Now, two days later, he’d recovered enough to sit up. He was doted over by the nursing staff and constantly checked on by the doctors. However, he had the sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t being told the whole story about his parents’ conditions. He simply had to see for himself.
With Dr. Brady’s approval and supervision, Tucker was allowed to get out of bed and into a wheelchair. He was wrapped in a wool blanket, and his feet were covered with fuzzy, nonslip-grip socks. When he was ready to roll in his wheelchair, Dr. Brady elected to push his patient from room to room himself.
“Thank you, Dr. Brady,” said Tucker as they slowly rolled out of his room in the ICU.
“You’re welcome, young man. You’ve made a remarkable recovery considering what you’ve been through. After we’ve checked on your family, I plan on moving you to a room in another part of the hospital if you can stand on your own two feet. Our generators aren’t capable of operating the elevators in addition to the other loads they’re carrying. Our hospital beds upstairs can only be accessed by more mobile patients or by our strongest orderlies carrying you up the emergency stairwell.”
“I’d like to stay near my parents,” said Tucker as he wiggled his toes and then stretched his calves by moving his feet.
“We’ll see,” said the doctor noncommittally. He changed the subject to his mother’s condition. “Medically, your mom is considered to be in a coma. Most people associate coma with a direct brain injury resulting from some form of physical trauma. A stroke can cause a person to lapse into a coma as well.”
Tucker became uneasy. “A stroke?”
“No, not in your mom’s case,” Dr. Brady replied. “Each of you sustained a different level of trauma from the flash freeze event. That could’ve been a result of exposure to the elements, age, and physical conditioning. That’s why it’s not surprising that you’ve recovered first.” He stopped to speak to a nurse before continuing.
“We treat coma patients differently based upon the underlying cause. In your mom’s and dad’s cases, we’ve focused on their respiratory and circulatory systems. We have to keep oxygen and blood flowing to the brain.”
“Why can’t you wake her up?”
“The sudden drop in her body’s temperature resulted in her organs being on the verge of shutting down. The consequences of this were reduced blood flow and oxygen supply to the brain. Her brain swelled, and she went into a coma. Leaving her in a comatose state actually aids in her body’s recovery because she’s not exposed to external stimuli or concern for others. She needs as much rest as she can get, and pulling her out before her body is ready can result in permanent damage to the brain tissue.”
Tucker became suddenly quiet as the doctor stated the facts plainly and succinctly. It was a lot for a fifteen-year-old to process, but he appreciated the candor. Once he was rolled into his mother’s room, he became full of emotion. He raised his right hand, instructing the doctor to stop short of his mother’s bed.
She looked peaceful yet pained. Her face was completely at rest, but her body remained rigid under the layers of blankets designed to keep her warm. A variety of monitoring equipment flashed numbers and lights that Tucker didn’t want to understand. However, he did know this. His mom was alive.
After a moment of studying her from a distance, he asked to be wheeled closer. He wanted to hold her hand. He wanted to hug his mother as he had in the back seat that night in an attempt to keep her warm. A flood of emotions coursed through his mind until suddenly, without warning or permission, Tucker stepped up from the wheelchair using the bed’s side rails to assist him. Dr. Brady and the nurses implored him to sit back down, but he ignored them.
Tucker leaned over and whispered, “Mom, I love you. It’s gonna be all right. I promise.” Then he gave her a tear-soaked kiss on the cheek.
Chapter Fifteen
Friday, November 1
Arkansas Valley Regional Medical Center
La Junta, Colorado
The next visit did not go at all like Tucker had hoped. Convinced to return to his wheelchair, Dr. Brady pushed him farther down the corridor to the ICU room closest to the nurses’ station. Owen, he explained, required very close monitoring at this stage of his treatment. The doctor provided Tucker a similar update to the one he’d given on his mother, with one noticeable exception that Tucker instantly picked up on. Dr. Brady never used the word recovery in connection with his father’s treatment. Phrases like not out of the woods yet and critical condition were used more than once.
Tucker steadied his nerves as they entered his father’s room. At first glance, he saw the same types of monitoring equipment connected to his father’s body as he’d observed in his mom’s room. Likewise, his dad was wrapped in blankets and seemed to be resting peacefully with his arms by his sides. Then something struck him as out of the ordinary.
“Why are his feet bandaged up like that and not under the blankets?”
Dr. Brady sighed. The moment of truth. Mentally, the doctor determined Tucker was ready. His mettle was about to be tested because a decision had to be made.
The doctor positioned Tucker’s wheelchair so he had a full view of his father lying in bed. He nodded toward the door, indicating to the nurses they should leave the room. They eased out and shut the door behind them. Dr. Brady slid a chair over from a corner of the room so that he was sitting by Tucker’s side.
Tucker studied the doctor’s face and scowled. He choked back the tears and sat a little taller in the wheelchair. After another glance at the monitors and
