Trapped (24 page)

“Don’t shoot the messenger, but when you ate sushi and salmon at lunch, she became concerned. When you had coffee and wine, she went ballistic.”

Lisa felt her face flush.
She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts, and then she laughed. “Life’s too short for me to deal with that kind of crap, Lilly. I have enough stress, and Nora’s craziness is the last thing I need.”

“I agree with you, but you need to understand the roots of her concern.”

“This is adolescent behavior, Lilly. It’s insulting, and it demeans all of us. If Nora has anything to say, then let her face me. I won’t be a part of this.” Lisa rose. “Tell her for me that I don’t appreciate this. She’s putting a rift between us, and if this turns into a chasm, it will be her doing.”

Chapter Forty-Four (Weeks 24-25)

Lisa attended her weekly Holistic Harmony for Health seminar. First, they taught relaxation and control. She’d grown up with the idea that, for the mother-to-be, pregnancy was entirely passive, as characterized by the phrases
bun in the oven,
and her favorite,
lady-in-waiting.
The HHH approach was the polar opposite, everything, including your thoughts, physical activities, diet, and especially your emotional state, would have profound influence on your baby’s personality and abilities.

She couldn’t deny that her actions affected her baby, but she found herself stuck between the true believers in HHH and Phoebe, the skeptic.

“I enjoy putting you on,” Phoebe said. “You’re so easy. No pregnant woman can deny that your mood and your activities affect your baby. It’s the fringe stuff that turns me off.”

“Me too, but some techniques are great, especially the deep relaxation, the rhythmic breathing, visualizations, the music, and recently they talked about journal
-writing. That sounded interesting.”

“What about karaoke for the fetus? I’d love to hear you do that, Lisa, especially with your tin ear.”

“You’re impossible, Phoebe. Some stuff they put out is hard to take, including dream work, affirmations, and drawing techniques designed to stimulate the brain.”

“What about the journal
-writing? I’ve thought that, someday, I’d like to write.”

“It’s not writing per se, but a strategy that prepares your brain for what you want.”

“That’s as clear as mud.”

“You remember from nursing school
that we learned about the part of the brain called the reticular activating system (RAS). It screens incoming data, so that urgent stuff gets sent to the conscious mind, and the rest goes to the subconscious. It’s like your brain ignores the creaks, drips, and the AC going on and off that your house makes at night, but the second that Max makes a peep, you’re up and ready to go.”

“
So?”

“Part of journal
-writing, putting down your dreams and aspirations, alerts the RAS. They call it
‘write it down to make it happen’. It’s part of why modern businesses are big on writing down their goals.”

“A
‘write it, and they will come’ approach.”

“You really can’t be th
at cynical. Anyway, it works.”

Lisa arrived in the ICU after noon. “How’s he doing?”

Patti Clark, an experienced nurse
, but new to intensive care, said, “His electrolytes were a bit abnormal this morning. Dr. Byrnes had them redrawn.”

“What was wrong?”

“His blood glucose is high, and his potassium is low.”

Lisa knew about the difficulties of intravenous feedings and the potential for severe electrolyte abnormalities. They saw it often in the NICU.

When Lisa glanced at the heart monitor, she saw two abnormal heartbeats move across the screen. These had the characteristics of premature ventricular contractions or PVCs.

“How long has he been having those PVCs?” Lisa asked.

“They started this morning, but I only saw a few, and nothing sustained.”

“When will the labs…
”

The monitor alarm’s piercing scream froze Lisa’s question. They turned to the monitor
as runs of PVCs marched across the screen, up to six or eight in a row.

“Get Dr. Byrnes for me, stat,” yelled Patti to the ward clerk
, as she brought the resuscitation cart to Mike’s bedside, and grabbed a syringe pre-filled with Lidocaine to treat heart rhythm problems.

“What are you doing?” Lisa
cried.

