Go West Young Man

by Robbie Michaels

  We all gasped in shock at this bit of news. This doctor certainly was not sugarcoating his bad news, which I think we all appreciated.

  Derrick asked a question that I had been wondering about. “I was there too, in the same conditions. Why didn’t I get sick? Do I have some sort of immunity? Can we take blood from me, purify out some immune factor—I don’t have the words—and give it to Bill to help him get better?”

  The doctor gave Derrick a smile but shook his head. “I wish it worked that way, but unfortunately it doesn’t. And in terms of why you didn’t get sick, our best estimates are that only about one in five hundred infected people actually become ill.”

  “Why did Bill get sick?” I asked bluntly. “Why him? Why now? Hasn’t he been through enough?” And I was losing it but did my damnedest to pull myself together to hear everything he had to say.

  “What about specialists?” Moira asked. “I’ll pay to bring anybody in from anywhere. No expense is too much to make him better. If you know of someone who might have a shot at helping, get them on a plane ten minutes ago.”

  “You’re thinking along the same lines that I have been. But we don’t need to bring people in, because we’ve got some of the world experts on these diseases right here in Los Angeles. And in fact, you have three of them here in this room at the moment.” He introduced us to the three people he had with him, who until that time had been quiet. One was a neurologist and two were infectious disease experts.

  “I also have calls in to several additional people who might be able to give us some help, and as soon as I can reach them I’ll have them in here as well. We’re assembling the best possible team we can to deal with this case.”

  My turn to ask another question. “When will we know if he’s in the twenty percent, the fifty percent, or the other group? And what additional steps can be taken if he starts to deteriorate?”

  “You all have great questions. Sometimes in these cases the person develops difficulty breathing. If that happens we’ll start controlled ventilation, which is just what it sounds like: we’ll use a machine to do what his body is not able to do. We’ll have a device that will pump air into his lungs in case he isn’t able to do so for himself.

  “There are a number of different drugs we can try to control swelling, and we can also physically alleviate pressure inside the cranium. But we’re not there yet.”

  Moira took Derrick’s hand in her own and grabbed my hand with her other, either to give us strength or to draw some strength from us, or maybe a bit of both. She looked at me and then at Derrick. “All right. We need to see him. And I think you should know that someone will be here, and I don’t want to hear anything about visiting hours. There is no way we’re leaving him alone right now.”

  “We understand. But please be assured that he is in no pain and is not aware of what is happening to him.”

  “Fine. But we are aware. Being sick involves more than just the patient.”

  He started to object but stopped. “You make a very reasonable point.”

  “If you know of any nurses that would like to earn some extra money, I’d like to hire some to be sure that there is a medical professional with him at all times.”

  “We’ll spread the word and see what we can do.”

  “And I’m obviously willing to help with that if my celebrity might help to open some doors and get people to agree. It’s brought me enough trouble lately. It’s about time it did something productive.”

  “Now if you could give us directions on where to go we would be most appreciative.”

  “We’ll all take you there,” he said, standing. When he opened the door we were all startled by a flurry of activity, including numerous flashes from cameras. Quite a crowd had gathered while we had been talking. Questions were shouted, but all three of us ignored them and followed the doctors. Hospital security did a good job of keeping the pack from following us. We were under no illusions that they wouldn’t find us very quickly.

  We took an elevator up several floors, were buzzed into a separate, isolated area labeled Intensive Care Unit and Critical Care Unit. Derrick was recognized immediately by numerous people who stopped what they were doing to follow where we were going. The doctors led us into Bill’s room. I think we all were surprised that he looked as good as he did. People have certain preconceived ideas about what happens in an ICU, but aside from two IVs and several monitors, he looked fairly normal.

  While we spoke to Bill, whether or not he could hear us, the doctors disappeared to start lining up the nursing help we had requested. They apparently had no problem getting people to volunteer, returning almost immediately with a nurse who introduced herself and told us she was just going off duty but could stay for a couple of hours if we wanted her to. Derrick poured on the charm, which seemed to help our cause. I just hoped she wouldn’t be so overwhelmed by his presence that she forgot about Bill.

  The rooms on this unit were significantly different than any I had seen before in other hospitals. In addition to a small sofa, there was also a recliner. Clearly, whoever designed these rooms knew that family and friends would want to be nearby while their loved one was in here. The rooms had been set up to accommodate not just the patient but their family as well. The rooms were large enough that hospital staff could come and go and interact with the patient without our being in the way.

  The nurse pulled a chair up to the side of Bill’s bed and sat, lifting his hand. She turned her back on us and simply sat, holding his hand, gently stroking his hand. I gave her huge points. Derrick’s celebrity was not at all the focus. Moira sat with us for a while before surprising us both. “Boys, I’m an old woman. I’m exhausted. I’m not going to be of any use to you if I don’t get some sleep. I’m going to go home and get some sleep and then come back and relieve you so that tomorrow morning you can go do the same. I think we’d make better use of our resources if we take shifts so that none of us get too exhausted to be of any use. Does that sound workable to you?”

