WATCHING BRAD
Part 122
Warren's father had broken his right leg in May, falling off a chair in the diningroom of their home whilst changing a lightbulb in the chandelier. He was still in a cast and unable to drive. Mrs. Michaels had never learnt how to drive. That was the reason they weren't at the hospital for the surgery which, they had felt certain, would go smoothly. Now that they had been told by Bill when he called them with the news, they wanted to be here and Bill was going to go pick them up. I offered to go instead. Bill needed to be here, and he wasn't in any condition to drive. I could see in is face that he was hoping I would volunteer.
"I can go," Brad said.
I shook my head. "If you don't know where you're going, you'll never find them," I told him. "I got lost the first two times I drove there and I knew where I was going. Stay here with Bill, okay? He needs someone to be with him."
Brad nodded. "Okay."
Mom and Dad Michaels were ready and waiting for me when I arrived at their house. Dad Michaels wore a walking cast, but he used crutches as well. I helped him into the front seat as Mom Michaels got into the back, then we were heading back to the hospital. Dad Michaels was a tall man, ruggedly handsome with light hair like Warren's. Mom Michaels was considerably shorter and much heavier. Her brunette hair was speckled with grey now. She wore thick-lensed glasses. We arrived at the hospital just before four-thirty.
The waiting had ended, and then it had begun again. Bill held my hand once more and we sat in stunned silence, oblivious to everyone and everything around us except any doctor or nurse who appeared. Waiting through the surgery had been hell. This waiting was worse than hell. None of us spoke. None of us moved. We sat and we watched and we waited. The minuted passed, and then the hours.
Around six o'clock, Brad left for the cafeteria to pick up some sandwiches and drinks for us. The Michaels had already eaten, but Bill hadn't eaten anything all day. He didn't want to eat that evening, but, at our prompting, he nibbled at his sandwich until it was gone. I doubt if he even knew what kind it was.
Doctors and nurses came and went, and still we waited.
And then, at seven twenty-two that evening, a doctor appeared and went immediately to the nurse's station, leaning in to ask a question. He turned as the nursed pointed in our direction and he came forward. We stood up as one. He introduced himself and asked, "Which of you is Mr. Masters?"
"I am," Bill said.
The doctor nodded to him and acknowledged the rest of us. "We have Mr. Michael's heart rate down and it is beating more regularly now." Bill wilted in relief and almost fell down. I wrapped my arm quickly around his waist for support. "Mr. Michaels is still in a coma, but we'd like to do a CT scan as soon as possible to see if there is any sign of a stroke or hemorrhage."
"Yes," Bill said immediately. "Of course!"
"Would you come with me, please?" To the rest of us, he said, "I'm sorry, I must ask you to remain here."
We watched Bill disappear down the hall with the doctor.
"Maybe I should call home again," Brad said quietly. He'd already phoned home twice since the surgery was finished.
"No," I said. "We'll both go so we can say goodnight to the kids."
As we walked toward the telephones along the wall, Brad said, "You're not going home tonight, are you?"
"No, I'm not," I said.
"How are you holding up?"
"I'm scared, but I'm fine," I snapped at him. "I'm not feeling guilty and responsible, if that's what you mean. I'm not going to flip out on you."
"I didn't mean it that way, Ted."
I stopped and grabbed Brad by the arms. "Look, Brad, I'm sorry. I'm scared and I'm edgy. Please forgive me. I hate not knowing what's going on."
"We all do, Ted. But Warren is still alive. We have to hold onto that."
"I know," I said, nodding my head. "Look, if you want to go back to the hotel and get a room, I'll. . ."
"I'm staying here as long as you do," Brad interrupted. "Warren's my friend, too. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm especially not going to leave you alone."
I stared at Brad for a few long moments, and then I hugged him. "How could I have ever sent you away?" I whispered into his ear.
"I don't know, Pops," he whispered back, "but don't ever send me away again."