“It’s protocol. Any patient with that many PVCs in a row gets treated. We can’t afford to wait
, because the next step is ventricular tachycardia. You know how dangerous that is.”

Lisa watched the monitor
, as Patti injected the Lidocaine. The runs of six to eight PVCs disappeared, and were replaced by couplets or triplets, runs of two and three PVCs.

I hear or feel the pulsating alarm. Something’s wrong. Something’s squeezing my arm repeatedly.
I feel dizzy, and taste something bitter on my tongue—I think it’s my tongue that feels numb. My heart is racing—racing— I’m dizzy—dizzy…

Jack Byrnes rushed to the bedside. “What’s happening?”

“He had a few PVCs
, and then runs of PVCs,” Patti said, “so I pushed the Lidocaine.”

“Here’s the lab work,” said the ward clerk, handing Jack the computer printout.

“Shit,” Jack groaned. “His electrolytes are screwed up, especially his potassium—it's really low. That’s why he’s having the PVCs. Let’s give him some potassium, stat. I’ll rewrite his IV orders.”

As Jack started for the nursing station, the monitor alarmed
, again.

Lisa felt her abdomen tense as the screen showed continuous PVCs, now called ventricular tachycardia.

“What’s his pressure?” Jack yelled.

“It’s 70 over nothing,” Patti
said.

Lisa
felt her stomach churn as she turned to Jack. “Jack—please Jack—don’t…”

“Give him another bolus of Lidocaine,” Jack said, turning on the defibrillator. The unit hummed, and then it issued a soft vibrato as the frequency increased until the unit reached its maximal charge as indicated by a distinct beep and the presence of a bright red ready light.

Jack watched the monitor, and when the ventricular tachycardia persisted, he said, “We have no choice with his pressure so low. I’m going to have to shock him.”

“Jack please
,” Lisa cried.

“He’s in a coma. He won’t feel anything.”

“Are you sure?”

I hope I’m right,
Jack thought.

Jack moved to the bedside, uncovered Mike’s enormous chest
, and placed the gel-covered paddles over the base of the heart, and to the left of its apex. “All clear,” he shouted as he turned to check that nobody was touching the bed or the patient, and pushed the red buttons.

Mike
rocked with a total body contraction. The bed shook like an earthquake.

What! Oh my God! My chest explodes in pain, unbearable pain—it’s burning me—killing me. Everything turns red, and then I descend into darkness.

Beeps came from the monitor as Mike’s heart resumed regular contractions.

“He’s back,” Patti
said.

“Let’s get the potassium in and the IV with Lidocaine running
. We don’t want any more of that.”

Lisa, who had collapsed into a chair, unwound her arms
, which had been wrapped around herself. She rose and walked to Mike’s side. She placed her hand on his cheek, and stared at her husband as tears filled her eyes.

Phoebe arrived with Nora and Emma a step behind.

“What happened?” Emma
cried. “Is he still alive?”

“Stop it,” Phoebe
said, and then she led them to the nurse’s lounge.

“Don’t ever talk that way in front of Mike,” Lisa
said.

“He can’t go on this way,” Nora
said.

“What do you suggest?” Lisa
asked. “Tell me what we’re not doing. Tell me what you would do. What’s the matter with you two?”

“His heart stopped,” Emma
said. “What’s the use of all of this? It’s been months, and he’s no better. In fact, he’s worse. This is no way to live.”

Phoebe looked at Lisa
, and shook her head, thinking,
Don’t do it, Lisa.

“I’m sick of you two,” Lisa said.
“All I’ve heard from the beginning is pessimism and hopelessness. I don’t need it. Mike doesn’t need it, and neither of us will tolerate it. You’re no longer welcome here. Do you understand?”

Nora paled, while Emma broke out in tears.

Phoebe took a step between the warring parties. “I know how difficult this is for all of you, but you only make things worse when you strike out against each other. The only villain here is disease, and disease doesn’t give a damn about your feelings.”

