A Little Help from Above

by Saralee Rosenberg

  Oy.

  Chapter Six

  “She’s coming to.” A nurse in blue scrubs pulled back the curtain. “Call Dr. G! Stat!”

  Shelby’s first conscious thought was she wished she didn’t drool when she slept. Nothing was worse than waking up to a moist cheek on a soggy pillow. Or having to admit drool’s cousin, incontinence, would inevitably be the next member of the Insult family to visit. Her second conscious thought was, what pillow? She didn’t remember there being a pillow in Lauren’s car.

  Nor could she readily identify her bland, green surroundings. In fact it was not until she looked up and saw a bag of clear fluid hanging from a pole that it dawned on her she was no longer in Lauren’s VW. Not even German cars came standard equipped with needles that could be lodged in one’s forearm. Did she say needle?

  A shrill, earsplitting scream suddenly echoed down the hospital corridor and an army of medical attendants came running. “Shhh. It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.” An intern gently stroked her hand. “Dr. Glavin is on her way.”

  “Who?” a bewildered Shelby said, yanking at the white tape holding the needle in place. “Get this thing out of me! Since when do you take blood without getting someone’s permission?”

  “No, no, honey.” A nurse with wash-and-wear hair pushed Shelby’s hand away. “We’re not taking blood. We’re giving you fluids intravenously, and we need you to finish the bag.”

  “What are you talking about? Get away from me. You have no legal right to touch me without my express, written consent! Wait until you hear from my high-priced attorney…”

  “Shelby?”

  Shelby looked up to see a striking, tall blonde approaching. Whoever this chick in a lab coat was, she looked like she’d be more at home with her sisters at Kappa Kappa Gamma.

  “Hi. I’m Dr. Glavin. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine. Great. Terrific. Now get this thing out of my arm.” Shelby tugged at the tape.

  “I wouldn’t advise that.” Dr. Glavin examined the amount of fluid remaining in the bag. “You were extremely dehydrated when I found you passed out in your car.”

  “Passed out? That’s ridiculous. I just dozed off waiting for my sister to come back. Is North Shore so desperate for patients they have to canvass the parking lots…”

  “Uh-oh. Looks like she’s on to us. “Dr. Glavin winked at her comrades. “But how about sitting still for another few minutes until one of the residents can examine you?”

  “What are you? An actress? ‘Hi. I’m not a doctor, but I play one on TV.’”

  Dr. Glavin smiled. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  Shelby stopped fidgeting for a moment. This was someone she knew?

  “I treated your brother a few years ago when he was in my rehab program. I believe you attended a couple of the family therapy sessions.”

  Shelby blinked. Family therapy? If ever good money had chased bad. But yes, she did vaguely remember the perky, blond shrink Eric fantasized about screwing.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Shelby held up her hand. “I pass out in a car and they call in a psychiatrist? Isn’t that a tad judgmental? Just because my stepbrother is crazy doesn’t mean…”

  “It’s nothing like that, Shelby. As I was pulling into the spot next to yours, I looked over and saw a woman fall over. When I couldn’t unlock the car door, I called for help.”

  “So, you didn’t know it was me?”

  “Not until they found identification in your purse. Have you eaten anything today?’

  “Coffee at the airport.”

  “Well no wonder. Can we get Ms. Lazarus a bagel with cream cheese and a large glass of orange juice?” Dr. Glavin asked the nurse.

  “No need.” Shelby nearly fainted again at the mere thought of scoffing down more than a thousand calories in one sitting. “There’s a yogurt with my name on it at home.”

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” Lauren charged through the curtain. “What happened, Shelby? Were you driving when you passed out? Is my car okay? This is a nightmare.” She burst into tears. “First Mommy and Daddy get rushed here, then you…”

  “The car is fine. I’m fine, too, thanks for asking. I just need to get out of here before they schedule me for a lobotomy…”

  “Miss Lazarus?” A wisp of a doctor entered, holding a clipboard bigger than his face. “I’m Dr. Rhouhani. I understand you lost consciousness in your car, and you suffer from anemia?”

