The Man I Love (The Fish Tales, #1)(58)

They were in the family waiting area of the ICU, a smaller room within the unit.

“We soon lost the distal pulses and took her immediately back into surgery. I feared she was developing acute compartment syndrome.”

“Which means?” Francine said. “What is it? Could she die?”

“No, Mrs. Bianco. She is out of danger but it was a serious emergency situation. In essence, her body was not rejecting the graft itself, but the oxygen the graft was bringing. We had to immediately relieve the pressure building up in the compartment of the leg—hence the name of the condition—or else blood would stop reaching her lower leg. And the tissue would begin to die. Then she could lose the limb.”

“How did you stop it?” Joe said. “What did you do to her?”

“Sir, it was necessary to perform a dual fasciotomy. We made incisions on the medial and lateral aspects of the lower leg and removed a small amount of fascia to relieve the pressure.”

“How deep?” Erik said, feeling a little sick as he tried to picture this. “Are you cutting into her muscle? Will she be able to walk?”

“No, the incision is just deep enough to relieve the pressure.”

“And it was successful? It’s working?” Joe asked.

“Yes, sir, the distal pulses have been restored and the limb is warm. She must be closely monitored through this first night.”

“And then what,” Joe said. “You’ll close the wounds tomorrow?”

“Sir, you must understand,” Dr. Jinani said. “The incisions must be left open until the pressure is fully relieved. I am thinking for a week.”

“Oh my God,” Francine whispered, putting her face in her hands.

“And it can take up to a month for the fasciotomies to heal completely.”

“A month,” Erik whispered. “She’ll be in bed a month?”

“Not necessarily. My thought is she will remain in the ICU for a week while the wounds remain open. I will close them one at a time, roughly speaking, over a period of ten to twelve days. Then she will be able to walk, either with crutches or a walker, and we can send her to rehab.”

Nobody spoke then. The hospital hummed with quiet purpose around them. A voice over an intercom. A nurse walking by, her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. A phone ringing sedately.

“Can I see her?” Francine said. Her eyes were closed but her spine was straight.

“She’s heavily sedated right now, Mrs. Bianco, and—”

Her eyes opened. “I don’t need to have a conversation with her,” Francine said, her voice velvet around steel. “I just need to see her.”

“This is our only child, doctor,” Joe said.

“I understand. Just for a few minutes,” the surgeon said. He looked at Erik. “And you?”

Every particle of Erik’s being resisted. I can’t, he thought. I can’t do it. Not with her leg sliced open. I can’t look at her like that. Don’t make me.

Joe put his hand on Erik’s face. The firm, warm palm. A soft tug on his earlobe. “Come,” he said. “I need you to come, Erique. We’ll make each other strong.” The pat of his hand again. “I am afraid, too. Come with me. I ask you.”

Erik shut his eyes tight. Teeth set together, he nodded.

He got up.



*



Back at the hotel, Erik collapsed on one of the queen beds, heeling off his shoes.

“Bad?” David asked.

Erik ran his hands through his hair and held them there. “They were long cuts, man,” he said. “I thought they’d be little.”

“Show me.”

Erik freed a hand and drew a line a couple inches beneath his knee bone to the top of his sock. David drew in his breath with a hiss. “Just on one side, right?”

“Both.”

“Jesus.” His face twisting a little, David crossed his arms tight on his chest. “And you could like…see her muscles and shit?”

“Sort of. I mean, her leg was bandaged but…” The incisions were dressed but you could see something wasn’t quite right, see beneath the light gauze something was bulging from them. Erik shook his head, trying to flick away the image. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Don’t. You’re done. Hit the sack. You want tea or something?”

“No.”

“Don’t forget to call your mom. She called before, I talked to her a little while.”

Erik’s hands were numb and stupid as he brushed his teeth, pulled on sweats and a T-shirt. He called Christine. Again the sensation of his mouth making coherent conversation without his brain’s participation.

“You went out of the booth,” she whispered. “David told me how you… Oh, Erik…”

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

“No. No, honey, I… I just need to get to you.”

“I’m so tired.”

“Put your head down. Stay with David. I’ll be there tomorrow.” More comforting, murmured words flowing over the line, saying goodnight, saying she loved him. She was coming.

After hanging up, Erik toppled into bed like a felled tree. David brought him a glass of water and a blue, triangular pill.