Phoebe returned to Lisa’s side, caressing her hair. “First of all, his heart didn’t stop. He developed an irregular heartbeat because his potassium got too low. It’s
not unusual in someone so sick. It doesn’t change his prognosis one bit.”

“Some prognosis,” Nora
snorted.

“Get her out,” Lisa
shouted. “Get her out of here!” She collapsed in tears.

I’m awakening somewhere between sleep and consciousness. That couldn’t have been a dream. My chest still hurts. What was it?

Lisa laughs at me for dismissing the possibility of an afterlife. Maybe I‘m wrong. Maybe there is one
—at least a hell!

Forty-Five (Week 25)

“I feel like you’re my mother, Phoebe,” Lisa said as they sat in Harvey Russo’s waiting room.

“You wouldn’t want me for a mother, but I’d be lot better than the one you have.”

“I don’t like to think about it when I have so much on my mind.”

“Have you heard from Nora?”

“No, not from her, or any of Mike’s sisters. I’d like to feel bad about my outburst, but I don’t. I thought they’d be there to help, but they only think about their own feelings.”

“Lisa Cooper,” said the nurse opening the door to the inner office, “it’s your turn.”

The nurse weighed Lisa
, and took her blood pressure. After giving a sample of urine, she and Phoebe waited in the examining room.

Looking at Lisa’s belly, Phoebe said, “Hardly a hint of pregnancy
, there. You may not need maternity clothes until near the end.”

“Good, I hate them. They don’t work to hide the obvious
, nor do they embellish it.”

“
It’s like putting a bow on a cow.”

“Speak softly, Phoebe, or the women in the waiting room are going to string you up.”

Just then, Harvey entered the room with her chart. “Everything looks great. Your blood pressure is 100/60 and your urinalysis is clear. How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling fine.”

“After I examine you, I’ll do a quick ultrasound. We need a good handle on the baby’s age.”

And
to make sure there aren’t any fetal abnormalities,
Lisa thought.

Harvey listened to her heart, lungs, and abdomen. “Good
, strong fetal heart tones.” He applied a clear jelly to the ultrasound probe, and spent several minutes examining the baby and taking measurements.

Lisa saw Harvey’s hand jerk back slightly. “I don’t think he likes being examined. He kicked me.”

“Do you want to know?”

“Know what?”

“If it’s a boy or a girl.”

“I already know
. It’s a boy, he’s Mike’s son.”

“I don’t know how you knew,” Harvey
said, “but he’s well-endowed enough that it’s unequivocal. It’s a boy.”

“Well,” Phoebe
said, “we
do
have something else to celebrate.”

“There’s little relationship between what’s between his legs now
, and his ultimate endowment,” Harvey said. “Sorry.”

“Well, that’s a damned shame,” Phoebe
said.

As Lisa grabbed her purse, she turned back to Harvey. “I haven’t heard from Roberta. I hope she’s okay.”

“She’s not. She really enjoyed talking with you, and I suspect she respects and loves you, but her journey and lonely, and, I’m afraid that there’s little we can do.”

“Give her my regards. Tell her to forgive me, but I love and worry about her.”

After they left Harvey’s office, Phoebe said, “Let’s stop by Andronico’s. I need a few things.”

“I love that place. They have the greatest food. I wish we had one in my area.”

They drove down sunny Telegraph Avenue
, and waited at the small lot until they found a parking space.

Phoebe pushed her cart through the aisles, loading it with fresh produce, groceries, freshly baked breads, and several bottles of wine. Lisa carried a small plastic basket for the few items she’d chosen.

As they approached the checkout register, Lisa suddenly felt pressure in her lower abdomen. She tried to ignore it, and then she felt herself begin to bleed. The pressure, now a pain, increased in intensity.

“Phoebe, it’s happening again,” Lisa cried as she sank to the floor.