  We nodded our consent and agreement. Before she left, she made sure that we each had our cell phones and that we had her cell phone number programmed into ours. She gave her number to the nurse in the room as well as the doctors and nurses outside. And then she was gone. Derrick took the recliner, and I took the sofa. Without intending to, we each fell asleep, rousing a little occasionally when someone came into the room to check vitals or to relieve the nurse.

  At about 4:00 a.m. we were both startled awake by some sort of medical alarm going off. It brought people running from all over, taking our room from quiet to suddenly full and active. We asked what was happening but were asked to step outside. It was at that point that I did lose it, completely, no questions asked. I lost it. I was bawling my eyes out and hugging Derrick. He was crying and held me tightly as well. It was not our finest moment by a long shot: startled awake, worried, emotional, frazzled.

  And wouldn’t you know it—there was a photographer that had somehow tracked us down and staked us out and took our pictures at our worst moment. We knew there was no escaping them, so we simply tried turning so that they could only see the backs of our heads. A little spitfire of a nurse came rushing at the photographer, chasing him away. When he didn’t move fast enough for her liking she grabbed a broom that someone had left nearby and started swinging it at him.

  The door to Bill’s room reopened, and people started filing out. Someone told us that it was a false alarm and that there was no problem—a wire had simply come loose, which set off the alarm. We heaved a huge sigh of relief, returning to the room to each grab one of Bill’s hands and tell him that he had just scared the crap out of us. We each gave him a kiss and then returned to our seats, although sleep didn’t come to either of us that time.

  Chapter 31

  After You Wait, Then You Wait Some More

  THE pattern of our next few days could be summed up simply in one word: waiting. We waited. We waited some more. And then we waited some more. Every hour the nurse
s moved him so that he didn’t develop any bedsores. Throughout each day someone drew more blood for testing. Every few hours he was examined both physically as well as neurologically. On the third day, they did another spinal tap. On the fourth day, he had a repeat MRI.

  On the evening of the fourth day, the primary doctor that we had been dealing with came in while Derrick, Moira, and I were all together in the room. He examined Bill and turned to us with a smile.

  “I think he might wake up soon. He’s had increasing signs of neurological responsiveness today.”

  We all looked at one another and cried. I know. You’d think with good news like that we’d all be jumping for joy. But the truth was that we were all exhausted and not at our emotional best. Moira and I had been there all weekend. Derrick had come in today to be there while Moira worked and I went to school. (She had insisted that I go.) Slatter had also come over and taken a turn so that we could all get out and get some rest. And most surprising of all, Derrick’s wife came over and took a turn as well. My opinion of her increased tremendously.

  And if you thought that Derrick’s presence produced a bit of excitement, well, let me tell you, when Derrick and his wife were there, it was a zoo. Photographers and videographers were absolutely everywhere leading into the ICU. I couldn’t see the need to take the same picture a thousand times, but clearly they felt the need. It was pointless to argue, so I didn’t even try.

  We had been about to do a changing of the guard, as it were, but with the doctor’s news we all decided to stay for a little while. I sat on the edge of Bill’s bed, held his hand, stroked his face, and at the doctor’s encouragement, talked to him. He had suggested that we start talking in a regular voice to Bill and occasionally ask him to wake up. So I did. Nothing happened, but every hour or so I tried again.

  When we had all about given up hope of there being any change that evening, Derrick decided that he needed to leave. He had, after all, been there for more than twelve hours, and twelve hours of doing nothing was very wearing—more than seemed possible, but it was. In many ways, it was like sitting on an airplane for twelve hours. Your skin felt dry. You couldn’t go anywhere. Your movements were severely restricted. And all you could do was wait.

  We were giving Derrick a hug and saying good-bye, when out of the blue we heard something. We all looked around, not really believing, but yes, we had heard Bill’s voice. He started moving his head a little and then repeated what he had said: “Mark.” He had said my name! I raced to his side, grabbed his hand, and practically shouted at him. “Bill! I’m here! We’re all here! Can you open your eyes, please! We want you to wake up now! Bill! Come on, wake up!” Moira said the same thing, and then Derrick said the same words.

  And finally, our days and days of waiting were over. Bill opened his eyes. He looked at us, looked around the room, and asked for some water. His mouth and throat must have been dry after so many days of no activity. He took a sip, and I put the water back. He looked at me and smiled. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself.”

  “Dorothy, the scarecrow, and the tin man.”

  “Good thing you didn’t call one of us the cowardly lion!” Derrick said.

  “Or Toto!” I added.

  “Never.”

  When Bill had first started to waken, Moira had started pushing the nurse call button. That plus having our own twenty-four-hour nurse on hand to run and get the doctor meant that we had a room full of people almost immediately.

  “Well, look who’s awake!” the doctor said. “About time, slacker.”

  “Who’s this?” Bill asked Moira.

  “Your doctor.”

  “Am I in a hospital?” he asked. Looking at the IVs in his arms, he said, “I guess so. Why am I in the hospital? Am I sick?”

