Dreams

Please read the previous chapter before starting this one. This story follows an increasing number of characters; thus, to reduce confusion the reader will find a 'list of the characters' at the end of each chapter with approximate ages and how they 'fit' into the plot. Enjoy.

The Stuff That Dreams Are Made of – Chapter 5

We drove three cars to Brattleboro. It took over three hours. I was with Josh and Mar. We did little talking on the way up, mostly about logistics for the coming week so that some of us that were uninjured could be at the hospital around the clock.

Seven of us assembled in the hospital's lobby, and then together asked about Dave, Fran, and Tara. I volunteered that Tara was probably mobile and might be an outpatient rather than an inpatient. The receptionist was really helpful, and even got one of the aides to run off to see what she could get in terms of current information.

Ten minutes later as most of paced in the lobby, the aide came back wheeling Tara in a wheelchair. There was a major reunion with lots of tears as we all gingerly hugged and kissed her. Tara had a huge bruise on her left cheek, and the beginning of what would surely be a pair of long-lasting black eyes. She was wearing an external upper body brace over her hospital gown.

We gathered around while Tara spoke, her voice on the edge of tears: "Dave's out of surgery. I saw his gurney through the window as they wheeled him into the ICU. The doctor won't talk to me or give me a prognosis since I'm not family. Fran is still being operated on. This has been ... my God, almost twelve hours since the accident, and ten or so hours since we got here."

The receptionist came over to us and said, "I've arranged for you all to use one of the conference rooms as a temporary visiting area. If someone needs it we might have to bump you out, but for now ..." She gave us directions to the room, and we shuffled down the sterile hall, Peter pushing Tara's wheelchair.

Tara said, "Let me tell the nurses where we are so she can find us." Peter wheeled her away following her directions. It was a small hospital, however, I could see it had several wings. The rest of us found the conference room and slid into the chairs.

Kate said, "I saw a sign for a cafeteria. Tell me what you guys want to drink or eat and I'll see what I can do." She produced a piece of paper, took our orders, and disappeared with her to do list.

Peter and Tara came back a few minutes later. Tara described the accident and then the subsequent events. Dave had been driving, even taking it easy on the snow-covered roads. The three of them were heading to a motel near Killington for the night, and then a day and a half of skiing, before they headed home. Tara had been asleep in the back seat.

"I awoke to Dave yelling, 'Oh shit!" Fran screamed. I felt the car slid, even felt it slowly rotate sideways, and then it flipped over down this embankment. I think we rolled over at least twice. At the bottom of the slope was a huge pine tree. The driver's side of the car slammed into the tree, almost wrapping around it. The car almost spit apart."

"I lost consciousness. When I came to I could hear voices from outside the car. The air was cold. I could see Fran's head; it was at a funny angle and there was a lot of blood. Dave was leaning against the tree that now resided where the dashboard and steering wheel used to be. He wasn't moving; I thought he was dead."

Tara unfolded how some good Samaritans had seen the car plummet off the road and stopped. They'd also been lucky that they had '911' coverage and so they summoned help right away. "I kept hearing them talk about stopping the bleeding. They got me out of the car, but didn't want to move Fran or Dave. They assured her that they were both alive, but seriously injured. Soon ambulances and a fire truck arrived, and then police and lots of other help."

Tara sobbed into Peter's legs as she leaned into him from the wheelchair: "I was in shock – I am in shock. I can't believe what happened. I kept losing track of things ... things that were happening. All I want to do is cry."

Kate arrived back with a tray of food and drinks. She's gotten hot tea for Tara, and Peter's favorite – a diet coke. There were also some muffins and doughnuts as well as the various coffees and drinks. I found my black coffee.

About an hour later, an operating room nurse with splatters of blood on her hospital gown came into the room. She looked surprised at the number of people in the room, and even uttered a 'Wow' before she sat at the head of the table.

Tara said to the nurse, "This is my family. They're family for Dave and Fran too."

She studied each of us, and then spoke, mainly to Tara who she'd apparently talked to a few times over the night. "Tara, the doctor wants you to stay in the hospital until tomorrow. He also wants you to have '24/7' companionship for the next five days, and to stay in a wheelchair until at least Friday. This is to be sure there are no seizures or anything we might have missed, although your x-rays suggest you'll be OK beyond what we've already talked about. You need to see an orthopedic doctor soon too, especially about your dislocated shoulder."

