it was, Phoebe kissed her on the cheek.
“Thanks for staying with me.”
“No problem, sis. Thanks for listening.”
Portia, however, didn’t know what that meant. Phoebe’s biggest flaw had always been patience. Whatever she wanted, she wanted now. Unfortunately, since she was their mother’s favorite daughter, she usually got it. That spoiled Phoebe and unlike a rotten apple, she could not be thrown out of the family.
Portia sat alone in her room, periodically disturbed by each shift nurse for the usual run of meals, blood pressure, and all the other spot checks.
“How are you feeling?” said the night nurse.
“Fine, I suppose. A little tied and light-headed.”
“How light-headed?”
“Nothing much. Just my family getting on my nerves.”
The nurse placed the cuff around her arm and took her blood pressure.
“A little high, but not too bad. I’ll come check it at the end of my shift, okay?”
Portia nodded.
“Would you like a glass of milk?”
“That would be great.”
Portia ate her Jell-o first and saved the meatloaf for last, eating it with a glass of ice water. She gulped down the milk as soon as the nurse returned with it and laid her head back on the pillow.
“Do you need anything else?”
Portia shook her head and the nurse left.
Fashion TV still played on the television. Portia fetched the remote from beneath her leg and turned it off. The only noises were from down the hall. Portia shuffled to the door and closed it. A few minutes later, the nurse came by and opened it again. Portia was too tired to get up, so she left it as-is.
The shift nurse returned at the break of day and woke Portia.
“Let me get your vitals again,” she said.
Portia moved in her mattress, attempting to sit up. When she did, a searing pain went through her hip.
“Ohhhhh…” she grunted.
“What’s the…”
A hot spew of blood and vomit, red and brown, shot out from Portia’s mouth. The nurse grabbed Portia with one arm and tagged the emergency signal with the other. A group of orderlies and nurses rushed into the room.
“Get the attendant,” said the nurse.
The orderly fetched the overnight doctor. The morning doctor came, too.
“Hold still,” said the nurse. She put a rubber glove on and probed a finger through Portia’s mouth, cleaning it out. Meanwhile, another nurse placed the cuff on Portia’s left wrist while one of the doctors checked her pulse.
“Her blood pressure is 100 over 50. Her pulse is 95, and her pulse/ox is 90%.”
He lifted the blanket. Blood pooled between her legs.
“It looks like postpartum hemorrhaging. I need someone to call the phlebotomist and someone else needs to massage her abdomen.”
“Am I okay?” Portia asked.
“We’re working on that. You’re very lucky that this happened at a shift change and not in the middle of the night. We’ve got all hands on deck for you.”
“Just relax,” said the night nurse.
She started two IVs for Portia; one for saline drip and one to administer Oxytocin to help Portia’s uterus continue to contract and stop its bleeding. The nurse also set the stirrups to gently raise Portia’s legs. She pressed gently on Portia’s abdomen, rubbing it in tiny circles. The massaging pressure would also help Portia’s uterus heal.
“Someone call my brother,” said Portia.
“I’ll contact him for you after we get everything stabilized.”
“Thank you so much.”
Portia’s pains continued as the doctors and nurses got struggled to get the bleeding under control. Meanwhile, Alex was aroused from sleep by the nurse’s call.
“Alex? This is Jeannie, Portia’s overnight nurse.”
“Is Portia okay?”
“She had some blood loss last night, but she’s doing better. She wanted me to call you.”
“Should I come in?”
“I think it would be good for her.”
By the time Alex arrived at the hospital, things had been taken care of; Portia’s pulse and pressure were back to normal. Blood samples came back negative and proper clotting was taking place. They continued the two IV lines and kept her feet elevate to control blood flow.
“How are you doing?”
“I’m alright now.”
“THe nurse made it sound like you were in danger.”
“I guess I was. My uterus is having trouble healing, from Marcus’ attack and the pregnancy, too. They say I should heal quickly, though.”
“Good,” said Alex.
He wiped his hand over her forehead and then gave her a cold compress. He also held her hand while they waited for the attending physician to stop and talk with Alex.
“We had a little scare this morning, but everything should be alright. We’re replacing the liquids and we’ve given her Oxytocin for the hemorrhaging. A few more days of that and she should be alright.”
“You’ve been great, doc,” said Alex.
“Nah, it’s Portia who’s been great. She’s a real super trooper.”
“She sure is.”
“Portia, just relax and get plenty of food, liquids, and bed rest, okay?”
Portia nodded.
“I’ll see you in a bit.”
The doctor left them alone. Alex reached over and hugged his sister. A little later, the nurse came in and showed Alex how to massage Portia’s abdomen, applying the gentle yet firm pressure that would help her uterus heal.
Alex also looked in on the baby and the baby stared at Alex in return. Alex knew it probably could not yet see him, but it was good to think he already recognized his uncle. Alex took great solace in that thought as he returned to his sister’s room and held her hand. It was almost as good being an Uncle as it was being a father.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment