“Yes.”
“Why is he unconscious?”
“We’ve got him sedated, Mrs. Porter. For his own good while we continue to conduct more tests.”
“How could this have happened? You told me that the most common complication is pneumonia, that an endotracheal tube has to be in place for quite some time to cause problems like this. So what happened? What have you done?”
“Nothing is ever certain,” the doctor explained. “We try our best, we perform whatever miracles we can, and then we leave it up to God.”
“Leave it up to God?” she exploded, anger mixed with wonderment coloring her face and voice. So much so that Ham sidled closer to her, ready to grab her from behind to prevent the damage he half expected she was near to wrought.
The doctor looked down apologetically, or maybe to escape the wrath in Drew’s eyes, Ham surmised. He shrugged his shoulders and meekly replied, “A few prayers might be in order.”
“A few prayers,” Drew mumbled. “That’s the best my money can buy? A few prayers and a bunch of platitudes?” She paused long enough to inhale calming breath. “What else, Doctor?” she demanded, though in quieter tone.. “What aren’t you telling me?” When he merely stared at her, mouth working without sound, she grabbed the front of his lab coat and twisted until Ham feared strangulation was the pursuit. “Make your mouth work,” she demanded, “or most assuredly I will make it stop. I will make it a useless feature.”
The physician shot a look of appeal at Ham, maybe figuring Ham might be the least volatile of the friends, bandmates and mate in the room. Ham merely shook his head in negation, blocking that thought before it could fully form.
“Okay,” the doc admitted, “there are a few things we’re going to watch and watch very closely. First and foremost, it’s not impossible that he could descend into shock, though I think that’s unlikely. More worrisome is the possibility of abnormal heart rhythms, or arrhythmia. This can be tachycardia, meaning the heart beats too fast, or bradycardia, where it beats too slow. Should this occur we would expect to handle it with medications, though there’s always the chance that a cardiac device becomes necessary.”
“A cardiac device?”
“Yes,” he nodded, “a pacemaker, for instance, or ablation which can be more extensive. We also can’t rule out a paradoxical embolism, which means the embolism doesn’t travel with the normal blood flow, which is from the right side of the heart through the pulmonary arteries and lungs before it returns to the left side of the heart. This can lead to the clot being pumped out of the heart and toward the brain. In other words, a stroke.”
Drew whirled around, facing the bassist, taking her anger out on the bandmate in lieu of the doctor. “And you didn’t think to call me? The moment it happened? What the hell is wrong with you? Or don’t you understand the role of a spouse?”
The bass player nodded, seemingly unperturbed and understanding of her rage and grief. “We were talking, he was in good spirits, seemed to be doing well when all of a sudden the most bizarre look came over him, a look I can’t even begin to describe. The closest, I guess, is shock mixed with indifference, if that makes any sense. Anyway,” he rushed on, “I leaned over, gave his cheek a small slap, since he seemed to be off somewhere, and asked him what the matter was. He couldn’t quite focus his eyes as he tried to look at me and he slurred out a response I’ll never forget.” He paused, maybe to gather himself, maybe to allow Drew to catch up and concentrate instead of being consumed by rage induced non-comprehension. “He wanted to know where his perfect, beautiful, precious soulmate had gone. I asked who he meant, knowing how he felt about our bandmate Blake. He blinked confusion, or maybe blinked irritation at my thickness, and in a clipped and firm voice stated ‘my wife, you idiot’.” Eric grinned, to Ham’s eyes a lopsided expression of love, and in barely more than a whisper added, “That’s when I knew we’d lost him to you. To my great, great pleasure, I might add. Because if he doesn’t survive, God forbid, he will at least have experienced this type of love once in his legendary life. And for that I am truly grateful.” He reached out and pulled Drew into a tender hug. “I’m grateful to you.” As he did, he peered over Drew’s shoulder and into the eyes of the physician. “And you, sir, may be excused. Perhaps you can use your time reviewing books and notes from medical school. Including bedside manner.”
