Selling the Drama (34 page)

It started to rain as he left the city, the
downpour beating down heavier the further south along the highway
he travelled. He spent much of the time while driving talking on
his phone to the solicitor he was meeting at the courthouse, going
over the circumstances of the pending case. He was hoping to arrive
with enough time to properly read the brief before heading into
court.

He should have been driving slower. In that
split second of realisation, this was apparent, but at one hundred
and thirty five kilometres an hour, it is impossible to slow or
swerve to avoid a truck crossing over into the wrong lane. It is
impossible to do anything because the time between recognition and
ramification is seamless, the impact a devastation beyond
comprehension, where one individual is able to get out and thank
God for his life that has just been spared, while the other remains
buried within the wreck of a vehicle not made for coming to blows
with a truck.

Charlotte had not long been home when Jake
knocked at the door. "What are you doing knocking?" She grinned at
him and stepped aside so he could come in, but he remained in the
doorway, and she looked at him, standing there in his uniform, not
such an unusual sight, to be sure, but then she became aware of the
other officer beside him, and she knew then, why he had knocked
instead of just walking in like he usually did. There was a brief
sensation of feeling as though she might vomit, right before the
coldness stole over her, the shivering setting in, rattling her
bones and prickling her skin. She put her hands out in front of
her, shaking her head and backing away from him.

"No! Don't you do this! You just keep your
mouth closed and don't say it." Charlotte put her hands up over her
ears and Jake advanced on her, pulling her arms down, encircling
her with his own. She continued to shake her head, the sobs rising
up and out of her, and she pushed against Jake, as though by
preventing him from telling her, stopping him from saying those
words, she could make it all disappear.

"Charlotte! He's not dead! But he's
critical. He's being transported at the moment by ambulance. If we
go now, we can meet him as he gets into the hospital. Ellie is
coming to help your mum. Come on." He urged her gently, directing
her to get her handbag while he informed Iris on what little he
knew. "I know all of our rego numbers; that's how I knew it was
him. I've only gotten the barest of details across the radio. I
don't know much at all." Jake's face was white and his hands were
shaking, despite his professional demeanour.

Critical. The word bounced around
Charlotte's head all the way to hospital. What did that even mean?
She had missed Toby's call earlier in the day, busy trying on the
wedding dress she had ended up buying. She let her mind dwell on
that dress now, the thought of it, hanging in their wardrobe,
waiting; it made her weep all the more. She had wasted so much
time, always thinking there was no rush. "Later," she always said
to him, "we'll do it later." What if there was no more later for
them? What if this was it? What if critical was just another word
for almost dead? Charlotte folded in on herself and cried even
harder. It was a useless effort but she was beyond being able to
control the heaving sobs that were wracking through her, hurting
her chest and stealing the breath from her body.

Jake helped her out of the car, supporting
her weight as they raced through the main doors of emergency. His
uniform helped their situation greatly; he was entitled to ask
questions and there was an expectation that they be answered.
Despite this, no one yet knew anything because they had beaten Toby
to the hospital. If they waited right where they were, they were
instructed, then they would be able to see him as he came in.
Charlotte turned into Jake, burying her face against his chest, no
longer crying, but unable to bear any scrutiny. If he were alright,
wouldn't they know? The hospital staff would have been told that a
non-urgent patient was coming in from the scene of a crash and they
would not be standing there looking at her the way they were right
now. With that heavy, loaded sympathy that said so much without
words.

"What happened?" She realised then that she
had not even asked that most basic question yet.

"A truck ran into his lane. It was a high
speed head on; wet conditions."

"And the truck driver?"

"Is unharmed. He will most likely be
charged."

Charlotte pulled back and looked up at Jake.
"He's not charged yet because you all don't know what to charge him
with! Because Toby could still die! He could be dead in the
ambulance!" She lost all composure once more, disintegrating in his
arms.

"Charlotte!" Jake's voice cut through her
hysteria as he pinched her lightly on the arm in a bid to get her
attention. "Stop it! Pull yourself together, for fuck's sake! Just
stop jumping to conclusions!" There were tears in his eyes now and
he pulled away from her, pressing the heels of hands hard against
his eye sockets, grounding into them with a groan of frustration
and angst that further derailed Charlotte. If Jake was losing it
also, then everything was going to shit.

There was a general commotion behind them
and Charlotte registered a change in the atmosphere, turning to see
Toby being wheeled through emergency at a fast pace, ambulance
officers shrouding him and a doctor running alongside the gurney.
Sucking in a deep breath, she held onto it, unwilling to let it go,
not game to exhale in case everything she was trying to hold in
came tumbling out in a rush once again. Jake's hands came to rest
on her shoulders, strong and firm, pulling her back against his
chest, support for him just as much as for her, she could not help
but think.

Charlotte had no idea where they had taken
Toby, but she supposed it was into one of the many divided area's
that seemed to function as examination rooms. Standing in the
middle of the entry to emergency, she felt adrift and useless, not
sure if she should remain in place right where she was or try and
find out where they had taken him.

"Here we go." Jake let go of her to meet up
with an approaching doctor who looked completely harassed, his
hurried movement suggesting an urgency that propelled them both
forward.

"You're here for the patient that just came
in? Vehicle trauma?" His tone was clipped, as though even speaking
to them was a waste of precious minutes.

Charlotte nodded. "Is he alright?"

"No. I need you to sign some surgical
consent forms. He has multiple injuries, both internal and
external, that need immediate attention. I can't elaborate at this
stage until I take him into theatre and see the full extent. Do you
consent to any surgeries that are deemed necessary for his
survival?" The doctor glanced at her with impatience, his fingers
beating out a tempo against his own leg as he waited on a
response.