  “Anemia! Who the hell told you that?”

  “I did?” Lauren looked down. “It’s just. I don’t know. You’re so thin…”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake. All of you get the hell away from me,” Shelby jumped off the table, finally pulling the IV from her arm. “I’m fine. Okay. Look. I can stand. I can hop. I can fox trot.” She grabbed Dr. Rhouhani’s arm and swung him around.

  “Shelby, we’re only trying to help,” Dr. Glavin cut in.

  “I don’t need help.” Shelby stopped. “My father needs help. He’s upstairs in distress….”

  “Actually, they’ve stabilized him,” Lauren said softly. “But it’s still very touch-and-go.”

  “Yes, I heard about the accident.” Dr. Glavin patted Shelby’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. But tell you what. Why don’t you two get something to eat in the cafeteria? Then I’ll come get you the minute the doctors can speak to you.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m heading home.” Shelby looked around for her pocketbook.

  “My sister has a whole phobia about this hospital,” Lauren explained to the uninformed members of the group. “Our mother died here, and…”

  “I’m fine.” Shelby grabbed Lauren and pierced her with a shut-your-mouth look. “I just need to rest.”

  “And eat.” Dr. Glavin winked.

  “What are you?” Shelby bellowed. “The Food Police?”

  “Come here, miss. I vish to check your vital signs.” Dr. Rhouhani took Shelby’s pulse. “Perhaps I should prescribe something to help you…”

  “You want to help me? Find my damn pocketbook and point me to the nearest exit.”

  “We know this is very upsetting, dear, but before you can be released we need to follow certain procedures.” The nurse pushed Shelby back onto the table. “Just let Dr. Rhouhani examine you, then you can sign the release form and be on your merry way.”

  “That’s what’s wrong with managed care!” Shelby screamed, as a blood pressure cuff was wrapped around her arm. “People in dire need of medical attention are left to die, while the perfectly healthy ones are held prisoner in ER’s.”

  “Is she always like this?” Dr. Glavin whispered to Lauren, her psychiatric eyes lighting up.

  “No. Usually she’s much worse.”

  By the time Shelby was finally reunited with her pocketbook and declared free to leave, she was so drained she didn’t have the strength to argue when Lauren grabbed her hand and said they were headed to the cafeteria. There they would eat and await word from Dr. Glavin as soon as the surgeons had news to report. At least for the moment the girls knew their father and aunt remained in critical, but stable condition. Still, no one was guaranteeing their survival. It was simply too soon to tell.

  “Are you sure that’s all you want?” Lauren eyed Shelby’s near barren tray as they approached the cashier. “What about a nice muffin or a bagel?”

  “There’s no such thing as a nice muffin.” Shelby paid for her apple and yogurt. “They’re high-fat, high-carb, high-calorie time bombs that…”

  “…Taste so good, especially with butter and then you nuke them in the microwave…”

  “Be my guest. But I, for one, like it when I can zip my pants in the morning.”

  “You are so mean.” She jabbed Shelby’s arm. “Why are you so mean?”

  “Forget it. Let’s go sit over by the window. In case we decide to jump.”

  Look. Shelby’s inside the hospital. Granted it’s only the cafeteria, but it’s still progress. And see how nicely the girls are sit
ting at the table? They’re not fighting, not stabbing each other with utensils. On the other hand, they’re not talking, either. Shame is, I know Lauren has so much she wants to say but fears confrontation. Always did. Shelby, of course, thrives on confrontation. And given her lovely behavior with the hospital staff, I don’t blame Lauren for lying low at the moment. Although there is one subject that’s generally considered a safe zone.

  “This is the first nice day we’ve had in almost a week.” Lauren smiled at the view of sunlit trees. “It started pouring Monday night, and we thought it would never let up.”

  “Really?” Shelby stirred the last bit of yogurt. “Maybe that’s why they were up and out so early.”

