Hard To Breathe, page 27
part #2 of Drake Cody Series
Drake now experienced the agony he’d observed in so many others. The people in ERs and hospitals who waited helplessly while desperately hoping for their loved ones’ recovery.
Drake had to turn his mind elsewhere or drown.
He borrowed an iPad from one of the ICU nurses.
As he sat at Rachelle’s bedside, the sound of the monitors, alarms, and pumps provided an indicator of her body’s fierce struggle. Tracy hung a small intravenous bag, then performed an examination and check of each line and monitor, her movements deft. His thoughts flew. The prospect of losing Rachelle had crystallized for him what really mattered.
Whether it was faith or cowardice, he had to believe she would survive. He couldn't do anything to help her now, so he focused on the obstacles to their future.
He began to devise a battle plan to fight for their dreams.
Ideas came to him straight and clear. This was not medical care, but his mind engaged with the same total concentration he used in the ER. He typed out the strategies and instructions in detail.
When he looked up, he was startled to see how much time had passed.
After a last review, he emailed his plan to Lloyd and Rizz. Just as when battling to save a dying patient in the ER, no one did it alone. He would need help to have any chance.
With his document sent, Drake stepped to the narrow window of ICU bay four. The lights of the surrounding skyscrapers were fuzzy in the wind-whipped, falling snow. Huge trucks with flashing lights powered down nearly deserted streets, their massive blades hurling tons of accumulated snow.
He looked at Rachelle, so fragile and sick. Knowing how easily infection could kill filled him with dread. Rizz said she was tough as nails.
Could she hang on?
Chapter 65
Drake had to escape the ICU. As he sat beside Rachelle's infection ravaged body his feelings of helplessness and desperation had threatened to explode. He put on his flight jacket, pocketed his phone and the flight beeper, and headed to the heli-pad.
The halogen lights of the eighth floor rooftop flight deck illuminated the sleek Agusta helicopter. The pilot tossed a wave at Drake, then continued a check of his craft. The pilots and crew treated their air rescue machines like thoroughbred racehorses. The skilled operators and finely tuned engines were ready to go whenever needed and conditions allowed.
Snow continued to fall. The wind had eased and huge flakes fell heavier than Drake had ever seen. The temperature had climbed and the crystals clung to his hair, eyelashes, and jacket. The lights of downtown's hulking buildings, the stadium, pockets of metro parkland, and Drake's view of the Mississippi were shrouded in the gauzy whiteness.
Drake had called and talked to Kaye and then the children. Kaye understood the life-or-death severity of septic shock. She assured him the kids were in good hands—and his certainty of that made him appreciate her beyond limits.
She'd put him on speaker and he'd lied to Shane and Kristin. He'd managed to keep his voice from breaking as he'd told them that Mom was “a little bit sick” and needed the hospital for a few days to get better. He'd finished up by telling them how much Mommy loved them and had disconnected before he broke down.
“A little bit sick”—he wished that were true.
He scanned the metro area from his eagle's perch. The snow limited his range, but he could glimpse parts of the sprawling Twin Cities area. Almost four million people, all of whom were vulnerable at any time to the heartless cruelty of illness or injury. His life's work was treating those visited by the emergent, unforeseen devastation of disease or trauma.
The ping of the elevator door opening behind him caused him to turn.
Julie Stone stepped out. Her breath fogged in the cold. She hugged herself in her scrubs and white coat.
“Tracy in ICU told me you were up here,” the OB/GYN surgeon said.
“Julie, you must be freezing.” Drake moved to step into the elevator. She took his arm stopping him.
“No. It's okay. I'm a Minnesota girl. I can handle the cold.” She paused. “I heard about your wife. Scary stuff. I stopped by the ICU to wish you the best. Most people think being a medical person makes it easier to handle having a loved one who is sick.” Her eyes met his—kind and genuine. “Just the opposite, in my opinion. We know too much.”
“Thank you.”
