Saving Sam

by Lynnette Beers

  “Naw, Sam, see? African reptiles.” He closed the cover of the book and showed her, tapping on the title, then flipping back to the page he’d been studying.

  “He’s kind of funny-looking.”

  “It’s called a strange-nosed chameleon.”

  Sam thought Robert made up that name, so she pressed her face closer to the photo and glanced at the name, and sure enough, it was called a strange-nosed chameleon. “His tail is curly,” she said and giggled. “Kind of like a pig’s tail. How come his skin has dots on it? Does Mr. Rizzo sell these kinds of lizards in his shop?”

  “It’s just the type of scales it has. These types of chameleons are rare to have in captivity. They’re actually a threatened species, which is such a shame.”

  Sam pondered what he could’ve meant by threatened, figuring it wasn’t such a good thing by the way Robert’s face got all scrunched up when he said that word. “You gonna work on the raft tomorrow?” Sam asked and peered over the slick pages of the book.

  “I gotta work at Mr. Rizzo’s in the morning, but maybe later in the afternoon I can work on it some more. Sam, why you gotta be leaning into me like that?” Robert nudged Sam in the shoulder then moved over so she couldn’t even see the book. Robert bought this book at the San Diego Zoo with his allowance money the last time they were there and spent most evenings studying the creatures. He holed himself up in his room late at night probably memorizing every single fact about each reptile.

  Sam leaned over so that she could view the colored pages of the book again. “They have African snakes in Mr. Rizzo’s shop?”

  “No, it’s illegal to sell them here. Besides, they’re highly venomous and deadly.”

  “As deadly as water moccasins and cottonmouths?”

  “Water moccasins and cottonmouths are the same thing. Told you that before. Moccasins are what we have here along the creek. They’re pretty deadly if you get bit and don’t get anti-venom. But these,” he said and tapped on the giant photo of a grey snake, “these here are probably the deadliest in the entire world.”

  Sam leaned over to look at the photo and snuggled in closer to him once she saw the slithering creature. “Robby, what’s a mamma?”

  “Mamba, silly, not mamma. They have these in the snake house at the zoo. They’re hard to get. People sell them on the black market, though...” He paused and leaned closer to Sam. “But, they’re highly poisonous. One bite from a mamba, and the victim dies within minutes. It’s a horrible death.”

  “Samantha, I don’t hear that water running!” Jane yelled from down the hall.

  “So, the black market sells black mambas.” Sam nodded and got a sense of how this reptile business worked.

  “No, they sell things illegally. A black market is like an underground group of people who sell things that people aren’t allowed to buy. Mambas are hard to get, but...well, not impossible if you know the right people. Someday I could go to Africa—if it meant seeing these snakes out in the wild and not in some glass cage.” Robert tapped on the picture of the African mamba then flipped to the next page, exposing a huge bright photo of a green snake. “Oh, this here’s probably the most venomous of all the mambas—the Eastern green mamba. The venom can kill a person in about thirty minutes if anti-venom isn’t given.”

  Sam cowered back as she gazed at the green serpent and listened while Robert described what would happen if someone were bitten by one of them. The Eastern green mamba seemed too pretty to be that deadly. Its slick body glowed with such a bright green color—the scales on the body perfectly patterned.

  “Samantha Grace!” Jane yelled from the far end of the hallway. “I don’t hear that tub filling. You better get yourself in the bath now before I have to drag you in there myself.”

  Sam scooted off the edge of the bed then hopped onto the floor. She glanced back at the book. When she caught a glimpse of another brightly colored mamba, she climbed back onto the bed and cuddled closer to Robert who draped his arm around her shoulder. The two of them studied each photo—the Eastern and Western mambas, the black mamba, and one called the Jameson mamba. Robert pored over the words describing these reptiles while Sam examined the colorful images. She hoped this would be the closest she’d ever get to these venomous snakes.

  “Anyhow,” Robert said and sat upright, “I plan to leave this place one day by way of the river. Then I can go to Africa.”

  He said it so matter-of-factly that Sam wondered what sort of raft he’d been working on out in the barn. She hadn’t studied much geography beyond the fifty states, but she figured Robert would figure out which waterways led to Africa from the Okatoma.