  “You’re probably right. “Lauren smiled. “The thing is, rain was in the forecast for today, too, but then the sun came out. They must have gotten so excited…”

  “…They ran straight out. But, of course, it’s been scientifically proven after heavy rains, the clouds burn off and the sun is extra bright. Sometimes blinding.”

  “So the man who hit them,” Lauren bubbled. “It wasn’t really his fault…”

  “Are you crazy?” Shelby’s eyes bulged. “Remind me to leave you home when we drag that stupid, son of a bitch into court. Of course he’s responsible. The law says if you get behind the wheel of the car you have to compensate for any and all hazardous conditions regardless of…”

  “You want another yogurt, Shel? They also have nice big salads, oh and the French onion soup looked really good. You used to love that.”

  Shelby still felt hunger pangs, but made a face so Lauren would see that there were people who eat to live, not live to eat.

  “Lauren Streiffler? Shelby Lazarus?”

  The girls glanced at each other, then turned around to see who was calling them. An overgrown, baby-faced man in blue surgical scrubs and glasses was searching the room.

  Lauren stood up to signal their whereabouts. “Excuse me. Sir? Over here.”

  The doctor waved back, then started a quick trot over to their table.

  “Who’s he?” Shelby asked.

  “I’m not sure. I guess one of the surgeons. You have good instincts. Does his face say good news or bad?”

  Shelby, who certainly did pride herself on her ability to read people’s faces, was nonetheless stumped. The man’s expression was neutral. This could go either way.

  “Hi, Shelby. How are you?” The unshaven doctor leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  Lauren was not nearly as stunned as Shelby. She assumed all men treated her this way.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” He looked at Shelby’s puzzled expression. “Scott Rosenthal? Well, now it’s Dr. Rosenthal. I’m a thoracic surgeon on staff.”

  Tic-tac-toe. This was the third time today someone from her past showed up unexpectedly. If only she’d known, she would have chosen her clothes more carefully. On the other hand, unlike Ian and Dr. Glavin, she was clueless as to who this guy was. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

  “It’s okay. It’s been a lot of years. And I’ve put on a few pounds.” He patted his stomach. “Anyway, when I saw who they’d brought in this morning I felt terrible. I just wanted to come down here and tell you we’re going to do everything we possibly can to help your parents through this terrible ordeal.”

  “Thank you.” Lauren smiled. “Do you have time to join us?”

  “Of course. Of course.” Dr. Rosenthal pulled out the squeaky chair next to Lauren’s. “So how are you two holding up? You must be going through hell.”

  “Longer than you know,” Shelby mumbled. “What can you tell us about their condition?”

  “Well, I’ll be honest with you. They both lost a lot of blood, and it’s not that any one injury in particular was catastrophic; it’s the cumulative effect of the multiple injuries that’s putting them at such high risk. I’m sorry to put it this way, but basically it would be a lot easier to put back Humpty Dumpty. If they make it through the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours, I’m not going to say they’re out of the woods, but it would certainly increase their odds of survival. The bad news is then they’re looking at months, if not years, of physical therapy, pain medications, surgery…”

  “Are you suggesting they’d be better off dead?” Shelby said icily.

  “No, of course not. I just thought you should know the magnitude of the problem.”

  “Oh my God,” Lauren began to sob. “This is so scary.”

  Dr. Rosenthal rubbed her back. “I know. But the one thing in your favor is we’ve got the best team of surgeons working on them. If anyone can save them, it’s North Shore.”

  “Great! It’s déjà vu all over again.” Shelby bit her lip. “Same hospital. Same bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing. Forget it. So what happens next?” Shelby took a deep breath.

  “Actually, that’s what I came to talk to you about. We’d like both of you to give blood. It could really make a difference, especially for your mom.”

  “She’s not our mother,” Shelby jumped in. “She’s our aunt. I doubt our blood types would even match.”

  “Your father married his aunt?” Dr. Rosenthal raised an eyebrow.

  “No,” Lauren said. “After our mother died he married her sister. She’s our aunt. Not his.”

  “Oh. Well, there’s still a very good chance you’ll be the same blood type as your dad.”