Tara said, "Not a problem. She looked around at us."

The nurse went on, "Fran Tilman is out of surgery. She's got about thirty pins in her arms and legs holding her bones together. A few of the pins are very large, as she'll find out when she goes through airport security." She smiled and tried to adopt a reassuring posture. "We had to open up each of her limbs to piece her bones back together – that was what was taking so long. She'll have a lot of scars. We removed her spleen – it was badly punctured by a broken rib. We also repaired some damage to her liver, digestive track, and head. She concussed, and we won't know how serious that is for a few days or even weeks. She's in the ICU now and will probably be there for at least a week."

Her mood changed to a more serious one when she stated, "David Wescott is the worst of the two. Unfortunately, we had to amputate his left leg." Two of us standing there sobbed, sharing Dave's pain before he was even aware of it. She continued, "It was crushed in the accident and the surgeon couldn't save it. Wescott was lucky he didn't bleed to death. The EMT I talked to said someone had already put a tourniquet on the leg before they got to him. It saved his life."

She paused and studied us. We were a somber bunch as we received all the bad news. I had tears streaming down my face. Mar and I were hugging each other. She went on, "He also broke several bones in his other leg, his pelvis, and his left arm. Those were easier and faster to set than Fran Tilman's – well only about a dozen pins. A few of his organs broke away from their support structures, but for some reason none of them ruptured except his spleen. We pulled that out but he'd suffered a huge amount of internal bleeding from all the shifting around in there. The reason they almost lost him in the ambulance was he was about out of blood between his leg and spleen injuries. They transfused during transport; good thing he wasn't a rare blood group. He too will be here for quite a few weeks, the first few in the ICU."

Mar asked in a reverent way, "When can we see them?"

The nurse thought a minute and said, "I'll take you up there one at a time now so you can peek into the ICU and see them, but they're all bandaged up, covered up, and adorned with lots of catheters, feeding tubes, and other plumbing. They're both heavily sedated; the doctor said he'd keep them that way for at least the next twenty-four hours to manage the pain, maybe even longer. By the way, after he cleans up he'll be down here to talk to you too."

We broke apart and the nurse, whose name I saw from her nametag was Annie Myette, ushered each of us up to a large glass door one at a time. Through it we could see the two bodies lying in white sterile beds about twenty feet apart, and just as the nurse described a plethora of tubing and electrical monitoring equipment all around. I noted the crash cart at the foot of their beds.

I asked Annie many questions, particularly about Dave and his ability to get around in the future, possibly on a prosthesis. The doctor had come down while Annie was showing me Dave and Fran. I gathered from the tail end of his remarks that he had little to add beyond what the nurse had told us. He seemed a little more guarded about the prognosis for our friends.

The seven of us talked. Kate would stay at the hospital for the rest of Saturday. Mar would come back on Sunday morning and relieve her. Kate would drive Tara home if the doctor signed her out. She'd of course keep us posted about any news. Beth would handle Monday, and I'd take Tuesday. We also set up a '24/7' duty with Tara at home, a little easier since we were all in the same house and worked close by.

Peter and Tom said they'd create a temporary bed and sitting room for Tara in the living room so she wouldn't have to get upstairs for a few days. Hopefully, the same space could receive Fran and Dave when they got home. The guys would also handle 'hospital duty' towards the end of the week.

We left Kate a car although it turned out that none of us on 'duty' ever needed to leave the building. The nurses were great, even finding us chairs that we could recline and sleep in over night. We all got to know the small hospital really well.

News was slow during the week and any improvements to Dave or Fran were unmentioned or insignificant. Both remained heavily sedated and uncommunicative, but Annie Myette, the nurse, assured us their vital signs were improving slightly every day.

Tuesday, Beth and I hugged as I relieved her. She left for home in the car I'd driven up, leaving me keys for Fran's Honda that we'd driven up Sunday morning.

I checked in at the nurses' station and Annie was there. She recognized me, and we had a brief conversation about how long these things take. Eventually, she asked me: "What is your relationship with Dave?"