She took a step onto the deck and her head swiveled as she took in the view. “I've never been up here. And tonight with all the snow. My God, it's beautiful.”
Drake could not help but notice with a twinge of guilt that so was she—strikingly beautiful.
“I come up here whenever I can,” Drake said.
“Can't blame you,” she said. “I have positive news for you. Tina Watt, our anchorwoman patient, is going home tomorrow. She learned what happened in the ER and is now a member of the Dr. Drake Cody fan club.” She smiled.
“So great she’s doing okay. Score one for the good guys.” He stuck out his hand. “We rocked it, partner.”
“We sure as heck did.” She shook his hand then looked away. “I'll leave you now.” She still held his hand. “I hope your wife gets better quick.” She released his hand then stepped into the elevator. The doors pinged close.
Their patient was going home. What a thrill. The paramedics, ER team, OR, and Julie Stone had saved the life of a special young woman. And he’d been a part of it. Nothing better.
His thoughts jumped and his good feeling sank.
His time as a doctor threatened to be over forever within days. Would he ever again have the chance to do anything as meaningful as helping save Tina Watt? Such special opportunities were a regular part of his life as a physician working in the ER.
He'd been given the gift of the best job on the planet. Stressful, exhausting, and hard, but he'd saved lives and stopped suffering. What could match that?
The downtown lights fuzzed. The ache in his stomach returned. Hollow and empty.
Rachelle scary sick, and the most worthwhile thing he'd ever done was coming to an end.
Chapter 66
RV campground
Beth looked out the windows of the RV for the tenth time in the last five minutes. She checked the clock. She took a deep breath. The meeting had been scheduled to start five minutes ago. She slid her tongue along the inside of her mouth, sensing the stitches and the coppery taste of her torn flesh. The storm had stopped travel for almost everyone else in the Twin Cities, but Dan was different. He would not be stopped.
The snow blanketed everything and continued to accumulate. The blizzard had eased briefly, so at times she could see though the falling snow down to the county road. She felt sure she’d be able to spot headlights. If Dan did make it this far, could his car make it up the unplowed campground road? He was sure to be driving a vehicle with four-wheel drive.
Nothing stopped Dan when his self-interest was involved.
Her face and mouth still ached. For the hundredth time, she ran her tongue over the stitches in her mouth. She'd quit looking in the mirror.
He'd hurt her physically so many times, but the damage inside was worse. Always afraid. Ashamed. Living a lie.
She deserved a life. A chance to live and love.
She'd taken the first steps. She'd left him. And retained a divorce lawyer. And filed a restraining order. After so long, so much abuse, she had to go through with the whole plan. Had to complete the steps that would make her free.
A plan to assure her enough money for the future and, most importantly, to be forever safe from Dan. To have a life. One final meeting and she’d be done with him.
In these last hours she recognized she would have to face him. Just days before, they’d lived in the same house. Shared a bedroom. But now everything was different. The thought of him terrified her. What had seemed a great plan now seemed a giant risk.
She could feel panic simmering. She wanted to disappear. To run away. God, what might he do? Could she keep from collapsing?
Am I strong enough?
Headlights! Her breath caught. It had to be him. She retched as if she might vomit.
Lord, no. Maybe he’d be stopped by the unplowed road and turn around. Please!
She couldn't do this.
She looked out the window. The vehicle had stopped on the county road near the start of the campground's narrow track. Give up. Turn around.
The car began to back up. Yes! Thank God, yes!
After about fifteen feet, it stopped and accelerated forward, swinging wide to enter the deep snow of the campground road with momentum. The vehicle lurched over the margin of plowed snow, then pushed through the deep snow of the campground road. The headlights fanned through the naked trees and swung towards the RV. No!
Beth looked around frantically while hearing her own gasping breaths. The RV now seemed impossibly small. The papers, pen, and legal folder were set out on the table with a chair on each side. Dan would be in this space with her. She wished she had an army with her, but on this blizzard-savaged night there would be only her—and him.
