IWAM_03

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! The angel's promises start to come true.

Chapter Three: The Hospital

As I regain consciousness, the first impression is the smell. It is a familiar smell which brings back bad memories. The smells are quickly followed by the sounds. I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m obviously in a hospital. How can things get any worse? All I can see in my mind is mounting bills and more heartache.

The last time I was in a hospital, it was in the Emergency Room of a small local hospital where I identified Aileen’s lifeless body. I felt then as if my life had been shattered. The smells and the sounds brought it all back to me with an accompanying wave of grief. I can feel tears running down my cheeks.

I must have stirred as I hear someone getting up from a seat.

“Dad… are you awake? You are crying.”

It is the concerned voice of my vagabond daughter. What is she doing here? Last I heard, she was thousands of miles away rock climbing in some inaccessible place in southern Arizona.

“Samantha?” I croak with a raspy voice. My goodness, my throat hurts.

“Don’t talk, Dad, I’m calling the nurse.”

She is holding my hand as I try to open my eyes. Fortunately it is night and the lights are muted, giving me time to adjust.

A nurse bustles in and starts asking questions of Samantha. She tells the nurse that she heard me sob once and saw the tears on my face. This is followed by a round of vitals checking and a few yes or no questions which I can answer with a weak shake or nod of the head.

“Do you hurt?” the nurse inquires.

I feel really groggy but there is an underlying ache throughout my body so I figure that a nod is appropriate.

“Well,” the nurse replies, “now that you’re awake you’ll start to feel the pain. The doctor has ordered some pain medication for when you awake.”

She allows my daughter to give me a little water to ease my throat before she injects something into an IV tube and I quickly fade back into sleep.

------< O >------

I guess that I’m still in the hospital. I smell the smells and hear the sounds, though the sounds are more energetic than before. It must be daytime.

I’m not sure that I want to open my eyes again, but do any way. The room is much brighter so I quickly close my eyes and try again to open them more slowly.

The bed is tipped up a bit and I can see Samantha curled up in a big chair reading a book and sipping coffee. I spend a few minutes just watching her as she reads. I use the time to inventory my memories concerning how I got to be here.

It seems that all my woes raise their ugly heads as I contemplate my predicament. Too bad the boat missed—it would be nice to have all these trials behind me. My depression is as bad as ever.

“Sam,” I croak out quietly.

She puts her book down and quickly comes to my side, pushing the nurse call button when she gets there. She gingerly grabs my hand.

“Oh, Dad,” she says with a mixture of concern and relief. “We thought we’d lost you to! How are you feeling?”

Well, besides aching all over and feeling really groggy, my throat is parched.

“Water,” I manage to croak.

“Just a sip now,” Samantha, my wayward daughter, admonishes me. “You’ve had a rough go of it and you’re not cleared for food or liquids yet. That tube they stuck down your throat for a while must have made things pretty sore.”

I sip a little ice water through the straw before Samantha pulls it away. About this time a nurse bustles in looking all business. He, a male nurse, goes through the vitals check and informs me that my doctor has been notified that I’m awake. He is in the hospital somewhere and will stop by as soon as he can. When he’s done, the nurse heads out to harass some other poor patient.

A few sips more of water make my throat feel better but I am still a bit groggy. I also have a flu-like ache throughout my whole body.

“Gee, Dad,” Samantha says, “you really know how to shake things up. What were you doing out there in the fog? Aren’t you always telling me to be cautious in those conditions? You’re lucky to be alive.”

Nothing like getting to the heart of the matter. Samantha has always been one to say what’s on her mind.

The way I feel physically and emotionally I’m not sure that ‘lucky’ is the right adjective that she should be using for my situation.

Ignoring her questions, I ask “How long have I been here?”

“A week,” she curtly replies. “And the first part of that week you were on life support. Hypothermia and a heart attack are not a good combination. You’re lucky that there was a doctor and an AED on that tour boat and that the Coast Guard helicopter was on maneuvers nearby or we’d have buried you by now. What were you thinking? You must have a death wish to be out in such conditions. Tim tells me you’ve been pretty depressed lately by all the crap you’ve landed in. Where you trying to commit suicide? If so, you’re an idiot and you almost succeeded. ”

Tim is my oldest son, and an ER doctor at our big regional hospital.

