“You can speak to the surgeon when he’s finished, okay? He’ll come out and talk to you.”
The nurse smiled minimally, gave them directions to the elevator and the surgical floor, and then reached for a chart.
“And Ruthie?” June asked the nurse, her voice sounding thready in her ears. “Is she here, too? Is she okay? Her name is Ruthie Brink.”
The woman looked up. “Are you family?”
“I’m…I am Elwood’s sister-in-law.”
“I can only speak to immediate family regarding any patient, Mrs. Blankenship.”
“You can’t even tell us if she’s here?” June felt as if she was about to explode and not just because the nurse wouldn’t tell her where Ruthie was. She was deathly afraid everything was about to change. Had already changed.
“Junie.” Frank gently took her arm. “Come. Let’s go see about Elwood.”
They arrived at the elevator and Frank pushed the up button. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon where Ruthie is. One thing at a time, love. Let’s just focus on one thing at a time.”
There was no one in the surgery waiting area, and only one charge nurse sitting in subdued lighting at the entry station for the post-surgery patient wards. Frank told this woman who they were.
The nurse picked up a black telephone handset. “I’ll let the OR know you’re here.”
Frank and June took seats in the empty waiting room, the ticking of a wall clock marking off the seconds as they waited. And then waited and waited.
They dozed off and on.
Morning sunlight was filtering in through the curtains at the one window in the waiting room when a man in surgical scrubs finally emerged through a set of double doors.
“You must be the Blankenships,” he said. “I’m Dr. Fremont. I’m the surgeon who operated on your brother. He’s pretty banged up and the repairs took a little longer than I’d anticipated, but he made it through all right, and while he’s got some major recovering to do, I expect he’s going to be okay.”
“Thank God.” Frank closed his eyes and shook his head in what looked like near disbelief that the doctor hadn’t just said instead that Elwood was dead. His eyes stayed closed for only a moment. “What was the surgery for? Why did it take so long? What happened in the crash?”
“You’ll want to contact the Riverside County sheriff for details on the accident,” the doctor said. “I don’t know those. I can just tell you that your brother’s injuries were significant and he’s lucky to be alive. His right leg was broken in a couple of places. That will take some time to heal. He might have a slight limp on the other side of his recovery but likely nothing too debilitating. He’s got some fractured ribs, a broken collarbone, some contusions and lacerations, and there was some internal bleeding that we took care of in the OR but I will be watching to see if there are complicationspost-op there. Like I said, he was very lucky. The internal bleeding alone could have killed him.”
Both Frank and June needed a moment to let that thought sink in.
“When can we see him?” Frank said a moment later.
“He’ll be in the recovery room for a little while yet and he’s going to be very groggy for a while as he’ll be on some pretty strong pain medication. Perhaps you’d like to go down to the cafeteria and get some breakfast and we’ll look at maybe letting you see him in a couple of hours.”
Neither June nor Frank had an appetite.
They stayed in the waiting room as the surgical floor came to life with breakfast trays on rolling carts and doctors making their rounds and another couple, about their ages, taking seats across from them while someone they loved was also behind the double doors leading to the surgical suites.
Finally, a little after nine, a nurse came for them to lead them to Elwood’s room, admonishing them as they walked the polished linoleum to keep the visit short.
They entered a room with two beds. One was empty with sheets pulled tight. On the other on a cloud of white, Elwood lay, swathed in bandages. His right leg, in a cast, was lifted and held in the air by a sling and pulley. Bruises and scrapes covered the parts of his body not covered by bedding or gauze. He did not appear to be awake. June grabbed onto Frank at the sight of Elwood this way, her eyes burning with ready-to-fall tears. Frank patted her arm as they approached the bed, saying in a whisper, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” seemingly as much to himself as to her. When they arrived at the bedside, Frank leaned forward to lay a hand atop his brother’s bruised one. The fingernails underneath were rimmed with dried blood.
“We’re here, Elwood,” Frank said softly. “June and I are here.”
For a long moment there was no movement or sound from the man on the bed. But then Elwood slowly opened his eyes. He seemed to need a moment to recognize who they were, but June would learn later he was merely trying not to yell at them to go away and leave him to die.
“The doc says you’re gonna be okay,” Frank continued. “You’re banged up pretty bad, but you’ll heal. He says you’re real lucky.”
Elwood said nothing as he gave the slightest shake of his head. His eyes turned glassy with moisture.
Frank patted his hand gently. “Did you hear me? He said you’ll be okay.”
Elwood shook his head again and closed his eyes. Two tears slid down his bruised cheeks.
