Godplayer (36 page)

After a quick stop in the study as well as the living room and kitchen, Thomas was ready to go.

With Cassi back home from her stay in the hospital, Thomas felt better than he had for many days. He even looked forward to surgery, hoping it would be a challenging case. But before he could be on his way, he had one more job: to see his mother.

Thomas rang her bell and waited while Patricia came down the stairs. She was pleased to see him until he told her he was returning directly to the hospital.

“I brought Cassi home today,” he said.

“Well, you know Harriet’s off. I hope you’re not expecting me to look after her.”

“She’s fine, Mother. I just want you to leave her alone. I don’t want you going over there tonight and upsetting her.”

“Don’t worry. I certainly won’t go where I’m not wanted,” said Patricia, contrary to the last.

Thomas walked away without saying anything more. A few minutes later, he climbed into his car and, after wiping his hands on the rag he kept under the front seat, started the engine. He looked forward to the drive back to Boston, knowing there would be very little traffic. Carefully he eased the powerful car out into the crisp afternoon air.

Arriving at the hospital. Thomas was pleased there was a spot next to the attendant’s booth. He called a loud hello as he climbed from the car. He went into the hospital and took the elevator directly up to surgery.

As evening approached, Cassi let the pale, wintry light fade without turning on the lamp. She watched the windswept sea change from pale blue to gunmetal gray. The airplane tickets still in her lap, she hoped that once they were away she and Thomas could honestly discuss his addictive problem.

She knew that recognition and acknowledgment were more than half the problem. Trying to take a positive attitude, Cassi closed her eyes and conjured up visions of long talks on the beach and the beginning of a whole new relationship. Still tired from her ordeal in the hospital, she fell asleep.

It was completely dark when she awoke. She could hear the wind rattling the storm windows and the steady beat of the rain on the roof. True to form, the New England weather had made another about-face. She reached up and snapped on the floor lamp. For a moment the light seemed glaringly bright, and Cassi shielded her eye to look at her watch. She was surprised to see that it was almost eight o’clock. Irritated at herself, she tossed off the comforter and got to her feet. She did not like to be so late with her insulin.

In the bathroom, Cassi noted that she was showing two-plus sugar.

Returning to the morning room, she went to the refrigerator and took out her medicine. Carrying the paraphernalia over to her desk, she meticulously drew up the correct amounts, fifty units of the regular and ten units of the Lente. Deftly she injected herself in her left thigh.

She carefully broke off the needle and dropped the syringe into the wastebasket, then put the insulin containers back into the refrigerator.

Cassi kept the regular and Lente insulins on different shelves just to make sure she did not confuse them. Then she unpacked her eye medication, removed her eye patch, and managed to put the drops in her left eye. She was on her way down to the kitchen when she felt the first wave of dizziness.

She stopped, thinking it would pass quickly. But it didn’t. Cassi felt perspiration break out on her palms. Confused as to why eyedrops would cause such a rapid systemic effect, she returned to the morning room and checked the label. It was an antibiotic as she’d suspected. Putting the eye medication down, Cassi wiped her hands; they were drenched. Then her whole body began to sweat, accompanied by a rush of unbelievable hunger.

Cassi knew then that it wasn’t the eyedrops. She was having another insulin reaction. Her first thought was that she’d misread the calibration on the syringe, but retrieving it from the wastebasket proved that to be false. She checked the insulin bottles, but they were just as they’d always been, U 100. Cassi shook her head, wondering how her diabetic balance could have been thrown off so much.

In any case the cause of the reaction was less important than treating it. Cassi knew she’d better eat without delay. Halfway down the hall to the kitchen, she felt streams of perspiration began to run down her body and her heart began to beat wildly in her chest. She tried to feel her pulse, but her hand was shaking too much. This was no mild reaction! This was another overwhelming episode like the one in the hospital.