* * * * *
The kids were understandably upset that we wouldn't be home tonight, but they had no choice in the matter. Still, they seemed to understand that Uncle Warren was very sick and he needed our help. Terry was still at the house and promised that she would stay the night. I offered our bedroom, but she told me she would sleep on the sofa. Mom said she would phone the Hayes' and Nathan and Barry.
I gave the kids all the kisses I could over the phone, then turned it over to Brad so he could have his turn. I returned to sit beside Warren's parents.
"I'm so frightened, Theodore," Mom Michaels said. Like Warren, his mother had always called me ‘Teddy' until things became serious. Warren would revert to ‘Ted' during those serious moments, but Mom Michaels always reverted to my given name.
"I'm frightened, too, Mom," I said in my best consoling voice. "Warren is strong, though. He's a fighter. He always has been."
"He always had
you to fight for him, Kid," Dad Michaels said. From the day he'd met me, he'd always called me ‘Kid'. I don't think I ever heard him use my name. "Our boy is on his own this time."
Mom Micheals took my hand in hers and her other hand grasped her husband's hand. Their heads bowed and their eyes closed. I bowed my head as well. We had done this often in the past. Our prayers were silent. Nothing needed to be said out loud. We were still praying when Brad returned from his telephone call, sat down beside me, took my other hand, and joined us.
* * * * *
Bill returned after a time. We all looked up at him expectantly.
"The scans are finished," he relayed to us. "They're awaiting the results now."
"Is he still in a coma?" Mom Michaels asked quietly.
"Yes," Bill told her. "The doctor says it could be hours or day, or even weeks or months. It depends on how much trauma Warren suffered during the surgery."
"It was bad, wasn't it?"
"Yes," Bill replied sadly. "It was very bad."
"It was supposed to be simple, routine surgery," Mom Michaels mumbled. She still held my hand and I squeezed it reassuringly. She sighed deeply, her heavy bosom swelling. She quivered when she released her breath in short, rapid bursts.
* * * * *
Just after midnight, the doctor arrived and stepped up to us. "I'm happy to say that there is no sign of a stroke."
There were gasps of relief from all of us, and Mom Michaels began to sob.
"Mr. Michaels is still in a coma," the doctor continued, "and is still unresponsive. We've moved him out of recovery into a private room, but he is still under constant supervision. I'll be honest. His heart still exhibits some irregularity, but that is neither uncommon nor unexpected. It must adjust and mend as would any muscle which has been injured. His heart must learn how to beat again. The coma
is uncommon and was unexpected, and, in case you are wondering if it could have been caused by his heart stoppage, I assure you that it is very unlikely. It takes a minimum of four minutes without oxygen before brain cells begin to die. His heart was stopped for less than two minutes."
"But it
is possible," Bill said.
"Yes," the doctor nodded, "it is possible, but very unlikely. The point is, we are checking all possibilities for the cause of the coma. So far, we haven't been able to find a reason. We may never know."
Bill clenched his eyes tightly.
"How long will he be in a coma?" Dad Michaels asked. His arm was around Mom Michaels, her head resting against his shoulder as she dabbed at her eyes and wiped at her nose with a tissue.
"That is difficult to say," the doctor said. "It could be hours, but it could be days or months as well. There is no way to know."
Bill spoke without opening his eyes. "What do you recommend, Doctor?"
"I recommend that we give Mr. Michaels the time he needs to recover from the trauma and to come out of the coma himself."
"Is there anything we can do?" I asked.
"Talk to him," the doctor said. "Let him know you're there with him and pulling for him."
"Can he hear us?"
"Let me just say I'd hate it if he could and no-one said anything to him." The doctor took a quick breath and let it out. "Any more questions before I get back to work?"
Bill opened his eyes and looked at the doctor. "What are his chances of having another heart attack?"
"If you had asked me that right after the surgery, I would have said ‘extreme'. Now I would say it was simply ‘high', but I also must say that, as each minute passes without having one, the chances diminish."