“And you lost my favorite of your kayaks,” she adds with some distain. “I was hoping you’d give it to me. But no, you have to go and trash it in the middle of the ocean.”

“Idiot,” she mutters under her breath. I don’t think that she is happy with me.

Samantha likes to tell it like she sees it. That’s probably the reason she has trouble with long term relationships and with holding down employment. She’s quick to tell people what she thinks—often without considering all the issues or their feelings. Tact is something missing from her skill set. One of her middle school teachers once tactfully told us that Sam has “a strong sense of justice” after Sam had, with much directness, called one teacher to task from some perceived violation of school policy.

She seems determined to lecture me on safe kayaking procedures today.

“I love you too,” I manage to croak out. My throat really hurts.

She seems to be become contrite. With tears in her eyes, “I’m sorry, Dad. It’s just that you scared us all so bad. I’m not sure I could stand to lose both you and Mom so quickly. I love you to.” She gives my hand an affectionate squeeze.

About this time, a familiar doctor breezes in with my male nurse in tow. Samantha slips out the door into the hallway.

“Well,” says the doctor while looking me over, “things are looking up. How are you, Jerry? Long time no see.”

Dr. Mike Chadwell and I go way back. We went to high school together and are still close enough that we do the odd hike together and we’d go out to dinner together with our wives once or twice a year. He’s a good man and a good friend. He’s been our family doctor for many years.

I manage to croak out a hello.

“You look like crap,” Dr. C matter-of-factly points out, “but you’re still breathing, which is much better than you were when you came in. It’s good to see you awake, my friend.”

“Thanks,” I manage to get out. “I’m glad you’re here Mike. Tell me what’s happening.”

“Well, to start with,” he begins, “you had hypothermia, some sea water in your lungs, and several heart attacks. You also gave your son a hell of a fright when they wheeled you into the emergency room from the helicopter. You didn’t have any ID on you so they didn’t know who you were when you were picked up. Tim got your case as they rushed you in the door and ID’d you right off. I hear that he cleared the decks to give you everything they’ve got down there. It was touch and go but he stabilized you. Knowing your medical history helped a lot as he was aware of your heart condition and was able to make the right moves quickly.

“Right now, you are one sick puppy. While you didn’t break anything or have any lacerations, you do appear to have done some damage to your heart, but we won’t know the extent until we can get you on the tread mill for a stress test and do an MRI. Also, you started to develop pneumonia from the seawater in your lungs, so we had to drain you and put you on a ventilator for a few days. We are hitting you with some strong antibiotics but you’re likely to be sick for another week from the pneumonia. Hopefully, the pneumonia won’t get much worse. It took a day of pumping you with fluids and wrapping you in warm blankets to get you core temperature up again but now the fever from the pneumonia is keeping you too warm. In fact, you’re warmer than I’d like.

“I don’t think that the hypothermia will cause any lasting effects. It is strange but the hypothermia might actually have helped you survive the heart attacks—we’re not sure on that one.”

Samantha slips back in the room during this summary.

“So,” I painfully conclude, “I’ll be okay in a week or so?”

“Well,” Mike hedges, “there is something else.” He looks concerned. I just look at him enquiringly.

“We’re not sure what it is, but you seem to be losing a lot of weight very quickly,” He informs me. “We’ve upped the calories in your IV and are working to bring your temperature under control, but none of it seems to be working.”

“I could stand to lose about forty pounds,” I point out with great effort.

“Well,” he sighs, “you’re well on your way. You’ve lost twenty pounds in the last week.”

My incredulous look solicits more information.

“Yes, my friend,” he continues, “You’re down twenty pounds since you arrived, which is a lot more than we’d expect.”

No wonder I feel so weak.