In a panic Cassi dashed back to the morning room and threw open the closet. The black leather doctor’s bag she’d gotten in medical school was somewhere there. She had to find it. Desperately she pushed the clothes to the side, searching the shelves in the back. There it was!

Cassi pulled the bag down and ran over to her desk. Undoing the catch, she dumped out the contents, which included a container of glucose in water. With shaking hands, she drew some up and injected herself. There was little or no effect. The shaking was getting worse. Even her vision was changing.

Frantically Cassi snatched up several small IV bottles of fifty-percent glucose which had also been in the doctor’s bag. With great difficulty she got a tourniquet around her left arm. Then with a spastic hand managed to jam a butterfly needle into one of the veins on the back of her left hand. Blood squirted out of the open end of the needle, but she ignored it. Loosening the tourniquet, she connected the tubing from the IV bottle. When she held the bottle above her head, the clear fluid pushed the blood slowly back into her hand, then started to run freely.

Cassi waited for a moment. With the glucose running she felt a little better and her vision immediately returned to normal. Balancing the bottle between her head and shoulder, Cassi put a few pieces of adhesive tape over the site where the butterfly needle entered her skin. The adhesive did not stick too well because of the blood. Then, taking the IV bottle in her right hand, she ran into the bedroom, lifted the telephone receiver, and dialed 911.

She was terrified she would pass out before anyone answered. The phone was ringing on the other end. Someone answered, saying “911 emergency.”

“I need an ambulance ...” began Cassi, but the person on the other end interrupted her, saying, “Hello, hello!”

“Can you hear me?” asked Cassi.

“Hello, hello!”

“Can you hear me?” screamed Cassi, her panic returning.

Cassi could hear the person on the other end of the line say something to a colleague. Then the line went dead.

Cassi tried again with the same result. Then she dialed the operator. It was the same maddening problem. She could hear them, but they couldn’t hear her.

Grabbing the second IV bottle in her left hand and carrying the running bottle above her head, Cassi ran on wobbly legs down the corridor to Thomas’s study.

To her horror his phone also wasn’t working. She could hear the other party vainly saying hello, but it was obvious they couldn’t hear her. Bursting into tears, she slammed the phone down and picked up the second IV bottle.

Cassi’s panic mounted as she struggled to descend the stairs without falling. She tried the phones in the living room and kitchen without success.

Fighting against a powerful drowsiness, she ran back through the hall to the foyer. Her keys were on the side table, and she clutched them along with the unused IV bottle. Her first thought was to try to drive to the local hospital, which wasn’t far-ten minutes at most. With the IV running, the insulin reaction seemed to be controlled.

Getting the front door open was an effort that ultimately required Cassi to put down her IV bottle for a moment. Blood backed up into the IV but cleared again when she raised the bottle over her head.

The cold, rainy night seemed to revive her as she ran for the garage. Juggling the IV, she managed to open the car door and slide behind the wheel. Tilting the rearview mirror, Cassi slipped the ring of the IV bottle over it. she pushed the key into the ignition.

The engine turned over and over, but it would not start. She took out the key and closed her eyes. She was shivering violently. Why wouldn’t the car start! She tried again with the same result. Looking at the IV she realized the bottle was almost empty. Shaking, she removed the cover, from the second bottle. Even during the few minutes it took to make the exchange she could feel the effect. There was no doubt in her mind that when the glucose ran out, she’d most likely lose consciousness.

She decided her only chance now was Patricia’s phone. Emerging from the garage into the rain, Cassi rounded the building and ran to Patricia’s door. Still holding the IV bottle above her head, she rang the buzzer.

As on her previous visit, Cassi was able to see Patricia descend the stairs. She came slowly, warily peering out into the night. When she recognized Cassi and saw her holding aloft an IV bottle, she quickly fumbled with the door and threw it open.

“My God!” said Patricia, noticing Cassi’s pale, perspiring face. “What happened?”