  “What about becoming a police officer like Daddy and Grandpa?” Sam asked then leaned against Robert’s shoulder while he continued to turn the pages of his book.

  “I plan to do that, too,” he said and relaxed his head into the pillow. He stared at the ceiling and closed the book on his lap without speaking.

  Mama’s shows echoed down the hallway, the glow from the TV reflecting on the walls all the way down the hall. Sam reached for the book and peeked at the opening section—the pages filled with glossy photos of what looked to be leopard-patterned skin on a huge snake.

  “Is a python dangerous?” Sam asked.

  “Not as much as a venomous snake,” Robert said and took the book from her. “This one’s a ball python. They squeeze their prey to death.”

  “So, if you do go to Africa someday, you’ll see a ball python out in the wild?”

  “Depends where in Africa I go. I haven’t figured it all out yet as far as where I’ll travel. Not sure if I’ll go to the southern or eastern part of Africa or...maybe see it all. Maybe I’ll retire early and live in Africa. I could be a snake handler. But, I gotta get through high school first and then go to the academy so I can become a police officer. I guess Africa is a ways off still.” He leaned back onto the pillow and moved closer to Sam. He opened the book again, turning back to the venomous snake section. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close to his side.

  The fierce wind no longer shook the windows and doors of the house; the fury of raindrops had turned into soft sprinkles. These summer storms always took Sam by surprise, but she felt secure in Robert’s room atop his bed. By morning, the Okatoma would swell by a couple feet and flood the riverbanks, but she’d be safe so long as she remained inside.

  As she felt sleepy, Sam rested her head on Robert’s shoulder. She took note of the size and color of the African snakes, listening to Robert tell her all about the details of what they ate, how they hunted, how deadly they were, and where to find them. Her lids became heavy, but she strained to stay awake so she could study each page. Sam didn’t mind so much looking at photos of deadly snakes—so long as they remained in the pages of Robert’s picture books. But aware that deadly water moccasins and copperheads slithered in and along the Okatoma next to their house convinced Sam to never enter that current unless Robert could carry her out into the water like he did today. She’d always be safe with him by her side—be it here looking at photos of snakes or out along the creek.

  Chapter Eight

  Mississippi: Summer 2014

  AFTER TWO WEEKS in the ICU, Robert showed more signs of decline. Morphine, propofol, and fentanyl kept him heavily sedated. The feeding tube, inserted through his nose and down the throat into the stomach, provided sufficient nutrients as he lay in a drug-induced coma, but the formula they gave him caused watery diarrhea. Sores formed on his lips and in his mouth from the breathing tube. Doctors now recommended more permanent ways of sustaining him, suggesting that a GT-tube would be a more comfortable way to give him nutrients, and a tracheostomy would help to stabilize his breathing.

  Betty, the nurse, suctioned Robert’s breathing tube as Sam gripped his hand during the procedure. Robert’s forehead furrowed when Betty moved the tube around his mouth to suction out the excess mucus. Betty talked sweetly to Robert as if he were completely awake. “Robert, I’m almost finished.
You’re doing great, hon.” Betty had become one of Sam’s favorite nurses, the only one who sat and talked with her and explained what was going on as far as Robert’s status.

  “Robby, she’s almost done,” Sam said and leaned in closer to the gurney. “Squeeze my hand as hard as you want. I know you hate this.” Upon that suggestion, she felt a slight twitch in Robert’s hand—only a weak fluttering of the fingers. Always strong, Robert would sometimes arm wrestle Sam when they were kids, but being six years younger, she never won and would usually end up with a sore hand. Right now, for once in her life she felt much stronger than Robert.

  “Once they put in the trach tube,” Betty said to Sam then glanced at Jane sitting nearby, “he’ll be much more comfortable. Protocol usually is no more than two weeks with the breathing tube in the mouth and down the throat like this.”