"So we should be prepared," Bill said.
"Yes," the doctor replied. "You should be prepared."
* * * * *
Bill woke us up in the morning, gently shaking us and calling our names. Brad and I sat in adjacent chairs in the waiting room. Brad was sleeping against my shoulder. My head rested against his. I had tried to stay awake, but failed.
My eyes jerked open and I looked up at my friend. "Warren!" I said. "Is he. . . ?" I couldn't finish the question.
Bill smiled a tiny, reassuring smile. "He's still alive, Ted." He straightened himself to his full stature and explained, "The doctors are giving him a thorough examination now. I thought I'd go grab a bite of breakfast. Care to join me?"
Brad and I rose to our feet and the three of us began walking toward the cafeteria. We stopped at the washroom on the way so Brad and I could use the toilets and to do a quick wash-up. Memories of the night before came back to me and I tossed them around in my mind.
Before the doctor had left, he had allowed us a few moments to go into Warren's room to see him. Bill had gone in alone and was there only a few minutes before stepping back out into the hall to allow Mom and Dad Michaels to go in next. They were in there for little more than a minute before they stepped back out into the hall. Mom Michaels was sobbing again.
"I think we should go home, Bill," Dad Michaels said. "This has been very trying for both of us and we're exhausted. You'll call us as soon as you hear anything?"
"Of course," Bill said.
"I'll take you in a few minutes," I offered.
"No, Kid," Dad Michaels said. "You're exhausted, too, and we don't need you driving around the city in that condition. We can take a taxi."
They hugged and kissed Bill ‘goodbye' and promised to come back in the morning, then made their way down the hall. The rubber pads of Dad Michaels' crutches squeaked against the linoleum hospital floor.
The three of us who remained stepped inside next, but Bill and Brad stayed back near the closed door, allowing me to approach the bed alone. Clear, plastic tubes with fluids in them flowed into Warren in several different places. Other tubes with other fluids flowed out of him. Colourful wires were stuck to his forehead, running to machines behind the bed and recording everything which went on inside him. Other wires disappeared beneath the bed sheet, attached to other machines which beep and bleeped as lights danced and flashed, all under the careful watch of a nurse who read all the information and made constant notes on a clipboard. Whether this was her normal routine or whether she was simply allowing me as much privacy as she would whilst standing right beside me, I don't know.
I looked down at Warren. Except for his chest, which rose and fell with the slightest of moments, there was no other indication that he was even alive. He looked dead and I was almost afraid to touch him, but I gathered my courage and put my hand gently and lovingly over his own hand. It felt surprisingly warm, causing me to gasp suddenly. He didn't respond to my touch, though.
I stared down into his face, trying not to see all the wires and pads attached to him. I tried to see Warren, but failed. There was so much I wanted to say to him, but couldn't. I simply stood there, staring down at him and willing all the life I could spare to flow down my arm and into the hand of my dearest and best friend.
"Hi, Warren," I said softly. "It's me, Teddy."
Warren didn't respond and my voice became locked behind the lump in my throat. I swallowed against it several times but it refused to leave me. It seemed like hours that I had been standing there, but it was really only a minute or so. I swallowed one more time, then carefully bent down and pressed my lips against Warren's cheek. When I finished kissing him, I turned my head slightly and whispered into his ear.
"Warren," I said, "listen to me. It was
my dream you had. It wasn't yours. It was mine. Please, Warren. Don't die because of my dream. I'd never be able to forgive myself if you do."
I leaned back and looked into his face once more, hoping against hope that his eyes would open and he would be ready to fight once more. They didn't.
We left the washroom and continued on our way to the cafeteria where we picked up our trays of food and found a table. Bill told us about his night, sitting in a chair beside Warren's bed, keeping vigil there, holding is hand, and nodding off on occasion. He'd got much more sleep than he thought he would.
"I have a doctor's appointment at one," I told him when he'd finished his tale, "but I'll be back this afternoon."