Fear thundered down on her like an avalanche. She put her face in her hands.
Panic surged. She considered locking the door. If the lock held she could climb into the bedroom and curl up on the floor until he left. The headlights bounced through the windows as the car climbed toward their meeting. He would not be stopped. I can't do this!
She ran toward the door, her head an echo chamber of shrieking alarms.
Just as she put her hand on the lock an image jumped into her mind. A memory so ugly it caused her heart to clench and her blood to freeze.
Dan standing over her, his expressionless eyes locked on her as her puppy hung from the leash at the end of his arm. Her loving dog's eyes bulging, his neck twisted and grotesquely stretched, his legs swimming in the air as he struggled for air. Dan had done that—and threatened he could do it to her.
He was a monster. She had to get free.
She pulled her trembling hand back from the lock.
She moved to the chair behind the table. She sat facing the door to the RV and positioned the paperwork in front of her, making ready.
She'd never been so afraid.
Chapter 67
County Road 116, minutes earlier
Without four-wheel drive, Dan would have had to turn back. The main roads had been plowed but already many inches of new snow had accumulated. Each turn he took brought him to worse road conditions and increasingly desolate country. Now on County Road 116, he penetrated deep, untracked snow, advancing at only ten miles per hour.
The Dayton area had been large farms and open country when Dan was young. Now horse estates, commercial operations with metal buildings, and scattered housing developments were mixed among the working farms.
The closer he came to the meeting site, the greater his certainty grew that signing away everything and paying off Beth was a loser's move. Mesh had got Dan to swear he would sign the papers and then leave. He’d warned that if Dan threatened or misbehaved, it could screw the deal. Not till then did he tell Dan when and where the meeting was.
There had to be a better way.
Mesh saw the payoff deal as a no-brainer, but the little lawyer played the game much differently than Dan. Dan had the balls to pull off moves that Mesh would never consider. The brilliant little guy always saw several moves ahead, but he always played within the rules. So limited.
I make my own rules.
He felt the heft and reassuring denseness of tempered steel in his coat pocket.
The GPS guidance said the campground Beth had chosen to hide out in was close. The falling, wind-blown snow limited visibility, but he made out an area of woodland ahead on the right. A farm field buttressed a cattail marsh, with higher ground and mature trees behind. He spotted a small sign and slowed to a stop. The turnoff was almost invisible, but there was no doubt this was it. Squinting, Dan made out the rectangular shape of the RV on the crest of the rise a few hundred yards in. The lights of the windows glowed through the falling snow.
His excitement grew. This was game time and opening night rolled into one.
According to Mesh, it might just be Beth and her attorney. Two women. He could easily overpower two women. But he couldn't leave a mark. That was where the pistol came in to play.
He hadn't talked to Clara on this one, but he was planning to use what he'd learned from her. No one but Mesh knew of the meeting. Dan had pulled the battery from his phone so if police tracked its location, it would show nothing.
There was uncertainty ahead and he didn't have the details worked out, but if conditions were right, he'd make it happen.
Mesh would suspect—hell, he'd know—but if Dan kept “plausible deniability” in play for the attorney, he could be handled. Dan could always handle Mesh. The smartest guy ever but a wimp. He liked to figure the angles and play the end-game, but he didn't have the balls to live large and risk it all.
Dan had the balls.
He wouldn't be stupid but everything was at stake. Bold moves would have a big payoff. He was eager to take care of business. He had a full nitrogen tank in his athletic bag. His heart pounded and he tingled in anticipation. A total rush!
He'd enter and act like a nutless wimp ready to sign away everything. Then he'd pull the gun.
He'd immobilize them. He had soft restraints in the bag. Very strong, but they would not cut or bruise. Then the nitrogen tank, the respiratory mask, a twist of a knob, and his problems would end.