“We need to level that off soon,” he says. “We have no idea what’s causing this but suspect that your fever has something to do with it. You’re burning up all your body’s reserves. Unfortunately, it’s not the only strange thing happening here. Your hair has all fallen out—everywhere. I mean, ALL your hair. It’s worse that chemo. We have no idea why this happened.

“In addition to all these physical things going on, my friend, I’m worried about your emotional health. I understand all the stress factor’s you faced lately have driven you to some strange behaviors. We all thought your short notice trip was ill timed but might be good for you. However, the decision to make a crossing in fog is very out of character for you. You know the risks as well as anybody but you still did it. It almost seems as if you were intentionally tempting fate.”

I give him a hard look. I’m not up to this argument right now. I’m feeling very drained and my throat is too raw for more than a few words at a time. So, I just roll my eyes at him and scowl as best I can.

“I know, I know,” he back pedals a little—but not much. “Once you recovered enough I want you to spend some time with a friend of mine who specializes in these things. She might be able to help.”

I just continue to scowl.

“Okay,” he sighs, “we’ll talk more about that later. For now, let me focus on getting your temperature down and weight stabilized. I’m going to start you on a Jell-O diet with lots of fluids for a day to see how your stomach does then bump you up to high calorie solids if everything works out.

“How’s the pain on a scale of one to ten?”

I hold up six fingers as I ache all over.

“We’ll give you a mild pain medicine to help you with that when we’re done here.” He responds.

“Jerry, we’re all worried about you. You’re getting the best help we can provide. I’ve got a number of specialists consulting on your case. Don’t worry, we’ll get this sorted now that the worst is past.

“Janine, says to tell you that she’s praying for you—that’s got to be good for something. I suspect that you’ll be seeing her soon now that you’re awake.

Janine is his wife of 35 years and a good friend. As far as staying awake is concerned, I’m tiring quickly. I think that he can see it too.

He reaches over and squeezes my hand affectionately.

“We’re doing the best we can for you, Jerry.” He continues, “The best thing you can do right now, my friend, is rest and let your body heal. We’ll take good care of you.”

He gives my hand aanother reassuring squeeze.

I squeeze back before drifting off again.

------< O >------

It is evening the next time I come to, and the room is a bit more crowded. All four of my children are here to gang up on me.

In addition to Samantha we have Tim, the oldest, who is still in his scrubs. Mark, the second oldest, is an engineer and is looking pretty casual, as usual. The youngest of the crowd, Bill, is here with his wife, Helen. I suspect that my other two daughters-in-law are taking care of the grandkids.

Mark is the first to notice that I’m awake.

“Hey, Dad,” he grins at me, “the new haircut is a little extreme, isn’t it?”

One hand is taped to a board and has IV needles in it. I cautiously raise the other and rub my head. It is bald. It takes most of my strength to raise that arm so I just let it fall back on the bed.

“I guess so,“ I cautiously reply. My throat doesn’t hurt quite so much now, but still sounds a bit off.

Samantha appears at my side with a bowl of cherry flavored Jell-O.

“Doctor’s orders,” she informs me. “Eat some of this. It might make your throat feel better.”

It did. The cool Jell-O felt like heaven going down. The sips of water also helped.

An awkward silence descends on the group as no one seems to know what to say.

“I hear that I gave you quite a start,” I direct my comment toward Tim.

“You can say that again!” he replies. “I think an ER doctor’s worst nightmare is having a loved one come through the doors on the verge of death. Fortunately we have a great staff and there were no other severe injuries to deal with that afternoon. In fact we thought it was going to a slow day until we got the call from the helicopter. You tested our capabilities big time.”

“I’m glad that you were there, son.” I tell him. “Thank your staff for me, please.”

“Actually,” he admits, “It felt as if someone took over for me that day. I think that God wants you to live—in spite of your stupid stunt.”

I sigh, “Who else wants to take a crack at me?”

“I’m next,” says Bill looking reproachful. “How many times have you told me to THINK before acting? Usually you follow that up with a lecture about the possible consequences of stupidity, but I hear that Sam beat me to the punch. Come on, Dad. What were you thinking?”