“Insulin reaction,” managed Cassi. “I have to call an ambulance.”

Patricia’s face registered concern, but seemingly paralyzed with shock, she did not get out of the way. “Why didn’t you call from the main house?”

“I can’t. The phones are out of order. Please.”

Cassi blundered forward, pushing clumsily past Patricia. The movement caught Patricia by surprise and she stumbled back. Cassi didn’t have time to argue. She wanted a phone.

Patricia was incensed. Even if Cassi wasn’t well, she didn’t have to be rude. But Cassi had turned a deaf ear to her mother-in-law’s complaints and was already dialing 911 when Patricia caught up to her in the living room. To Cassi’s relief, this time she could be heard by the emergency operator. As calmly as she could, she gave her name and the address and said she needed an ambulance. The dispatcher assured her that one would be there immediately.

Cassi lowered the receiver with a trembling hand. She looked at Patricia, whose face reflected confusion more than anything else. Exhausted, Cassi sank to the couch. Patricia did the same, and the two women sat quietly until they heard the sirens coming down the drive. The years of unspoken antagonism made communication difficult, but Patricia helped Cassi, who was now nearly unconscious, down the stairs.

As Patricia watched the shrieking ambulance race back across the salt marsh, she had a moment’s real sympathy for her daughter-in-law. Slowly she went back upstairs and called Boston Memorial. She felt her son should try to meet his wife at the local hospital. But Thomas was in surgery. Patricia left word that he should call as soon as possible.

Thomas glanced down at the clock on the instrument panel. It was 12:34 A.M. The charge nurse had given him Patricia’s message the moment he came out of the OR at 11:15. When he’d spoken to his mother she’d been very upset, telling him what had happened. She chided him about having left Cassi alone and urged him to go to the local hospital as fast as he could.

Thomas had called Essex General, but the nurse hadn’t been able to say yet how Cassi was doing. She just told Thomas that she’d been admitted. Thomas didn’t need any urging to hurry. He was desperate to find out Cassi’s condition.

At the red light the block before the hospital, Thomas slowed but did not stop. When he reached the hospital grounds, he turned so sharply the wheels of his car squealed in protest.

The front desk of the hospital was deserted. A small sign said INQUIRIES GO TO EMERGENCY. Thomas sprinted down the hall. There was a tiny waiting area and a glassed-in nurses’ station. A nurse was having coffee and watching a miniature TV set. Thomas pounded on the glass.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a strong Boston accent.

“I’m looking for my wife,” said Thomas nervously. “She was brought in here by ambulance.”

“Would you mind sitting down for a moment.”

“Is she here?” asked Thomas.

“If you’ll sit down, I’ll get the doctor. I think you’d better talk to him.”

Oh God, thought Thomas as he turned and obediently sat down. He had no idea what was coming. Luckily he didn’t have to wait long. An Oriental man in a crumpled scrub suit appeared, blinking in the bright fluorescent light.

“I’m sorry,” he said, introducing himself as Dr. Chang. “Your wife is no longer with us.”

For a moment Thomas thought the man was telling him Cassi was dead, but then the doctor went on to say Cassi had signed herself out.

“What?” shouted Thomas.

“She was a doctor herself,” apologized Dr. Chang.

“What are you trying to say?” Thomas tried to stifle his fury.

“She arrived suffering from an insulin overdose. We gave her sugar and she stabilized. Then she wanted to leave.”

“And you allowed her to.”

“I didn’t want her to leave,” said Dr. Change. “I advised against it. But she insisted. She checked out against medical advice. I have her signature. I can show you.”

Thomas grabbed the man’s arms. “How could you let her leave! She was in shock. She probably wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“She was lucid and signed a release form. There wasn’t much I could do. She said she wanted to go to the Boston Memorial. I knew she’d get better care there. I’m not a specialist in diabetes.”

“How did she go?” asked Thomas.

“She called a taxi,” said Dr. Chang.