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“He tried to pull out his breathing tube, so the restraints were necessary.”
Lila nodded, watching her efficiently change a myriad selection of IV fluid bags, the number staggering. How did they keep track of all this stuff? Then she grimaced, noticing for the first time the hose that snaked out from under the sheets, amber-colored liquid from all that fluid they were giving him filling a bag that hung at the side of the bed. Who put the catheter in him? It was such a weird, inappropriate thought, she was glad no one could read her mind. She’d never seen his penis, yet some nurse down in the ER had handled it, sticking the tube into it. Cringing, she’d leave the room if they started to mess with it, not wanting her first encounter with it to be in a hospital room. Then the thought came to her that he might not live long enough for that to happen, and a wave of despair flooded over her.
Then Devon came through the door, and she quickly stood up, going to him. “Oh God, Dev, should I even be here? Is he going to be angry that I saw him like this?”
“Lila, you said yourself Charlie is falling in love with you. I’ve known Charlie for a long time and think he probably wouldn’t want anyone else here with him but you.”
“I’m not sure it should be me,” she cried. “This is way out of my comfort zone.”
He placed his arm around her shoulder, feeling her pain. He’d lost one best friend. Now his other best friend stood at the bedside of a man she hardly knew, but who professed to love her, someone who might offer her a future of love. Who knew if he’d live long enough to give it to her?
Devon stayed with her until he yawned, and she insisted he be on his way. “Get someone to drive you home.”
At nine, the nurse turned the overhead lights off, leaving the light on over his bed. The only sound from Charlie was an occasional heartbreaking gurgling, probably a moan that he’d tried to make with the tube down his throat.
Lila fell asleep, and after midnight, Charlie began to move around in bed, trying to thrash, but since he was restrained, he was unable to move much. She popped up at the side of the bed, and his eyes were open, with a wild, horrified look.
“Charlie, Charlie.” Then she began to cry. “Charlie, can you hear me? Try to relax. Can you hear me?”
His hands strained to get out of the restraints. He looked at her with wide eyes and nodded his head.
“I’ll get the nurse.”
But she didn’t have to. They saw on the monitor out at the nurses’ desk what was going on with his vital signs, his blood pressure skyrocketing, and clearly he was fighting the respirator, breathing on his own.
“Charlie, try to relax and let the machine breathe for you until respiratory therapy gets here to remove your endo tube,” the nurse said gently. “Nod your head if you understand.”
He nodded his head. “Okay, Chief, put your head back and close your eyes for just a little longer.”
Hearing his title struck a chord in Charlie, and he immediately relaxed. When he’d woken up, a combination of coming out of the narcotics they’d given him, and the trauma he’d suffered, he didn’t have any idea what had happened, no memory of the fire, didn’t recognize Lila or the hospital room until Lila repeated his name. Charlie.
But hearing the nurse call him chief spurred his memory. He remembered getting the alarm in the middle of the night. The huge worry over the animals at the park, the people who lived in the houses around the zoo, the nightshift employees. Were they safe? Was the fire out yet?
The staff knew he was worrying again by his vital signs; as quickly as his blood pressure had gone down, it was climbing up.
“One minute, Charlie, and we’ll get that tube out.” The respiratory therapist had arrived with her bag of supplies. An anesthesiologist came along, just in case they had to reintubate him.
Lila stood in back, out of the way, the impulse to flee strong, and only her sense of responsibility to Charlie after what Devon had said kept her there. It was time to grow up.
She looked the other way when he gagged as they suctioned black gunk out before the tube was pulled. He gasped and had a coughing fit, the nurse encouraging him to spit out what he had coughed up. Lila wanted to flee. Charlie’s voice was hoarse, and he coughed between words, the grit and grime of the smoke he’d inhaled on the move now, and he had to get it out.
“Will you let me suction your throat?” the therapist asked. “It won’t be pleasant, but it will help get some of this crap out so you can breathe.”
“Do it,” Charlie croaked, submitting to the torture, and all the time Lila was in the corner of the room in tears.
When that was done, they did some breathing treatments with him. Then the nurse helped him wash up with a basin of water at the bedside, changing his gown, which required that all the IV bags be disconnected from the pumps and threaded through the sleeves. He was clearly becoming exhausted from the care, but insisted he was fine, slipping a glance over at Lila and winking at her from time to time.
“When will I get rid of the catheter?” he said. “I can go on my own.”
“I’ll check with the resident on call,” the nurse said. “Be right back.”
When she finally left, Charlie nodded to Lila. “Come here,” he said, his voice still hoarse.
When she was close enough, he grabbed her, burying his face in her hair, rubbing her back as she cried.
“Do me a favor. I need to find out what happened. Is there anyone from the district out there? My brother, anyone?”
“I’ll find out,” she said. “I’ll leave when the nurse returns.”