"No, Ted," Bill said solemnly. "Your family needs you. Both of you. Stay there and take care of them. There's nothing you can do here except wait, and we might be waiting for a very long time. I'll call you every hour if you want, but I think you need to be there for your family."
"I don't mind, Bill," I told him. "Really, I don't."
"I know, but Warren wouldn't like it if he knew he was keeping you away from them. They need you as much as Warren does. More, in fact. You're supposed to move your parents into their new house tomorrow, aren't you?"
I nodded.
Bill stared at me then, looking into my eyes with determination and conviction. "Go home, Ted."
We did, but only after we'd heard what the doctor had to say. There was no good news, but there was no bad news, either. Warren had survived the night, and that was all-important. He wasn't out of the woods yet, though. He didn't even know how far away the edge of the forest was, but at least he knew in which direction he had to go. It was going to be a long, dangerous journey for my friend.
Brad and I said our ‘goodbyes' to Bill outside the door of Warren's room. "You'll call?" I reminded him.
"Count on it," Bill replied.
"We'll try to come back tomorrow," I told him. "If we can't, we'll be here on Sunday. Okay?"
Bill nodded.
"Remember, Bill," I said finally, "we can be here in less than an hour. Call us."
We had hoped to get home in time for a quick shower and change of clothes before our appointment with Dr. Davis, but a traffic accident tied us up on the Four-Oh-One for almost an hour and we barely made it to the office in time without even stopping at home.
After our apologies to Dr. Davis for our dishevelled appearance, we sat down to discuss our situation. We spent half the time talking about Warren's surgery and the dream he'd shared with me and his misinterpretation of it.
"And if he dies because of it?" Dr. Davis asked.
"Then I guess it would make me responsible after all."
Fortunately, because of Dr. Davis' help, I was in a better frame of mind to deal with it.
We spent the last half of the session talking about Brad and I. Both of us had a chance to tell Dr. Davis our feelings about the reunion and, although we had suffered this setback with Warren the very next day, we found strength in each other, but, mostly, I found strength in Brad to help me get through it. I wasn't at all certain I could have done it alone.
No further appointments were made. Dr. Davis felt that, considering how I was handling Warren's post-surgery problems with very little unexpected anxiety, no more would be necessary for the moment. He did, however, emphasize that I should return if the feelings came back, even if I only needed to talk to someone.
We arrived home at about twenty past two and were met on the front walk by two screaming little boys who came tearing out the front door and ran straight toward us. Justin literally leapt into my arms and I had to catch him in midair. Brad squatted to meet Jeremy. Justin's legs locked themselves around my waist and his arms locked themselves around my neck as I cradled his bum with my arms. His little mouth smothered me with kisses, saving the best for last - a kiss right on the lips. I kissed him back, then leaned in too give Jeremy a kiss as well after which Brad kissed Justin.
When we were all thoroughly hugged and kissed, we carried the boys into the house. Terry met us at the door and held it open for us. "How is Mr. Michaels?" she asked.
I didn't have to answer. She could tell simply by the look I gave her. She quickly glanced at the boys, then back at me, and nodded in understanding. Nothing more would be said about it.
"Look, Terry," I said, "we're home for the night, so why don't you go and have the afternoon off?"
Terry shook her head. "I'm staying right here, and I'm staying the night as well."
"That's not necessary," I told her.
"If you have to make an emergency trip to Toronto. . ." She left the sentence unfinished. "I'm staying."
I smiled at her and bent down to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Remind me to give you a raise," I said.
She smiled back and blushed. "I'll go make some coffee," she said and rushed into the kitchen to do so.
Brad and I walked into the livingroom where we flopped down on the sofa. I sprawled out with my feet crossed on the coffee table so I could lay my head back. I was tired and I was sore, but not so tired and sore that I couldn't cuddle with my son who still straddled my waist and lay against my chest. I hugged him and gave him another kiss and then I laid my head back against the sofa, closed my eyes, and promptly fell asleep.