“I tell you what he was thinking,” Mark jumps in. “He was thinking that playing roulette just might be a quick way to end all the crap he has had to deal with lately. Am I right?”

“It was a calculated risk,” I hedge. “I’m not exactly suicidal.”

“Well,” Mark continues, “you made the calculation and I’m sure it wasn’t in your favor, but you went anyway. We’re just glad that you survived it. Don’t do that again. You’ll give us grey hair.”

“How do you think I got mine?” I smile back at them. “I apologize.”

“You don’t have any hair,” Sam reminds me. “Maybe it won’t be grey when it grows back.”

“Anyway,” Tim adds, “if you hadn’t survived we couldn’t have given you the good news.”

“That’d have been a waste,” Bill agrees.

“What good news?” I ask.

“Ah, well,” Mark begins after they all look at him. He is usually the designated spoke person for the group. “It seems while you were out hiding in the wilderness that some good things happened. Where to start?

“First of all, it appears that there were witnesses to Mom’s accident after all. A young couple who were out way past their curfew developed a guilty conscience after reading news accounts of the accident and its aftermath. They came forward and testified in their deposition that Mom did have a green light. They were a block behind her when the crash happened. They didn’t stick around because they would get in trouble with their respective parents if they were found to be out too late. Now they’re in trouble for not helping at the accident scene. The long and short of it is that the wrongful death suit has been dropped and your lawyers are begging us to file one of our own against the estate of the other driver. Apparently he was pretty well off.”

I could almost feel a major portion of my load shift with this information.

“What a relief!” I say. “I don’t want to sue anyone at this point. The guilty party is dead, why cause additional heartache for his survivors.”

“That’s what we thought you’d say,” remarked Bill, “so we told your lawyer to just collect her fee from them and let the case drop. I think the other family will be relieved.”

“And it gets better yet,” mentions Samantha with a grin. “Go ahead and tell him about work, Mark.”

“Oh yeah,” he smiles, “it seems that your investigator is pretty good at his job. He managed to somehow prove that the questionable emails you supposedly sent and the porn found on your computer were planted after you took leave to deal with Mother’s death. We’re not really sure how he did this, but I think that it has to do with some system backup files which were compared before and after you left the office. When confronted with the evidence, your accuser tried to bluff her way out of it, but eventually broke down and admitted to being part of a scheme to slander you and ruin your pension. Your investigator had found that she’d deposited a large lump sum in her bank account the day after mother died. She admitted being given a large sum of money to help ruin you. Apparently a former coworker of yours really had it in for you and masterminded the whole thing. Both of them were arrested but are now out on bail.”

“I suppose all is well at work now,” I sighed. “I was worried about missing my hearing date.”

“That’s not an issue now,” Tim pointed out. “I think that we all—or at least me—owe you an apology for doubting you over that issue. We should have had more faith in you. We should have stood by you.”

They all expressed agreement with Tim.

“I think that your Pastor at church will also be apologizing shortly,” mentioned Bill. “You should be back in good standing. We’ve let the gossips know that you’ve been cleared too—it should get around pretty fast since you have been very prominent in the church.”

This is almost too much good news. I guess the angel was right about burdens been taken from me. There is only my old familiar burden left—and that one doesn’t seem so heavy after the other two were lifted. If the rest of the angel’s message is right, then I’ll recover and be about His business soon. I just wish that Aileen was here to do it with me.

We chat for a while longer with all the kids commenting on my weight and hair loss. There are a number of good humored jokes about my weight loss program and the fact that I need to find a new barber. They all try to cheer me up and keep things light. Actually the relief coming from being free from unjust burdens helps considerably.

It isn’t long, however, before I tire and fall asleep while one of them is talking to me.

------< O >------

What a day!

It was only yesterday that I came to and the hospital is already trying to get me out of there. The morning was spent doing a variety of tests to try to get to the bottom of my fever, weight loss, and hair loss. Besides aching all over and feeling extremely weak, I feel pretty good. Any pneumonia that I have has pretty much disappeared—which also baffles the doctors. It cleared up too fast.