  “Sorry,” Shelby examined her new choice of nail color. “I can’t give blood.”

  “Why not, Shel?” Lauren pleaded.

  “I’m anemic. Remember?”

  “No you’re not! I made that up so they’d be sure to take good care of you.”

  “You did?” Shelby blinked.

  “It’s okay,” Dr. Rosenthal said. “Even if one of you gives, it will be a big help.”

  “But what if neither of us can give?” Lauren bit her lip.

  “I’m sure there are other family members who…”

  “Wait a minute,” Shelby interrupted. “Why can’t you give?”

  “Because, Shel. I have…problems, okay? I’m taking all these different prescriptions and I don’t think you can give blood if…”

  “Is it those diet pills again? How many times have I told you that stuff is pure speed…”

  “Could we not worry about this for the moment?” Dr. Rosenthal said.

  “Fine. When can we see them?” Lauren asked, just as her pager sounded. “Shel, you have my beeper. Where is it?”

  Shelby reached under her shirt to unclip it from her slacks. At least it hadn’t been ripped off while she lay unconscious in this godforsaken place.

  “Shel-bee.” Lauren pressed several buttons. “Why didn’t you tell me I had messages? Avi paged me four times.”

  “Sorry. When I’m out cold I’m just not my usual, efficient self.”

  “Can I use my cell phone in here?” Lauren inquired.

  Scott shook his head. “Too much interference. You have to go outside.”

  After Lauren excused herself, he reached for Shelby’s cold hands. “You haven’t aged a bit.” He smiled. “You look wonderful. I mean, even with what you must be going through…”

  Shelby retreated. Why did men always feel they had to touch her when they talked to her?

  “I’m sorry.” He sensed she didn’t appreciate the gesture. “I didn’t mean to be forward. It’s just that…I can’t believe you don’t remember me.”

  “And I can’t believe you care. Who are you anyway?”

  “I made that much of an impression on you?” Scott chuckled. “Remember the boy who drove your father’s Jaguar into a fire hydrant during the homecoming parade?”

  Shelby blushed. Who could forget being the only Homecoming Queen ever to be in a collision when the entire town was watching?

  “So you can imagine how shocked I was when I realized I was working on your dad. It was like, oh God, please don’t come to until I’ve had a chance to make it up to you, sir.
”

  “I think saving his life would pretty much even the score.”

  “And what about you? Do you have any interest in evening the score?”

  “We have a score to even?”

  “Well, let’s see. Thanks to your insistence that I jump the parade route, I was grounded for three months, New York State nearly revoked my license, and my friends never let me live it down that I was the only guy in Manhasset High’s history ever to get into an accident while driving five miles per hour. Now it’s twenty years later, and I find out you didn’t even know my name.”

  Shelby smiled. Poor guy was right. “Hey. How was I supposed to know my father would actually give up a golf game to watch me in the parade?”

  “How was I supposed to know you didn’t have permission to drive his car?”

  “How was I supposed to know you only had a junior license?” Shelby’s eyes narrowed.

  “How was I supposed to know you told Barry Berman not to drive you?” Scott replied.

  “He had a friggin’ Ford Mustang, for God’s sake,” Shelby cried. “Was the queen not entitled to a car befitting royalty?”

  Suddenly Shelby could not hold back. The memory of her father’s scrunched-up face as he tried peeling red paint off his beloved Blue Jag made her laugh so hard, a tear rolled down her cheek. The relief felt awesome, as did the sound of Scott Rosenthal’s equally loud snort.

  “What’s so funny?” Lauren returned. “I could use a good laugh.”

  “You remember when I was in the homecoming parade and some kid smashed Blue into a fire hydrant?”

  Lauren nodded.

  Scott waved his hand. “Hello again.”

  “Get out of here.” Lauren punched his arm. “You did that?”

  “Afraid so.” Scott bowed his head. “But I was provoked.” He smiled at Shelby.

  “You know, Shel, if it wasn’t for Mommy, Daddy would have killed you that day.”

  Shelby was curious enough to let the “Mommy” reference slip. “What are you talking about?”