That's all I remember until I felt tiny knuckles knocking on my chest.
"Daddy," Justin said softly as I opened my eyes. "Ouma says wake up. Supper is ready and I have to go pee."
I took a quick peek at my watch. It was almost six o'clock. Jeremy was in the midst of waking up Brad. "Why didn't you go pee before?"
Justin dropped his hands flat to my chest and he smiled the smile I love to see. "You were holding me and I don't think you wanted to let go."
I gave him another hug and a peck on the cheek, set him on the floor, and patted his butt to send him off to the bathroom. Jeremy followed close behind. Brad followed me to the other bathroom for a long-overdue pee of our own.
"I didn't hear anyone come home," I told him as we relieved ourselves.
"Neither did I," he replied as he shook the last drops of piss from his dick. "I wish we had time for a shower."
"We'll have to wait until we go to bed."
The twins were seated at the table with Mom and Dad and Lindsay when we got to the kitchen. We sat down, ready to eat.
"Daddy," Lindsay said after I served the twins their spaghetti dinner, "can I go stay with Grandma and Grandpa for the weekend?"
"We're moving Grandma and Grandpa de Villiers into their new home tomorrow, Sweetheart," I reminded her. "Remember?"
"I know," she said as she twirled her spaghetti on her fork. "That's why I want to go stay with Grandma and Grandpa Hayes."
"You don't have to carry anything," I said. "You can help Grandma arrange the furniture and unpack."
Lindsay's face scrunched up and she shook her head. "But I wanna go stay. . ."
"Lindsay, I said ‘no'."
"Teddy," Mom said, "she. . ."
"Mom, please," I said. She noticed the warning in my voice and fell silent. "Lindsay has known for weeks that we're moving you in tomorrow. She's had plenty of time to tell me she doesn't want to go. It's too late now. She's going with us."
"Daddy!" my daughter whined.
"Lindsay, stop that right now!" I told her. "You're going to help us tomorrow. If you're good, you can go to Grandma's place when we get back."
"But Daddy. . ."
I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Brad had set down his knife and fork, probably getting ready to move in case I ‘lost it'. I was upset, but I wasn't about to lose it.
"Don't ‘but Daddy' me, young lady," I told her. "You're going with us tomorrow, and that's that."
"Theodore," Dad said, "your daughter is trying to tell you something. I think you should listen to her."
"She's my daughter, Dad, and I don't want to hear it."
"And she is my granddaughter," he said. "I wish to hear it." He turned immediately to Lindsay and asked, "Lindsay, why is it you wish to go with your Grandmother Hayes?"
"Because Grandma Hayes is going to do grocery shopping for you and Grandma tomorrow morning," Lindsay explained to him, "and she asked me to help her."
Dad's head didn't move, but his eyes turned to find mine. He gave me a knowing look.
I sighed and nodded, then looked at Lindsay. She was looking at me, wide-eyed in anticipation of my answer. I sighed again. "As soon as you finish eating, go have your bath and then you can go over, okay?"
Lindsay smiled. "Thank you, Daddy."
After dinner, Dad gave the twins their final bath during his stay with us. I stood at the front door to make certain Lindsay got into the Hayes' home safely, then went inside to help Dad get the boys ready for bed. I phoned Nathan and Barry, then Mark and Jamie to confirm their help in the morning. They assured me they would be here at nine o'clock.
Bill phoned at eight-thirty, but he had no news for us. He would phone again at eight in the morning. Mom and Dad turned in shortly after nine o'clock and Brad and I had a nice, long, hot bath together until I began to fall asleep in his arms. By ten-thirty, the house was locked up, the lights were turned off, and Brad and I were asleep in our own room, in our own bed, and in each other's arms.
To Be Continued
to your talent! 
Keep it up, I like all the others are thoroughly enjoying the story so far and can hardly wait for the next chapter. 
, Neil! To you, your characters, and all who are reading this! 
great story neil! Can't wait for the next chapter though!