Charlotte looked at him with confusion. What
was he going on about? Why was he just standing and staring at her
right now? What was she supposed to say? Who in the world would
even say no! The very idea that this doctor was standing in front
of her instead of saving Toby's life was maddening, ridiculous.
"Just save him for me! What is wrong with you?!" Charlotte
bellowed.

The doctor nodded and a look came over his
face then, a look so human and sensitive that she was immediately
halted in her rage against him. "Yes," she added, her tone more
controlled this time. "Do whatever you need to do." She had no idea
what she was consenting to; she could not even care. If Toby
survived, he could come back to her in any condition; just as long
as he survived. That was all she cared about.

Jake talked to Ellie several times over the
course of the next few hours. At one stage, Ellie brought Danielle
into Charlotte so that she could feed her. At six months of age,
she was less dependent than a newborn, but she still fed from
Charlotte several times a day. They sat in silence, no words
available to do justice to the fear that had embedded itself deep
within each of them. Ellie took Danielle as soon as she was done
feeding, kissing Charlotte wordlessly on the cheek before leaving
with the sleeping baby, Jake walking her out to the car. He was
gone for a long time.

The doctor returned while Jake was still
absent, seating himself beside her, his manner much less hurried
now than it had been hours earlier. She looked at him, but could of
course not ask the most obvious question. The doctor seemed to know
this though, years of experience, or maybe intuition, giving him an
edge in this situation Charlotte was gravely lacking.

"He has survived the surgery. Before I let
you see him, there are few things you need to know about his
injuries. He has four fractured ribs on the left side of his body;
as a result of this impact his spleen was ruptured and we needed to
remove it. He can live without a spleen, but there are risk factors
associated with doing so, and he now has a greater likelihood of
infection while he's healing. His left arm is broken in two places.
His left shoulder was dislocated but not fractured. He has quite a
lot of lacerations, particularly to his face; you should prepare
yourself for that; he doesn't look good, but these are all
superficial wounds that will heal rapidly and leave no
scarring."

Charlotte stared at the doctor, his image
swimming in front of her as the tears began to well again. "All of
the damage is to his left side," she noted. "That's odd, since he
was driving."

The doctor shrugged. "Not necessarily when
it involves a truck. His car could have turned before full impact.
The police may be able to shed some light on the specifics of the
accident for you."

"Can I see him?" She was desperate to see
him, to see for herself that he was still alive.

"Yes, but I just have a few more things I
want to inform you of. He's still unconscious at the moment, so we
have some time to talk this through." The doctor paused, looking at
Charlotte for a long moment. He reached out and took a hold of her
hand, which seemed to surprise both of them, yet he did not let go,
his grip at once sure and comforting to her.

"All of these injuries I have just outlined
will heal; with time they'll mend and he'll be fine. There will be
pain in the short term, lots of pain, and the risk of infection on
account of not having a spleen is very serious and will need
careful monitoring." He paused, giving her hand a light squeeze.
"He also sustained a serious injury to his left leg. It was crushed
beyond repair, from mid shin right down through the ankle. There
are some injuries too grave to repair; to leave them is to risk
losing the patient altogether. I had to amputate his leg below the
knee; there was no avoiding it."

They hung there, those words he had just
spoken. Charlotte stared at him, not sure what she was supposed to
say in response. She was numb, too much information all at once on
top of being shocked already. "So he won't ever be able to walk
again?"

The doctor shook his head. "No, he can walk.
He will be fitted with a prosthetic limb and will be able to walk
just like he used to. After the wound has healed. When you lose a
limb due to trauma, as opposed to a clean elective removal, the
wound usually takes longer to heal. It's not as much of a neat site
and the residual trauma causes more pain." The doctor was gentle
with his explanation, a reverent tone to his voice that spoke
volumes about the seriousness of what he was outlining to her.

Charlotte sat silently beside him, her hand
still held loosely within his. What had felt natural moments ago
now felt awkward, so she withdrew her hand in favour of wedging it
under her thighs along with the other one.

"He'll recover from the amputation sooner
than he will from his broken arm and ribs. But it's the amputation
that will be the injury that holds him back the most. He's going to
wake up soon, very disoriented about where he is and what's
happened to him, with little likelihood of being able to remember
the accident at all. He'll go through the motions of identifying
his injuries by location of pain and will ask you to tell him about
them, because the pain will be so widespread that he won't
necessarily be able to separate it all. He's going to feel pain
down at the site of the amputation, not only from the surgical
wound, but from what is commonly called, 'phantom pain'. It can be
quite intense at times, not to mention completely bewildering.
Finding out he has had his leg amputated is going to be a huge
shock to him. You need to be prepared for him to be angry and this
is a normal response to losing a limb; I've not yet come across one
patient who hasn't had at least one meltdown within the first
twenty four hours of enlightenment. Despite all of his other
injuries he has to recover from, the leg will be what he focuses on
initially."

While Charlotte knew all of this information
was important for her to consider, she was unable absorb it fully,
could not process it fast enough to ask the questions she probably
should be seeking answers for in this situation. The type of
answers Toby would expect her to seek. There was only one question
pressing its way forward, one answer she wanted to hear. "Will he
still die or is he going to be alright?"

The doctor looked at her carefully, his face
kind within its seriousness. "Nothing is ever certain, especially
with the human body after it endures extensive trauma. But I'm
quite confident about his recovery. He's young and was in good
health before the accident; those strengths will aid greatly in
seeing him through."

She exhaled in a rush, sagging back in her
chair, so relieved but still so frightened, because she had not yet
seen him, and by all accounts from this doctor, she needed to
prepare herself for the worst, visually.