Quick as a flash I said, "Well, he's ... sort of ... my husband."

A puzzled look came over her face. She said, "Can you explain that further ... because each of the other women that have been here since Sunday all said the same thing. I thought they were yanking my chain, but you're the third one to use the same words."

I laughed. I briefly explained our 'family' to her, as well as our group home. Annie seemed intrigued. I could tell she wanted to ask more questions about how we lived; however, she held her tongue and accepted my short and somewhat vague explanation.

The doctor brought Fran out of her drug-induced coma on Tuesday afternoon. She'd was still a little groggy with the other painkillers, but at least she was awake and the assessment of her head and mental state could begin. Annie came and got me about four-thirty, taking me up to see Fran. I had to wash my hands thoroughly, put on scrubs, a paper hat, and wear a facemask.

"Hi, darling," I said softly as I came up near her bed in a different section of the ICU from where I'd last seen her. Annie explained that her condition was still serious, but not as bad as it had been or as Dave remained.

Fran's eyes blinked open. I got a wan smile. She tried to whisper something to me, so I leaned near her head. She managed a hoarse whisper: "Forgive me for not getting up and hugging you. I love you. " After a brief silence she asked, "Everybody else? Dave? Tara – they told me she was OK and went home, but I've been sort of foggy?"

I answered her, "Dave's just down the hall, still unconscious. We've been taking turns being here with you two. Tara's at home under constant care. We even hired a nurse to come in check her twice a day, other than that we're taking turns babysitting." I didn't want to tell Fran about Dave's missing limb just then.

"What day is it? No one's told me."

"Tuesday night."

"Egads, I lost three days. The last thing I remember is the car starting to roll after we hit the ice. There ... there was nothing to grab hold of. I remember thinking I'm going to die."

I partially filled her in on what had happened and what I'd heard. Fran lay like a brick on her bed just taking it all in. Finally, she asked, "When can I get out of here? I want to go home and be with my family ..." She smiled at me and added, "Besides I had this great weekend of sex planned; I guess we blew that away."

I actually laughed and Fran did too, in the limited way her head bandages and physical pain let her. Nurse Myette let the comment pass, but by way of a smile clearly made note of the aborted weekend plans. She made me promise to stop talking for a while so Fran could try to sleep about an hour; she promised to come and get me if anything changed with Dave too.

Hospitals come to life between five and six in the morning. I've never understood why the medical profession likes such early hours. Another nurse with the name 'Bea Champagne' embroidered on her top came in and gave us an update on Dave. His dosage of morphine was being reduced while the doctor was still in the hospital doing rounds; she expected he'd regain consciousness any moment.

I'd started my morning with Fran when we got that news. She urged me to go and be with Dave and then report back to her. I went down the hall to the other wing of the Intensive Care Unit, still wearing my scrubs and mask. The doctor smiled at me over the top of his mask, and pointed to a chair a few feet from the bed. I went and sat down.

Dave stirred slightly, his hands and one foot twitching, and then his breathing became deeper and more normal. The doctor tweaked the dosage level again. The involuntary actions continued, until Dave's eyes fluttered and opened. He was looked me; I gave him a big smile and then realized he couldn't see much of my face between the hair cover and the facemask. I waved.

The doctor spoke to him, "Mr. Wescott, I'm Dr. Higgins, your doctor and surgeon, and part of the team that glued you back together again as best we could. You're in the ICU at Brattleboro Memorial Hospital. You're in serious condition from your car accident, and as you'll discover if you haven't already, you lost your left leg just above the knee. We also had to pull your ruptured spleen out of you. I know you can't speak and that you have a million questions. You'll be here for a while, and we'll get to all of them. For now, we want you to rest and get healthy. We're going to keep you heavily sedated for a while; it's good if you sleep most of the time. Your wife, here, can tell you what's been happening. Please don't try to move or get up; most of you is broken and needs to mend. Can you talk around the tubing or blink your eyes."

A groan came from Dave's lips, and then we heard him mouth in an awkward whisper, "Water." The nurse came over and fed him a couple of sips of water through a straw from a container. The doctor said he'd check back in a few minutes. He motioned me to Dave's side.

