Coolness penetrated the fire that burned within him. The soothing hum of Simon and Garfunkel's "Sounds of Silence" replaced the monotone whiz of the IV pump and the constant blip of the heart monitor.
Slowly, Peter opened his eyes, quickly shutting them again to keep out the glaring light that stabbed at him.
"Peter?" The humming had stopped as Annie's senses told her Peter was awake. Feeling his mouth and eyelids twitch with movement, she smiled in relief. "Oh, you're awake."
"M…om," Peter's voice was hoarse, his throat dry as he tried to talk.
Laying her finger on his lips, Annie commanded him to be quiet. "It's all right, honey. Just rest."
"Wh-What hap-happened?"
"You collapsed at the precinct. The doctor said you had pneumonia. Peter, you need to be quiet. I'll answer your questions when you're a little better."
More questions entered Peter's sluggish mind, but he was unable to voice them. He felt out of breath even though oxygen was forced into his nose through the green plastic nasal cannula. Taking his mother's directions to heart, he tried to relax, closing his eyes to her soft ministrations as she resumed the song he had grown up with.
Annie raised her head as she heard the door being pushed open. "Hello," she greeted the unknown visitor, unable to recognize the footsteps, though she could tell they belonged to a male.
"Hi, I'm Doctor Sanders, Mrs. Blaisdell." He had met the formidable lady only once during Peter's hospitalization and had been told then of her blindness. Moving closer to her extended hand, he clasped hers in his. "How's our patient doing?"
Dr. Sanders glanced down at his patient and saw the faint blue tinge to Peter's lips, a thin veil of perspiration. Releasing Annie's hand, he placed his stethoscope on Peter's chest, moving it to different areas as he listened intently to the sounds of his patient's breathing.
"Peter, can you turn over? I need to listen to your back." Dr. Sanders helped Peter turn by pulling him toward the side he stood on. Again, the doctor listened, moving his stethoscope every few breaths. "OK, you can turn back over. How do you feel?"
"Not…not so…good." Peter was winded from the small amount of movement he had done.
"Peter, Mrs. Blaisdell, there is some fluid build up in the pleural space and I need to drain it off. First, I want to get a chest x-ray to make sure that's what it is and then I want to do a procedure called a thoracentesis. We can do all this in the room, Peter. I'll have radiology come and do the picture here, then I'll have the nurse set up for the procedure," Dr. Sanders explained as he headed toward the door. Looking at Annie, he saw the unspoken worry that plagued her. "It's a simple procedure. If your son doesn't object, you can stay in here with him."
"I-I'd like that," Peter said, as exhaustion forced his eyes closed.
Friday night
7:05 p.m.
"OK. Let's get on with this," the off going nurse huffed out. Every inch of her shouted out her exhaustion from the day. "I tell you, I don't think I've ever had a day like today."
"Sure you have, you just forgot about it, that's all." Rene grinned, hoping to forestall more 'poor me' stories from her co-worker. Working with the crew tonight would be filled with the same stories; it wouldn't be good to start listening to them right now. "OK, I have the same group as Wednesday night. I noticed Caine is still here. Martinez left? For home, I hope."
"They sent her to a nursing home. The family refused to take her home with a feeding tube. Said it scared them. Anyway, let's start at the beginning. 501 is Johnson…" the nurse began, her sing song report rolling off her tongue.
After assuring the rest of the day shift crew that the narcotics count was correct, Rene gathered her report sheet and medications and went to visit her patients before Dr. Sanders was due back to perform a thoracentesis on Mr. Caine.
Entering his room, Rene watched as Peter brought a glass of tea to his lips. The ice cubes clinked against each other and the container as his hand trembled with the effort.
Both parents stood at one side of the bed, the father poised to help at the instant he was needed and the mother restraining the paternal urge of her husband.
"Mr. and Mrs. Blaisdell, Mr. Caine," Rene greeted them. "So nice to see you awake," she said to Peter as she placed the blood pressure cuff around his arm.
"P-Peter. C-Call me Peter."
"All right, Peter. I'm Rene, your nurse. We're going to do the thoracentesis in a few minutes, but first I need you to sign a consent." She placed the paper down after clearing off the over bed table, then explained the consent form. "Do you have any questions?"
"Paul, I-I don't th-think I can sign it." Peter attempted to pick up the pen, his fine motor skills not allowing him to perform the simple act.
Paul reached for the pen. Rene didn't miss the older man's soft touch to Peter's hand. "Can I sign for him?"
Rene nodded, then witnessed the signature. "OK, I need to get you sitting on the side of the bed, Peter." It was a struggle, taxing her patient to the limit. Even with the father's help, Peter was drained of precious energy. "Here, lean on this. You can rest your head on your arms if you want. Dr. Sanders will be in soon." Rene pulled the table around so that Peter could lean on it.
It took twenty minutes after Dr. Sanders walked in to perform the procedure. Mr. Blaisdell had stayed in the room while his wife had excused herself and waited in the lobby.
Rene walked out to get her. As she walked out, she heard Peter ask why his mother's hand was bandaged.