The doctor all but slinked away, mumbling promises to be within a moment’s notice, and with more assurances of help arriving soon. Or cavalry for the hothead redhead, he might have said. Ham thought he’d heard that but chose to reason otherwise. Because, if so, if he’d heard right, he’d be obligated to beat the crap out of the offending little medical prick.
Ham stared into the near silence, the only sound the rhythmic beeps of the heart monitor. He stole a glance at the machine, recognized the pulse rate but little else, and let his attention wander back to Drew’s face. A face masked in beauty and wrapped in woe. His heart ached, wanted to reach out and comfort, to erase the pain of today, to replace it with the promise of the morning. But there he stood, in all his arrogant uselessness. A man with a gun, a man without a clue. “If that’s your ammo, if that’s the best you’ve got,” he thought to himself, “holster it, retire, go home. You’re out of your league.”
Drew looked up and away from Russ, directly into Ham’s eyes. “What have I done? What is there inside me that makes me so reckless, so egomaniacal, that I thought I’d go off, solve the crime, like right away, when no else could? And that Russ could just bloody well wait.” Her eyes snapped to narrow slits, her face deepened so scarlet her hair looked pale beside it, and she raged, “What is it in me, Ham? You know me, you tell me. I really want to know.” Before he could answer, she held up her hand. “No, let me amend that. It’s not that I want to know, it’s that I need to know.”
Ham found himself at a loss, unable to summon the words to soothe. For indeed, none would probably do, and he knew that. He merely shook his head, shrugging off the wretchedness and impotence of the moment. “What do you do when you run out of tears?” he heard her whisper to no one. And not for the first time.
A nurse appeared from nowhere, announced she needed to perform an EKG and tried to usher them out. Drew would have none of it. “If anybody is going to leave, it’s going to be you. Do what you have to do, be quick about it, and get the hell out. We’ll call if we need you.” It appeared the nurse’s words finally sank in because Drew followed with the question. “Why? Why an EKG? On whose orders?”
“Dr. Linley. It’s precautionary. Other than that, you’ll have to ask him. Now,” she asked, irritation in her voice, “may I proceed?”
Drew waved her onward and Ham took that occasion to excuse himself. “I know you have to stay here,” he told her. “And I wish I could as well but you know I have to go. Will you keep me up to date, tell me if there’s a change?” At her nod, he continued. “I will keep you in the loop, as well. I’ll call if anything develops, but even if it does I will handle it. You just be here for Russ. And for Eric and Duncan,” he added, less an afterthought than a belated insight.
Ham hugged Drew, an unstated affirmation of love, and left the way he’d arrived. In a hurry and clouded of thought.
He dialed Jesse to meet him out front, then veered off in search of the doctor that Drew had castigated but moments before. In his rush to the desk, he nearly crashed into the man, almost a pratfall for the ages.
Pulling up short, skidding as he dug in his heals, he grabbed the physician’s arm both for balance for him and for the victim. “Excuse me, Doctor, may I have a moment of your time?”
“Not now,” the medic replied, urgency in his voice. “Right now we need to attend to Mr. Porter.” Pointing to the man standing next to him, he said, “This is Dr. Phil Taylor. He’s an interventional cardiologist, the premier one in the state and, in my opinion, perhaps the nation.” He waved a printout before him, like a holy script. ‘I shouldn’t tell you, I guess, but Mr. Porter is experienci
ng a heart attack, or at least we think he might be. These, the results of the electrocardiogram, show a potentially major problem. If you’re a praying man, now would be the time.” With that, both doctors hurried off toward what he recognized as the path to the room Russ occupied.
Ham quickly redialed Jesse, informed him of the delay and caught up to the medical team just as they neared the area where Russ would be found. “I’m not going to be able to allow you in the room,” the cardiologist announced. “There’s going to be a lot of activity and things are going to move pretty fast. You’d be in the way, I’m afraid.”
“That’s okay,” Ham allowed. “I’ll stay beyond the door. I just have to see what’s going to happen.”
The doctors pushed through the door, letting it close in Ham’s face. Only moments later Eric and Duncan emerged, both ashen and clearly shaken.
“What happened?” Ham demanded.
