David’s arms and legs toward his chest. His heart beat faster.
“But you said you took the blood-gas test before Matt went for his bath. Maybe he didn’t need oxygen then, but what if his condition changed in the meantime? What if he needs the oxygen now?”
“His condition couldn’t change that fast,” the nurse said. “Not without something to indicate the change. I just took his temperature. It’s normal.”
David’s lungs pumped. The swirling in his brain intensified. A peculiar kind of swirling. Not the sort in which the room seemed to spin. Instead the room remained still while his mind spun.
Again he saw fireflies. Again he floated down a brilliant corridor. Again he heard power chords.
But the fireflies could have been glinting specks behind his eyes.
And the power chords? David suddenly realized that Matthew’s portable radio had been playing heavy-metal rock all along.
My God, is this really just a delusion?
And yet he knew , he was sure that Matthew’s weakness and stomach pains were warnings of the septic shock that soon would kill him.
No!
He liked this nurse. She knew her job. She did it well. She was sympathetic, talented, motivated, and totally wrong.
I can’t waste time. I can’t let my son die.
His pulse thumped faster, increasing the humming behind his ears. He’d hoped to intervene subtly in Matthew’s treatment, to point out this or that minimal change in Matt’s condition, to maneuver Matt’s physicians into humoring David’s increasing concern and taking precautions that they saw no need for, given Matt’s presently acceptable vital statistics.
But now he realized that if he did believe in his premonitions, he couldn’t keep following the indirect tactic he’d chosen. He had to insist, to do and not just make suggestions, to act against the system instead of within it.
“Antibiotics,” David told the nurse. “He needs them right now. Give them.”
The nurse stepped backward. “What are you talking about?”
“Donna, do you understand?”
“Yes. Believe me.”
Again David saw her in triplicate—as a vibrant bride in her early twenties, as a dying elderly woman, as the middle-aged desperate mother she was at present—all equally beautiful, each the object of the various lifelong, profoundly increasing stages of his love.
But at the moment, he thought he’d never loved her more. And again he was struck by something behind her eyes, a frightened conviction, a terrified certainty, as if she truly did understand what he was warning about.
“Antibiotics. Matt needs them. Give them to him. Now ,” David told the nurse.
“But I told you”—the nurse stepped farther back—“he doesn’t have a temperature. His other statistics are somewhat high but well within normal ranges. There’s no reason to give him antibiotics. Even if he had an infection, which he doesn’t, we’d need to do lab cultures on his blood, to learn what kind of infection it was, so we could decide what kind of antibiotics would be best to fight the—”
“Who’s the doctor on duty?”
The nurse veered quickly past David, her eyes no longer nervous but apprehensive. “I’ll hurry and get him.”
“No, I’ll go with you. Donna, in the next ten minutes, Matt’ll be so weak he won’t take phone calls. He’ll send away visitors, the friends he’s been anxious to hear from. He’ll ask you to turn off his music. Understand? He’ll start rejecting everything that’s important to him.”
“Yes,” Donna said, that same unsettling knowledge behind her eyes. “I understand. Do it. Whatever you think is right. I’m so afraid.”
“Twice is too many times.”
Donna nodded, as if she sensed exactly what he meant.
With a frightened look, the nurse left the room.
David followed.
4
In the corridor, the nurse whispered to the head physician, her remarks attracting a second physician. They turned, eyes narrowed, as David approached.
The first physician straightened. “We
“But you said you took the blood-gas test before Matt went for his bath. Maybe he didn’t need oxygen then, but what if his condition changed in the meantime? What if he needs the oxygen now?”
“His condition couldn’t change that fast,” the nurse said. “Not without something to indicate the change. I just took his temperature. It’s normal.”
David’s lungs pumped. The swirling in his brain intensified. A peculiar kind of swirling. Not the sort in which the room seemed to spin. Instead the room remained still while his mind spun.
Again he saw fireflies. Again he floated down a brilliant corridor. Again he heard power chords.
But the fireflies could have been glinting specks behind his eyes.
And the power chords? David suddenly realized that Matthew’s portable radio had been playing heavy-metal rock all along.
My God, is this really just a delusion?
And yet he knew , he was sure that Matthew’s weakness and stomach pains were warnings of the septic shock that soon would kill him.
No!
He liked this nurse. She knew her job. She did it well. She was sympathetic, talented, motivated, and totally wrong.
I can’t waste time. I can’t let my son die.
His pulse thumped faster, increasing the humming behind his ears. He’d hoped to intervene subtly in Matthew’s treatment, to point out this or that minimal change in Matt’s condition, to maneuver Matt’s physicians into humoring David’s increasing concern and taking precautions that they saw no need for, given Matt’s presently acceptable vital statistics.
But now he realized that if he did believe in his premonitions, he couldn’t keep following the indirect tactic he’d chosen. He had to insist, to do and not just make suggestions, to act against the system instead of within it.
“Antibiotics,” David told the nurse. “He needs them right now. Give them.”
The nurse stepped backward. “What are you talking about?”
“Donna, do you understand?”
“Yes. Believe me.”
Again David saw her in triplicate—as a vibrant bride in her early twenties, as a dying elderly woman, as the middle-aged desperate mother she was at present—all equally beautiful, each the object of the various lifelong, profoundly increasing stages of his love.
But at the moment, he thought he’d never loved her more. And again he was struck by something behind her eyes, a frightened conviction, a terrified certainty, as if she truly did understand what he was warning about.
“Antibiotics. Matt needs them. Give them to him. Now ,” David told the nurse.
“But I told you”—the nurse stepped farther back—“he doesn’t have a temperature. His other statistics are somewhat high but well within normal ranges. There’s no reason to give him antibiotics. Even if he had an infection, which he doesn’t, we’d need to do lab cultures on his blood, to learn what kind of infection it was, so we could decide what kind of antibiotics would be best to fight the—”
“Who’s the doctor on duty?”
The nurse veered quickly past David, her eyes no longer nervous but apprehensive. “I’ll hurry and get him.”
“No, I’ll go with you. Donna, in the next ten minutes, Matt’ll be so weak he won’t take phone calls. He’ll send away visitors, the friends he’s been anxious to hear from. He’ll ask you to turn off his music. Understand? He’ll start rejecting everything that’s important to him.”
“Yes,” Donna said, that same unsettling knowledge behind her eyes. “I understand. Do it. Whatever you think is right. I’m so afraid.”
“Twice is too many times.”
Donna nodded, as if she sensed exactly what he meant.
With a frightened look, the nurse left the room.
David followed.
4
In the corridor, the nurse whispered to the head physician, her remarks attracting a second physician. They turned, eyes narrowed, as David approached.
The first physician straightened. “We
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