I held Dave's hand and talked to him. I tried to think about what I'd want to know if I'd been out of it for four days, including what was going on with Fran and Tara, as well as what was happening at the house – even including the house project and Kate's fascination and sexual escapades with the two youngest workmen in Bill's crew. I guess I babbled for about ten minutes. The doctor and nurses left us alone for that brief time.

The doctor came back with nurse Annie Myette, and they checked Dave's vital signs. Both seemed satisfied that he was making progress. The nurse asked me to give him a rest for at least an hour before coming back, so I went back to Fran's room and shared Dave's progress with her. This time I told her that Dave had his leg amputated. She took the news in stride with just a nod. Afterwards, she whispered, "I guess we're just lucky to be alive. We'll all face what we have to in the family. Thank God for the family."

I called Tom, who was on his way up to relieve me, Mar at the house where she'd share the news, and then Dave's mother and Fran's sister – both of whom were over a thousand miles away. We'd suggested that they wait to come visit until their son and sister, respectively, were out of the woods and out of the ICU.

Tom showed up about ten o'clock that morning. He washed up according to hospital rules for visiting in the 'middle earth' part of the ICU, donning the scrubs, hair cover, and facemask everyone in the ICU seemed to wear to avoid contamination. I hung around to see Dave one more time. This time he'd come out of his drug fog a little more, and through his tubes was able to ask a few questions, including what had happened to his car – we didn't know but Tom promised to find out. He also started to get concerned about health insurance and paying for his accident. Somehow, we got his anxiety reduced with calming words, and let him go back to sleep. I saw Fran, pretended to kiss her goodbye through my mask, and left.

*

Dave and Fran ended up as 'guests' at the hospital for another month. After they were both out the ICU, we collectively insisted that they have a room together. Both signed the necessary releases, and soon enough they were roommates. Their rooming together also made our round-the-clock patrol a little easier since we didn't have to split our time between their rooms.

Tara went back to work part-time three weeks after the accident. Greg and Linda flew up to see the hospitalized pair, and take their turns in hospital duty. Much to my surprise, Duke responded to my e-mail about the accident by flying in from Texas so he could visit the two and help in any way he could. Aaron came up one time too. Alan and Karen made a weekend trip to the hospital after the pair was out of ICU. Thus, the duty roster consisted of ten of us, and special guests. We insisted that Tara not be part of the roster, but that she could play nursemaid when the pair got home. Tara did finally go back to the hospital with us just before the pair was released.

Annie Myette, the nurse we'd first met at the hospital, spent a lot of time with the pair and with whomever of us was visiting. Gradually over the weeks she learned about the family, how we'd started, what we valued, and how we loved. The concept of the family home fascinated her, particularly how we managed financially and logistically. Over the weeks she met every family member, and a few of our friends that we brought along.

*

Homecoming was a happy occasion, despite the lingering injuries both Dave and Fran had. Both were in wheelchairs and would be for at least another month or more. Tom and Mar rented a special van and drove up to Vermont to pickup the pair, both being released on the same day. We all gathered, along with many friends from work and a few neighbors we were getting to know, for a celebratory cocktail party that Friday evening. Nurse Annie Myette also came to see the pair safely home, view the family home she'd heard so much about, plus visit her sister who lived in the city and, as she said, needed a weekend visit from 'Big Sis.'

The weather cooperated the end of February, always a chancy occasion, so we had about fifty people in the house when Tom drove the van up to the temporary wheelchair ramp that Bill had built for the pair.

Neither could use crutches since each had broken arms still in the process of healing. Dave was first out, as Mar helped him down the van's wheelchair ramp and up the ramp into the house. Fran was close behind assisted by Tom. We all cheered and waved our drinks and beer bottles at them.

Dave and Fran both had that pasty look that bedridden people develop. Between them they were wearing five casts to hold bones in place for healing, and sporting about a dozen surgical scars, a few of which showed on necks and faces where surgical stitches had recently dissolved. I knew that underneath their clothing Dave wore a body brace; if you tapped on his back or chest, you got the resounding sound of hard plastic rather than soft flesh. Both were bundled up against the raw north wind blowing up the meadow that passed for a front yard. Dave's missing leg was all too evident.