  “You have been,” the doctor said, “but I think you’re out of the woods now.”

  “Good, I guess. Can I have some more water?”

  And just as quickly as it started, it was over, only this time he was asleep.

  Slowly but surely, Bill made progress. I stayed that first night that he woke up, and I’m glad I did because he roused several more times throughout that night, each time staying awake a little longer. The next day he was staying awake for more than ten minutes at a stretch, and the times between his awakenings were shrinking.

  The next day was even more so, as was the day after that. By the fifth day he was asking when he could go home, which as everyone knows is the universal indicator that the person is feeling better. We were all grateful beyond belief that Bill showed no signs of neurological deficit.

  He had been moved from the ICU to a regular room on the fourth day, so it was logical that the following day he would want to go home. He was no longer sleeping all the time, and he was most likely bored. I had school, Moira had work, and Derrick had… well, actually, I didn’t know what he had. I was assuming he had something, but I actually wasn’t at all sure about that.

  Late in the day on the fifth day, Bill’s doctors conferred and decided that if he continued to do as well as he was at that moment, he could go home the next day. To show that he was feeling better, he asked what a night spent sleeping would tell them and why he couldn’t go home to sleep that night and simply return for follow-up if needed. He pushed his point firmly enough that his doctors relented and told him he could go home. He was given a final physical and neurological examination while another of his medical team wrote up instructions for his post-release care. Those instructions were actually relatively simple: rest and no stress. And after resting, ever so slowly ease back into a more regular pace. He was to avoid strenuous activities… and mosquitoes.

  When his exam was finished, he dressed himself in the clothes I had brought from home. Hospital policy there, as at most hospitals, required that he go from his room to the exit in a wheelchair. He did so without a hint of a complaint. He had come in with nothing, so he went home carrying nothing.

  His nurse wheeled him to the door, where I was waiting with the car. We got him situated, and I drove him home. I could tell by the expression on his face that he was delighted to be seeing something other than the four walls of a hospital room for the first time in far too long. I’m sure that if the tables were turned I would be feeling the same way.

  We drove directly home from the hospital. I wanted to move him immediately inside, but it was a lovely day, and he insisted that he wanted to sit in the sun for a few minutes. I could not argue with his simple request, so I got him into a chair by the pool. He hadn’t moved far, but I could tell that he was tired. It had been many, many, many days since his muscles had been called upon to do anything, so the slightest exertion was tiring. His doctor had been right that he had to ease back into more strenuous activity slowly.

  I left him in the sun, or what was left of the sun since it was late in the day, and went inside to prepare our evening meal. It was not going to be anything elaborate that evening—simple fare done simply. I prepared enough for three, knowing that Moira would be down for dinner the instant she knew Bill was home. I had called her office and left a message with her assistant that Bill had been discharged. She assured me that she would relay the news as soon as Moira finished the telephone call she was on when I called.

  Moira showed up as predicted. I served dinner, which we ate at our table inside. I cleaned up the dishes, and then I left the two of them to play cards while I did some homework for school. All too soon it was time for bed. We were both tired from our day, each stressful in its own way.

  That night when we crawled into bed, we did not remain on our own sides of the bed but met in the middle, nose to nose. We had been assured that there was no transmissibility of his illness to anyone else through close contact. Still, we were a little reluctant to lock lips and try to suck each other’s tonsils out. We contented ourselves with some hugging, and simply basking in the comfort of each other’s presence.

  Chapter 32

  A New Day

  SO MUCH had happened
over the last few months, with Bill heading to Australia for more than a month, followed by our break-up, followed by our reconciliation, followed by him almost dying. Yeah, a lot had happened. Way more excitement than we needed in our lives at the moment.

  Throughout the whole thing I’d been on the phone every day with my mom and dad. They wanted to be there with me to help out but just weren’t able to get away. I was so grateful that we had Moira.

  Since we were in our first year in California, we were not accustomed to the annual weather patterns in the state. We had sort of assumed that it was sunny and seventy degrees year round. Well, not quite.

  There was this little thing called the rainy season that hit with a vengeance shortly after Bill came home. I had to go out to go to work and to school, but fortunately Bill’s only occupation at that time was resting and getting better. Still, being trapped inside our small apartment for days on end was getting to him. I really didn’t entirely understand why he was reacting quite so badly—he had, after all, like me, grown up in upstate New York, where for months on end the days were short, gray, and gloomy, and entirely too cold to venture outside unless one had to. So I was somewhat baffled by his reaction.

  I went out every morning to either school or work. Usually when I crawled home at the end of the day I was exhausted and entirely waterlogged, which left me in a cranky mood. Combine that with Bill’s cranky mood from inactivity and being stuck inside all the time, and you had a prescription for conflict.

  After a couple of nights of bickering over nothing, the third night when the pattern started to repeat itself, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands and fix this situation.

  “Get dressed!” I ordered. “And shower first. You stink.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you stink? Probably because you haven’t showered in a couple of days!”