Lisa couldn’t remember the two-mile ambulance ride to
Brier Emergency. When she fully regained consciousness, Phoebe was standing by her side talking with Harvey.

“What happened?” Lisa
asked.

“I’ll know in a minute,” Harvey said as he pushed the ultrasound machine to the side of her bed.

Lisa grabbed Phoebe’s hand, and said, “I’m so frightened. This can’t be happening, not again. God—please—I can’t lose this baby.”

Phoebe’s forced smile upset Lisa
, as she said, “You’ll be fine, sweetie. You lost some blood, but the bleeding stopped.”

“Something’s tight in there,” Lisa said as she placed her hands on her abdomen.

Harvey ran the transducer over her belly, and said, “There it is. It looks like bleeding between the uterus and the placenta. We call that a subchorionic bleed. It seems to have localized.”

“I’m so tired of this, Harvey. What next?”

“I’m keeping you overnight for observation,” Harvey said.

“Great,” Lisa
said. She turned to Phoebe. “You’ll have to take Daisy for a day or so. Her food is in the pantry, and don’t forget to take her dog dishes with her.”

“Don’t worry. We love Daisy
, too.”

Lisa turned back to Harvey. “What’s going to happen?”

“My best guess is that the bleeding stopped on its own, and is now in the form of a clot. Over time, the clot will dissolve. The risk to the pregnancy is more bleeding, which could damage the placenta and put the baby at risk. You’ll need to be in bed for at least a week.”

“A week?”

“At least.”

“I can’t be away from Mike all that time
—I can’t.”

“I’m right there in ICU,
sweetie,” Phoebe said. “Nothing gets past me.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Lisa said
, squeezing Phoebe’s hand.

“We can get the visiting nurse in to help you until I get off work.”

“No, that’s too much. I’ll call Sandy to help out.”

Harvey repeated the ultrasound the next morning. “I see the clot. It’s the same size, and your blood count hasn’t changed. I’m sending you home, but I need you in bed for the next six days, and then I’ll do the unthinkable—make a house call.”

“I hate
staying in bed. I’m in such good shape, and I’d hate to let it all go. Can I do any exercise?”

“Anything you can do on your back is okay, but don’t overdo it. Are you going to have help?”

“My mother’s coming down from Grass Valley, but I’m not sure what it will do to my mental health.”

“I’m not worried about your mental health. See you in a week.”

Phoebe picked Sandy up at the bus station
, and drove her to the house.

Sandy hugged Lisa
, and said, “You’re going to listen to your mother this time, Lisa. I’m not fooling around.”

“I need to stay in bed, Mother. I’m not dying.”

Lisa tried to sleep, but failed.

Staying in bed
, she thought,
is killing me.

Lisa played her HHH visualization tapes, did her deep relaxation breathing exercises, and listened to music.

“I’m trying to read, Mother. Can you keep the TV volume down?”

“I only watch four programs a day, darling. I can’t miss what’s happening, but I’ll turn it down.”

“What programs?” asked Lisa.

“You know my programs
:
As the World Turns, One Life to Live…
you know, daytime dramas.”

“You mean the soap operas.”

“Whatever. How do I get them?”

Lisa pointer the TV remote
, and pulled up the guide as Sandy pointed to program after program. “Are you sure that’s enough?”

“Don’t be so smart, Lisa. I love them.”

When not absorbed by the tortured melodramas, Sandy kept up a stream-of-consciousness monologue. At first, Lisa thought it was a conversation, but then she discovered that her contributions didn’t alter Sandy’s monologue one iota.

Maybe she’s lived alone for too
long? Maybe she has someone to talk with, or at, for a change?

Sandy prattled on about who did what to whom in each of the daytime dramas. She shared with Lisa her grave concern about celebrity marriages, divorces, who’s sleeping with whom, and who entered or recently failed at their drug rehabilitation program.

I’ll lose my mind if I hear too much more of this
,
Lisa thought. How many more days until I see Harvey and he grants my parole?