  “If he ever gets off the trach, he’s gonna have a gnarly scar,” Sam said and gripped her hand on Robert’s shoulder while Betty suctioned more mucus from the bronchial area. She knew Betty was right about the tracheostomy being more comfortable, but to her it meant less of a chance at complete recovery. She knew the odds: risk of infection, permanent damage to the trachea, pneumothorax, even the possibility of lung collapse.

  Jane sat nearby and gazed through the window at the busy nurses’ station. In the last week, Sam recognized that Jane had completely relinquished her role as a nurse and instead trusted the doctors and nurses to treat Robert—even when it meant subjecting him to invasive procedures like the surgical insertion of a feeding tube and tracheostomy. The thought of a doctor slicing through Robert’s trachea caused Sam to cringe. She’d seen horrific injuries while on duty as a lifeguard and never even flinched when she had to stabilize someone with a possible neck injury or hold pressure on a bloody wound, but to envision her weak brother having to endure two risky procedures made her question if it was right to put him through all of this.

  Once Betty finished, Sam sat in the chair next to her mother and breathed out a loud sigh. She rested her head on the wall and closed her eyes. As she started to doze off, she heard several footsteps in the room. She opened her eyes to see a team of doctors and residents—all in white lab coats. The leader of the group, a petite young woman with long dark hair, stood at the foot of the bed and glanced at Robert then turned to face her students—all of them eagerly scribbling notes in tiny notepads.

  “I’m Doctor Vaswani,” the doctor said and faced Sam and Jane. “I’m one of the gastroenterologists at the hospital. I understand we’ll be inserting a G-tube? In his weakened state, there’s always a risk with anesthesia, but his vitals look stable.”

  Doctor Vaswani continued to describe the procedure while her residents stood silently behind her furiously writing in their notebooks. Grateful that Doctor Vaswani didn’t dumb anything down as she described Robert’s condition, Sam understood the severity of her brother’s prognosis. The upcoming procedures would be invasive to someone in such a weakened state. Sam knew this was not what Robert would’ve wanted. To be hooked up to machines as he lay paralyzed and not able to eat on his own was not Robert’s idea of living.

  “Mama, why is she putting in a feeding tube?” Sam whispered and leaned closer to her mother while Doctor Vaswani examined Robert. “Shouldn’t they wait till he’s stronger? This all sounds so invasive. Do you really think Robert would want to be hooked up to a trach and a permanent feeding tube?”

  “If God had intended to call Robert home to heaven,” Jane said and pursed her lips, “He would’ve done it the night of the accident. It’s not his time. You oughta know that a doctor like this woman here has the skills to fix people in this condition. These procedures are temporary ways to help patients get through this stage of the recovery process. The G-tube can be taken out as soon as Robert is able to eat on his own.”

  “So, he gets this feeding tube and the trach. Then what?”

  “His body will get stronger over time. He’ll be transferred to an acute rehab center like the nurses told us yesterday.” Jane leaned back in the plastic chair and quietly hummed an old show tune that Sam didn’t quite recognize.

  Doctor Vaswani studied Robert’s chart, taking a pen and scribbling in a thick binder. She folded her arms and began to describe the procedure, telling Sam and Jane that it would require a bit more sedation than what Robert was given now.

  “More propofol than he’s already on now?” Sam asked and pointed at the locked box controlling the drips of medication entering Robert’s body.

  “It’ll just be a bit more than what he’s currently on,” Doctor Vaswani said and glanced at the medications hung from the tall pole next to the bed. “Looks like they’ve lowered the propofol recently. We want to make sure he’s free of pain and discomfort during the procedure. Once he’s under anesthesia, I’ll first do an endoscopy to see where the best place to put the tube will be. Sometimes it’s hard to tell where the best placement is, especially when someone is in this sort of condition, but I’ll be able to find the best spot to—”

  “Doctor, we’re both familiar with where a G-tube is placed,” Jane said. “I’m a nurse, and my daughter is an EMT.”

  “He’s had a hypoxic-anoxic injury to the brain,” Sam said and waved a hand in the air. “Are you sure a G-tube is the right thing to do? There’s no evidence suggesting he’ll ever speak again...or even be able to communicate with us.”

  The team of residents stopped scribbling in their notebooks and stared at Sam. Doctor Vaswani palpated Robert’s abdomen then listened to his heart.