I continue to lose weight. I’m down another pound. They measured me today and found that I’ve also lost an inch and a half in height—I am now only five foot ten and a half inches tall. This is another baffling development.

They had me working with a physical therapist in the late morning to help me bring back some strength, but, from my point of view, that session did not go well—I see why they are often referred to as physical terrorists. The therapist, however, thought I was doing pretty good given my accident, a week in a coma, and the loss of so much weight.

The good news is that the IV is gone and I’ve graduated to real food—or at least as real as it gets in a hospital. They are also letting me get out of bed, with assistance, to visit the bathroom. My physical therapist wants me to try walking around the ward a couple of times this afternoon—I’ve tried it once but needed help getting back to bed after traveling fifty feet and almost collapsing.

Right after lunch, my lawyer stopped in for a visit. She was smiling as she confirmed what I had been told by my kids. As predicted, she encouraged me to file suit against the estate of the driver who killed Aileen. She pointed out that there was a high probability of success in obtaining a healthy settlement. I told her that I didn’t need the money and that even a huge settlement would not be adequate compensation for the loss of my life’s companion. What I did agree to was for her to file suit for enough to cover her fees, the funeral costs, and the loss of Aileen’s car.

My legal terrier was not so eager to go after the woman who harassed me at work. Apparently there are no assets to get. All she can see is mounting legal fees that I’d have to pay. After lengthy discussion we agreed to let the prosecutors take care of the culprits in criminal court and leave the option open to file a civil suit if assets come to light. Again, I don’t see the point in adding insult to injury so tell the lawyer that I’m not interested in obtaining more than legal fees from my accuser. In the meantime, I would just bite the bullet and pay off the lawyer and investigator for the great work they did in clearing my name. That’s a lot better than I was hoping for anyway, though it would be nice to have someone else cover my legal fees. In end, we agree that we’ll sue the estate of the driver who killed Aileen for a little more in damages which I can then use to pay the legal fees for my other case.

Not long after my lawyer left, my boss appeared in the doorway. We are reasonably good friends and he spent a lot of the time expressing his pleasure in the outcome of the investigation. He did try to talk me out of my retirement plans as he thinks that it will be hard to replace me. It’s nice to be wanted again. He wished me a quick recovery before he left.

Both the lawyer and my boss seemed to be taken aback by my much thinner body and bald head. So am I. I had a chance to look in the mirror a couple of times today. I hardly recognized myself.

The constant of the day has been Samantha. She has not left my side. I don’t think that she’s had a regular job in years—I’ve never been able to figure out what she does for cash—so she has the time. She scowls at the doctors and nurses whenever they are about. She recommends herbal teas, essential oils, yoga, and meditation as the cures for my ailments. She is of the strong opinion that the modern medical establishment is a bunch of con artists and that natural methods are much better. She likes to ignore research by saying that no research is needed when it comes to natural methods—we just need to listen to the old healers. This attitude has caused endless heated discussions over the years with her brother the ER doctor who points out that scientific research into natural methods has shown that these methods are not very effective.

If she had her way, she’d spring me from the hospital and build a sweat house in the mountains by a clear stream where she’d be sure to make me my old self again. I have to admit that I’m more on her brother’s side of the argument; however it is nice to know that she cares. This has not always been the case.

As she became a young adult, she decided to throw off all the social norms and go discover herself. This involved some questionable men, toying with drugs and alcohol, and living the life of a wandering rock climber. She got involved with the hard core climbing community and disappeared for a couple of years to live in camps all around the western United States doing many of the classic big wall climbs and lots of obscure ones. She basically lived out of her car and slowly depleted a healthy inheritance she received from a grandmother who passed away about the time Samantha was a junior in college. Samantha has exhibited extremely self-centered behaviors coupled with a strong, and vocal, sense of justice which often leads to a variety of relationship problems.

She did manage to finish college with a photo journalism degree but has not done anything with it. She doesn’t even own a camera any more. About a year or so ago, she started to reestablish her relationship with us. She was getting particularly close to her mother and was devastated when Aileen was killed.