“He awoke, started to talk to us or, more correctly, to Drew, when he suddenly asked for a bedpan, grabbed it from her hand before she could offer it, and promptly threw up,” Eric informed him. “And then again. He leaned back, shook his head and, eyes mostly unfocused, said he felt weird.”
Duncan picked up the recitation. “Fortunately, another surgeon had come to check on the famous patient. He asked Russ a few questions, like did he have pain in his jaw, down his arm or in the chest, to which replied ‘no’ to all. Just that he felt strange.”
“Then,” Eric cut in, “he hooked Russ back up to the EKG machine, took the readings and ran out without a word. Next thing we know, these two crazy ass doctors barge in, along with about four others, maybe nurses, or who knows what.”
“Then they kicked us out,” Duncan concluded. “But not before we saw them put tubes into both of his arms and start peeling off his clothes.” He paused as two techs guided a gurney to and through the door. “Looks like he’s going somewhere.” The panic on his face reverberated well in his voice.
Proving Duncan correct, only a minute later the techs carefully fed the gurney through the door and into the hallway, a rolling bed now containing their bandmate. As they went by, Russ attempted a wave and a weak smile, with neither proceeding particularly well. And then they were gone, followed closely by the frowning physicians.
Ham led the way into the room, peeking in to insure himself they wouldn’t cause a backup of departing medical personnel. Convinced that they could squeeze around them on their way to the exit, he entered, waving Duncan and Eric in behind.
He found Drew standing, peering out the window, arms folded across her chest. Without attempting to get her attention, he walked up behind. “What’s going on, Drew? Where are they taking him?”
“They’re going to do an angioplasty,” she replied, still staring out the window, not turning around. Because, Ham knew, she considered tears a weakness, at least for women in a man’s world. “Hysterical female,” she often snorted with contempt. “That’s what they label a woman who cares. Dumb shits.” And he didn’t need that slur directed at him. Not right now.
“A what?”
“An angioplasty. They stick a tube up to the site of the presumed blockage in his artery. They tell me they’ll know the extent of the damage by employing this procedure. Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.”
“This is crazy. He’s out of it and wakes up and has a heart attack? This is crazy,” he repeated.
Eric leaned around Ham to get a closer look at Drew, pulled back at the look on her face but asked, “Did he say anything before they took him out?”
She surprised Ham by actually turning fully around to face them and offered a sad little nod of the head. “That he did. He said to tell you guys he loves you. That being a member of Truckee River meant more to him than his life, a life he owes to you two and to Blake Garrett. Meaning, I suppose, he owes you the life he’s led.” With a pause more for thought than effect, she added, “Still, it was scary to hear him talk like that. I did my best to scold him but I failed. He saw right through that little act. He’s smarter than I am.”
“So now we wait,” Duncan half asked, half stated. “How long do they expect it’ll take, did they say?”
“An hour, maybe two. Depends on what they find.”
A thoughtful orderly popped her head through the door. “May I bring you something? Maybe a soda or coffee?”
“Thank you,” Drew replied. “I’d love a cup.” The others nodded agreement and the orderly withdrew to her task.
Then Ham thought to ask. “Would you like to be left alone? We can wait elsewhere.”
With a small shrug, she demurred. “Thanks, Ham, but actually I appreciate you,” and looking at each bandmate in turn, “Eric and Duncan being here. I don’t think I could handle this by myself. Moreover, I don’t want to.” With a sigh, she added, “God, I wish Charlie was here. I could use her brilliant comfort on life.”
Ham spun around, out the door and into the hall before he dialed. “Charlie, it’s me. What’s going on with Dylan? Is he on a plane yet?” He listened a bit, then nodded, a useless gesture but habit nevertheless. “Good. Listen, more has happened. Russ has been rushed into an emergency procedure, something called an angioplasty. It’s where—” Apparently, Charlie understood what it meant and interrupted with questions of her own. When she took a breath, Ham responded. “That’s all I know at the moment except that Drew is a wreck, as you can well imagine. Which is the reason I’m calling. She’d like you here. How soon can you make it?” Again he nodded, again to no effect. “That’ll be fine. He’s supposed to be gone for an hour or two anyway so you should be here before he returns. And only God knows what she’s facing so having you to lean on is important.” He listened some more before he concluded. “That’s fine, Charlie. Pack back up, we’ll be staying for some unknown time. I’ll tell Drew you’re on your way and have her call down to clear you. Okay, love you, too.”