  Sam felt futile in trying to fight for what Robert would’ve wanted. Putting him through these medical procedures seemed pointless.

  Jane clasped her hand on Sam’s. “Honey, people recover from these sorts of brain injuries, especially someone healthy like Robert. He doesn’t have any underlying medical conditions. His body’s strong. Even the neurologist told me he’s had patients in comas for weeks that show some signs of recovery.”

  “Some signs of recovery. Mama, Robert may never speak again. And as for underlying medical conditions, he now has a whole bunch of medical issues. We don’t know how much brain damage has occurred from being under the water for so long, but every time the nurse comes in to do a neuro check, she always tells us that his pupils are fixed and dilated. You know that’s not a good sign.”

  “Honey, deep sedation will do that. Robert is stable. You’ve seen how strong his vitals have been. They’re sedating him for a reason—to allow his brain to heal.”

  “Well, maybe so, but it’s obvious he’ll never walk again. Why are we even considering—”

  “How soon can they schedule the G-tube placement?” Jane asked and stared at the gastroenterologist.

  “If we stop the feeding tube at midnight, we can place the G-tube early tomorrow morning.” Doctor Vaswani scribbled more notes in the chart then left the room after she muttered a quick goodbye.

  The cluster of residents followed closely behind, leaving the room quiet and empty. Sam watched the gentle rise and fall of Robert’s chest as the breathing machine pumped nearby. She and Jane sat quietly as they stared at Robert. The IV dripped at a steady rhythm, keeping him deeply sedated. Robert’s condition worsened by the day, and no matter how many procedures they put him through, he’d never be the same.

  Chapter Nine

  Mississippi: Summer 1990

  THE CARCASS OF a bird sloshed against the shore, the lifeless body wedged between rocks. The steady Okatoma current washed over the flightless bird as it lay at the river’s edge. Last night’s stormy skies cleared by morning, the afternoon now giving way to a few lingering clouds and bright sun. After the heavy downpour, today’s sunny skies dried the mud along the creek bed, exposing the dead bird.

  A grey eyeball, more fish-like than fowl, stared at Sam from the edge of the creek. She prodded it with a stick then crouched down to get a closer look. Since it was so waterlogged, Sam didn’t recognize the type of bird. It could’ve floated down from t
wo counties away or landed somewhere nearby, injured and far from repair. The large body—slick and bloated from hours or days in the river—looked more like a prehistoric sea bird. It’d probably once been large, its wingspan perhaps extending three feet, but it was hard to tell in its condition.

  The idea of a dead bird baking on a rock by the Okatoma convinced Sam that she should rid her yard of the odor that would soon emit from the rotting carcass. She found another stick and carefully lifted the dead bird from the water, maneuvering it to the bushes several yards away. The bird, out of the water and possibly more identifiable, could be recognized if it still had use of its wings, but now, so far from any winged activity, it had to be given its final resting place. As she balanced the bird on the sticks, Sam scrutinized each step over the rocks. Always careful where she stepped, she dreaded the day she’d possibly come across a snake.

  Sam wandered away from the Cleveland property and decided that the azalea bushes a few paces from No Man’s Landing would be the ideal spot for a burial. She generally heeded her father’s warnings of drunkards carousing and littering the creek, but today she wandered downstream to where she usually never ventured. Even Robert, despite his bravery at swimming across the creek and down toward the Bouie River, rarely ventured to No Man’s Landing, but this clearing was perfect to bury a bird. She’d need Robert to help dig a hole for the burial, so she left the soggy carcass at the water’s edge to go search for him.

  Sam skipped along the shore, hopping over rocks and trudging up the dirt path. The bright afternoon sun reflected on the surface of the water, blinding her as she neared the house. In a sundress, Sam felt the cool air from the Okatoma wash over her arms and legs as she traipsed across the lawn. Outside the barn, Robert stacked wide pieces of plywood Daddy brought back from the lumberyard yesterday. Sam hesitated to interrupt Robert when he was involved with anything having to do with the raft, so she stood quietly in the entryway of the barn until he noticed her standing there.