Though we’ve always had a reasonably good, if not a little distant, relationship I’m not sure why she came back to support me. Her brothers paid for her ticket to get here and she is nominally staying with Mark and his young family. I’m sure that, with her opinionated insensitive comments, she will wear out her welcome soon. She always does. I suspect that she’ll be moving into the old family home with me when that happens. She’s using my car for now.

It is late afternoon and there is a lull in the activity.

“Samantha,” I say, “I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice to have company, but I have to admit that I not sure why you are here.”

She seems to be a little offended by my comment.

“Of course I’m here,” she huffs. “You are my Dad and we thought we might lose you. I didn’t want to lose you without a chance to say goodbye. I didn’t get to say goodbye to Mom.”

“Well,” I reassure her. “I love you and am glad to see you. I don’t think I’m dying right now.”

“I don’t know,” she observes. “If these quacks don’t do something soon you’re going to waste away to nothing and disappear. If they are so hot, then why haven’t they found out what’s happening? We should get you out of here.”

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I somehow feel at peace about this whole situation. I had an experience just before I was hit by the tour boat which leads me to believe that I have many years ahead of me and much work to do.”

Samantha gets a strange look on her face and asks, “You mean some kind of religious experience?”

Samantha turned her back on her religious upbringing when she left home and began her search for herself. She doesn’t know that we are aware the she formally disassociated herself from the church she was raised in. While she believes in nebulous, indistinct natural earth aura inspirational experiences, she doesn’t believe that there is a God out there.

“Yes,” I confirm, “a religious experience.”

She ponders this for a moment and seems almost embarrassed about something.

“Well,” she waffles for a bit, “I guess that I had one to.”

This surprises me.

“You mean that you felt one of those indistinct impressions you tell us about?” I ask.

“Um,” she hesitates, “no. More like one of the religious experiences you read about in the scriptures. I had a vision or visitation. Have you ever had one of those?”

While I’d had lots of direction from God over the years, until last week I’d never had a visitation.

“Not until last week,” I admit. “I had one too.”

“Who visited you?” She asks.

“I’m not sure who,” I tell her, “but he was standing on the water wearing robes like you’d expect from the ancient times. He had his own clear spot in the fog and he had a brilliant glow around him.”

“What did he have to say?” she asked with interest.

While I’m not normally good at memorization, his words are as fresh as if I were reading them. I’m not sure how much to tell her.

“He told me to be at peace and that my burdens would be taken from me. He told me that I have a lot more work to do before being called home,” I tell her. “Who visited you?”

“It was Mom,” she tells me with an unsettle look on her face. “And it was disturbing.”

It’s as if an arrow has pierced my heart. Oh, how I wish I could have some time with her!

“What did she have to say?” I ask with my heart in my throat.

“Well,” she hesitates, “she told me that she loves me and not to be sad about her death. It was her time to go and, while she misses us all terribly, that good things were happening for her. She told me that she’s sad about the pain my life choices have brought to me and what the consequences will be if I don’t change direction. She told me that I’ve always had what I am searching for; I just need to go back to the teachings of my youth. She also said that there were some big changes coming in your life, Dad, and that I am the only one of your children positioned to help you through them.”

“When did she visit you?” I ask.

“Just before I got the message from Mark to call him as soon as possible,” she says. “It was like five minutes after the vision that the message came. When I got ahold of Mark, and he told me about the accident, I knew I had to be with you. Something inside just compelled me to come home as soon as I could.”

We sat pondering together for a few minutes before she speaks again.

“She looked so peaceful and extremely happy. I could physically feel her love for me.” Samantha reverently whispers.

With her words, a feeling of peace washes over me and I know that she’s told me the truth. Aileen was like that; people could always feel the love and concern she has for them.

“What do we do now?” she asks.

“We wait and see what happens with this illness, I guess.” I reply. “I have faith in the messages we have received. Everything will turn out the way it should.”

To Be Continued...