He returned to the gloomy silence within and sat back to await whatever. After what seemed a near eternity, the orderly returned with a carafe of freshly brewed coffee, which Ham eagerly grabbed. Yet he was unable to sit still, felt the need to move, to do something, anything that would be useful. But nothing was, nothing to do but wait. Wait and pace and wait and pace some more. Every now and then a quick glance at the clock on the wall told him that though time appeared and felt at a standstill, it did indeed move on. At his last glance, almost two hours into their misery, he set his long abandoned cup down and headed for the door. Time for information, a goddam update, he raged to himself.
The abrupt opening of the door caused Ham to jump, it was so unexpected. One moment total silence, the next pandemonium as they wheeled a still sedated Russ back into the room. Dr. Taylor appeared only seconds later, glancing around the room with the question written in his eyes.
“They can remain, Doctor,” Drew instructed. “They’re as much family as I am. And in some cases even more so.”
“Okay,” the physician shrugged. “He’s going to be out for some little time yet. We sedated him pretty hard. The damage was far more extensive than I had anticipated, I’m sorry to say.”
“Oh, god,” Drew moaned. “Please don’t tell me he’s going to die.”
“Mr. Porter was in the process of having a heart attack.” The gasp that echoed throughout the room and bounced off the walls caused him to pause. Once they were ready to again listen to his evaluation, he continued. “I stopped it by suctioning out a blood clot. I then put two stents into his right artery through an opening in his right wrist.”
“What does that mean?” Eric demanded.
“A stent is a small tube, a mesh tube that we use for treating narrow or weak arteries to keep the passageway open. In Mr. Porter’s case, his right coronary artery was one-hundred percent blocked. One-hundred percent. The left anterior descending artery, or LAD, was seventy percent blocked. He’d have died before the morn if he’d not been shot. Ironically, it turned out to be a lifesaving event.”
Ham peer
ed into the silence, mind reeling with disbelief, as apparently was true for all. “Is he going to survive?”
“He’s going to survive the heart attack, yes. There’s still a problem with the gunshot wound, which you’ll need to talk to Dr. Damon about. He’ll be in soon, I’m told.”
“What about after effects?” Drew inquired. “Any restriction? Such as sex with his new bride?”
The doctor’s grin matched her own. “Well, that’s going to have to wait a couple of weeks, maybe a bit more. I’ll want to check him then and we’ll see what’s what.”
“Anything else he should avoid?” she asked, the humor gone, apparently replaced by uncertainty now that the initial giddiness of good health had passed.
“Well, yes, he’s going to have to change a few habits. I’ll provide a list of things Mr. Porter should avoid, eliminate or cut down on. Plus a bunch of new prescriptions, like blood thinners, that kind of thing. And exercise. A regimen thereof.”
“Good luck with that,” Eric snorted. “I’ve never known anybody in this world who could ever get Russ to change one, let alone all, of his habits.”
Drew’s grin revealed an evil determination. “He may be rich and famous and powerful but I’m the one who has a gun. He will follow the doctor’s orders regarding diet and exercise.”
Dr. Taylor watched as they got Russ settled, then told Drew he’d return in an hour or so to check on him. “Meantime,” he instructed, “if he wakes up and needs anything notify the nurse on duty and she’ll contact me. But truthfully, I expect he’ll be out for some time yet.”
When Taylor left, Eric spread his hands wide and exploded, “How the hell did a freaking gunshot cause this? It doesn’t make any sense as far as I can figure.”
“You heard him,” Ham gently replied. “Apparently it’s unconnected. It’s a miracle that he was in the hospital when it happened. He wouldn’t have survived long enough to get to one from what I understand he said.”
The Biggest Little Crime In The World (A Ham McCalister Mystery Book 3) Page 13