They'd slip away just as his father had. Dead bodies without a mark on them. He’d shut down the RV, leave everything open, and they’d be frozen by morning.
No one could prove anything.
Bold steps. Whatever was necessary.
Chapter 68
Drake swiped his ID card through the reader at the entry to the ICU and the doors whooshed open. He entered the unit and immediately sensed the crackling atmosphere of alarm. A huddle of scrubs and white coats surrounded Rachelle like a resuscitation team attending a Crash Room patient. No!
He rushed forward.
“Stop, Drake.” Dr. Pete Kelly stepped forward from behind the counter and grabbed Drake's forearm. “It's not as rugged as it looks. Rachelle is doing okay. Her blood pressure dropped and her breathing slowed. I felt it best to get her intubated. We can keep her sedated. The tube went in smooth. Her pressure came back. We're playing it safe.” He looked towards the throng. “Respiratory Therapy is adjusting the ventilator. Tracy is at the bedside and radiology and lab are there.”
The pounding in Drake's chest slowed. He put his face in his hands for a moment.
“I'm okay. I just need to see her,” he said.
As Drake neared, a few of the techs moved from the bedside, leaving only Tracy and the respiratory therapist.
His stomach dropped.
Rachelle, impossibly pale, closed sunken eyes, and now with the endotracheal tube exiting her mouth and connected to the ventilator's hose-like tubing.
As frail and vulnerable as a child.
He placed a trembling hand on her shoulder.
The ventilator's click-hiss-blow cycled, causing her chest to rise and fall.
“She's heavily sedated, Drake.” Tracy's sympathy-filled eyes looked at him from across the bed. “Her blood pressure is doing better.”
Putting a tube into people's windpipe and breathing for them was something Drake did multiple times each week. Bad trauma, heart disease, emphysema, and many other circumstances called for supporting or taking over patients' breathing for them. It was the intervention that likely saved more patients than any other.
Medically, he understood it. Emotionally, it hit him like a speeding truck.
“I think she's holding her own, Drake.” Tracy was at his side, a hand on his arm. “Nothing I can measure, but I think she's stabilized.”
Drake looked at the bank of monitors, displays, and vital sign indicators. The beeps of the heart monitor, the cycling gasp of the ventilator, the wave forms of pressure readouts. The background scent of antiseptic, laundered sheets, and sickness was now joined by the unmistakable banana-like scent of the benzoin someone had used to secure surgical tape.
Tracy's nursing insight didn't have a printout or display screen, but it was as real as the cables connecting Rachelle to the heart monitor. The intubation had not been a panicked bailout but a strategic decision. Despite her scary appearance, the nightmarish plummet of Rachelle's condition may have stopped. She was still deathly ill, but perhaps the antibiotics and her defenses were holding their own.
“I hope you're right, Tracy.” Drake couldn't imagine anyone better to help Rachelle in her fight.
“We've got her, Drake.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Hang in there.” She adjusted the blanket on Rachelle, then checked the IV site where it entered the scar tissue of her neck. She picked up an oversized clipboard from the bedside tray and continued her unending tasks.
Drake put a hand on Rachelle's brow. Perhaps not as clammy as earlier? He bent and whispered in her ear.
“Tons of new snow outside, and it's still falling. Think about how much fun Shane and Kristin are going to have playing in it. You're going to get better. Keep fighting.”
He straightened. He shook his arms and shoulders like a fighter getting loose. When he'd come into the unit and seen the crowd around Rachelle, his fear had jumped to the level where he felt ill. Now it was down to a nine on a scale of ten.
Drake pulled up a bedside chair. A shrill continuous beep sounded and Drake looked at Rachelle's monitors in alarm. She looked unchanged. He scanned the machines for evidence of trouble before realizing the source of the sound.
The flight beeper's shrill wail ceased as Drake silenced it. An Air care rescue flight had been scrambled. He grabbed his flight jacket, the feeling of leaving her both familiar and uneasy.
