I am having trouble processing words. “She’s alive? Is that what you’re saying? She’s still alive?”
“Yes. That’s what they told me.”
My feet suddenly feel unable to support my weight, and I move over to some metal chairs. Kevin sits down next to me. “Please tell me everything you know,” I say. “Everything.”
It turns out that Kevin doesn’t know much. Laurie was in the front yard of my house throwing a tennis ball with Tara and Waggy when she was shot. She took the bullet in the upper thigh, which became horribly serious because it happened to sever the carotid artery, causing massive blood loss. Only the quick actions of my neighbor, who called 911 and then rushed over to put pressure on the wound, kept her alive.
For now.
I’m about to hit Kevin with a barrage of questions, when I look up and see Pete Stanton standing over me.
“Pete, tell me…”
“All I know is that she’s in surgery, and she’s getting massive transfusions. It’s touch and go, Andy.”
It flashes through my mind that this sounds like the same injury that killed Sean Taylor of the Washington Redskins. Pete must know that, but he has the good sense not to mention it. Kevin would likely never even have heard of the Washington Redskins.
“Who did this?” I ask.
Pete shakes his head. “Don’t know. According to the neighbor, it was a drive-by. But he got a model, color, and partial plate, so we’ve got a shot at it.”
“Where can I wait for the doctor?” I ask.
“There’s an empty room on the floor; he’s going to come there when he’s finished. By the way, I told them you were the husband.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “Gives you access; if you’re not family you have no rights.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
Pete, Kevin, and I go up to the seventh floor, which is the surgery ward. We go to an empty room, with a bed, small bathroom, and two chairs. I suppose this is going to be Laurie’s room if she needs one. Please let her need one.
We wait for almost three hours, during which it feels like my head is going to explode from the pressure. The waiting is simply horrible, yet I am clearheaded enough to know that it must mean Laurie is still alive. Otherwise the surgery would be over.
During all the time we’re there, I don’t think five words are spoken, except for Pete getting an occasional cell phone call updating him on progress in the investigation. There doesn’t seem to be much, but it’s early, and I’m not focused on that right now.
I finally realize that Tara and Waggy are alone and unattended, and I mention this to Kevin.
He shakes his head. “I had Willie pick them up. I hope that’s okay.”
As my partner in the Tara Foundation, Willie is as big a dog lunatic as I am, so it’s more than okay. “Thanks, Kevin. That’s perfect.”
Finally, the door opens and a doctor comes in. He’s surprisingly, almost annoyingly, young, certainly under forty. If he isn’t bringing good news, he’s never going to get any older, because I’m going to strangle him with his stethoscope.
I stand as he walks over. I can’t read his expression, which bothers me. I wish he were smiling, or laughing, or doing cartwheels. But he’s not, and I’m scared shitless. The combined pressure of waiting for every verdict I’ve ever waited for pales next to this.
“Mr. Carpenter, I’m Dr. Norville.”
I don’t say a word; I can’t say a word.
“Your wife has come through the surgery. She has an anoxic brain injury, due to blood loss, and she remains in very critical condition. She is currently in a coma.”
“Will she survive?” I manage.
“We’ll have a better idea of that in forty-eight hours. She lost a great deal of blood. And you need to understand that survival is not the only issue.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It is likely that her brain was deprived of sufficient blood for an undetermined period of time. There is the potential for injury.” He pauses, then adds, “Irreparable injury.”
I find my voice and ask as many questions as I can think of, but I can’t get any more out of him, other than the fact that the shorter the coma, the better. It’s going to take time until we know more.
He can see my frustration, and before he leaves, he says, “Mr. Carpenter, she’s alive. At this point, with what she’s been through, that’s saying a great deal, believe me.”
I nod my understanding.
“One step at a time,” he says. “One step at a time.”
I GO HOME to get some clothing and toiletries to bring back to the hospital.
The front yard is cordoned off with police tape as a crime scene, and a squad car with two officers is in place guarding it. I identify myself to them and go in through the back; I wouldn’t be able to stand seeing Laurie’s blood on the lawn.
My feeling right now is that if Laurie never makes it back to this house, then I will never live here again. Certainly I can’t tolerate the idea of staying here now.
Back at the hospital they still won’t let me in to see Laurie; she is in intensive care and very susceptible to infection. An intensive care nurse tells me that Laurie is a fighter, and I know that’s true. I also know that the cemeteries are full of fighters.
I’ve got to get a grip.
I lie down on the hospital bed, fully clothed, at about eleven o’clock, and start to cry. It’s the first time I can remember crying since my father died, and if memory serves, this feels even more painful.
A nurse opens the door to see if she can help, but when I ignore her, she leaves me alone. Soon I lie down on the bed, and before I know it, it’s four o’clock in the morning. For a brief moment on awakening I forget where I am or why I’m here, and the quick realization is like taking a punch in the gut.
I stagger down to the nurses’ station and ask if there’s any word on Laurie’s condition. The nurse smiles and says, “She’s resting comfortably.”
“She told you that?” I ask.
“Well, no… she…”
“She’s in a coma. How would you know if she’s comfortable?”
“Maybe I should call the head nurse.”
“Never mind,” I say, and head back to the room. I’ve accomplished nothing except attacking a young woman who was only trying to help and make me feel better.
Feeling better seems a ways off.