Cry

Echoes in Eternity

What We Do in Life …

Cry

by

Reagan Kavanagh

This work of adult fiction, loosely based on characters portrayed by Russell Crowe, includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned. No copyright infringement on the original work is intended. © Reagan Kavanagh 2006.

REAGAN
I should have flown. I know that. The reason I didn’t was because Max had recently traded in my old Jeep and bought me a new car. I’d miss that Jeep; the pups and I had some wonderful times in her over the years. She wasn’t a liability quite yet, but she didn’t have all the bells and whistles of a new car; most importantly to Max, the Jeep was old enough that it didn’t have air bags, and he wanted me protected to the greatest possible degree. He obviously considers me a good deal more fragile than I do myself. Of course he was also considering any future children’s safety; I couldn’t argue that and wouldn’t even if I could.

“Cara, you spend hours each week on the Interstates and often travel at speeds in excess of 115 kilometres per hour.” I’d raised an eyebrow at him, and he’d smiled. “It is true, and well you know it. You are also inclined to change lanes quickly, barely allowing ample room not to clip the car you move in front of, much less giving that driver time to slow for your movement.” I’d sighed. He was right. I’ve never considered myself a necessarily reckless driver, but to quote from a character in a film I’d seen 20 years earlier, I do feel ‘the need for speed.’ The new car had airbags all the way round, not just in the front, but side impact bags on all the doors and curtain airbags on all the windows including the rear deck. I did like the rear deck window airbags. If I ever had an accident with the pups in the car, at least they'd be less likely to be injured by flying glass, as the airbags would catch 90% of it before it could get to them.

It was a great little car, and I loved it. Max wanted to buy another Bentley – they’re built like a small tank – and I’d refused. He had another year to go on the note on the Mulliner, and I didn’t need a top-of-the-line luxury car when he had one. I’d fallen in love with a KIA Spectra 5. It’s a cross between a coupe and a sports utility vehicle. I suppose you could call it a hatchback, and it’s very solidly built and has an excellent safety rating. It doesn’t matter what you call it or the rationalisations I used for the purchase; I loved that car.

I was on my way to Houston to do a guest lecture series at the University of Houston. Several of my friends had gone to grad school there, and the University had a terrific psychology program at both the graduate and undergraduate levels. I was to be there for a week and didn’t want to either rent a car whilst there or be stuck in the campus hotel. The University has a Hilton School of Hotel and Restaurant Management with a fully functioning hotel on the main campus, and I’d be bunking there. I’d lived in Houston for a time and wanted the freedom to get out and visit a few old friends. You can’t do that without wheels, so I’d driven down rather than flying.

I left Sunday morning, as I wanted to reach Houston before the southbound afternoon traffic started backing up on Interstate 45 in the usual location about 50 miles north of the city. Max gave me one last hug before I got into the car and cupped my face in his hands as he looked deeply into my eyes.

“Be careful, Cara. It is my understanding that crime is a problem in Houston. I do not wish you to become a victim of it.” I’d smiled and kissed him again before getting into the car.

“I promise I’ll be careful. I’ll call as soon as I’m checked into my room, and if I have any problems on the road, I’ll call you before I call the auto club.” He stood at the end of the drive, smiling, his hand shading his eyes from the morning sun until I turned the corner at the end of the lane and moved out of his sight. The drive south was uneventful – missed the traffic jam completely – and I was sitting at the traffic light that marked the main entrance to the campus by two in the afternoon, accelerating through the intersection after the light changed, having looked both ways before I moved forward.

I never saw him coming. There’s a sharp curve coming in from the east side of the intersection on the left, and he must have rounded it as I looked to my right. I heard the scream of tyres and brakes and turned to see the truck bearing down on me. The car immediately in front of me stalled, and the one behind was right on my rear bumper; there was no place for me to go. I didn’t even have time to brace myself for the impact. Perhaps that was for the best. The impact seemed to be in slow motion. I heard the crash, and the air bags deployed; I couldn’t see anything through the white screen surrounding me; I could feel the sideways momentum of the car being pushed through the intersection, finally coming to a halt. That and the impact are the last things I remember.

TERRY
The phone rang in mid-afternoon. I was watching my film on the telly, looking again for the switch I’d made on the money. It was so flash even I couldn’t see when I did it. Diana was taking a nap; she had a nasty cold and the antihistamines she’d taken to unclog her nose had knocked her for six. I’d grabbed the phone on the first ring, as I didn’t want a second to wake her. I punched the ‘pause’ button on the remote and clicked on the handset.

“Thorne here.” I scarcely recognised his voice.

“Terry …I need your assistance.” It was Max. I didn’t need to ask if something was wrong; I knew that timbre in his voice. It was the one from his film when he’d told Juba that his wife and son were waiting for him in the afterlife. I hit the ‘stop’ button on the remote, ejected the disc, and clicked off the player and telly.

“What’s happened, Max?”

“Cassandra has been injured.” I knew she’d left for Houston this morning for a week-long lecture series at one of the unis there. I stood, walking toward the bedroom to wake Diana, then stopped.

“She’s had an accident? How bad?”

“Her car was hit broadside. The airbags deployed. She has internal injuries, numerous fractures, and a severe concussion. They have sedated her; the doctor called it an induced coma, hoping to prevent swelling and increased intracranial pressure. She is at Ben Taub Hospital in the Texas Medical Centre. I ….” I cut him off.

“I’ll be there in 45 minutes. Pack your kit if it isn’t ready to go. We can drive there by the time I could make flight reservations and get both of us to DFW, wait for the flight, and then get a cab from Houston Hobby to the Medical Centre.” He said nothing. “Max? Talk to me, Mate.”

“Thank you, Terry. I will be waiting when you arrive.” I turned off the phone and pulled my cell off the charger, turning it on and clipping it to my belt before taking the charger to my kit where it stood beside the front door and dropping it inside. Now I had to tell Diana.

“How badly is she hurt?” She knew when I waked her that something was wrong; she says my self-perceived inscrutable face has never got anything past her. I hope she’s the only one who can see through the masque.

“Max said she has numerous fractures, internal injuries, and a major concussion; they have her in an induced coma to prevent swelling of the brain. I said I’d collect him in 45 minutes; I have to go, Diana.”

“Give me five minutes to dress, and I’ll be ready.”

“You’re not going. You’re ill, and in her weakened condition, she doesn’t need being round someone with an infection. Take care of their dogs whilst Max is gone. That will ease her mind when she wakes.” I could see the anger flare in her eyes at being told what to do, but it was quickly replaced by pragmatism, and she nodded.

“Call me as soon as you get to the hospital and have something to report. Junior can take care of our dogs and horses, and I’ll spend the night at their place. The pups will know Max is upset when he leaves; it would be better not leaving them alone.” I kissed her and was out the door two minutes later with Echinacea and Zicam stuffed in my pockets as prophylaxis and, on my way to collect Max.

MAXIMUS
“Max Espan.”

“I’m calling for Max David Espan …is he available?”

“I am Max David Espan. May I ask who is calling?”

“Mr. Espan, my name is Joseph McLeod. I’m a trauma physician at Ben Taub Hospital in Houston. Your wife – Reagan Espan-Kavanagh – has just been brought in following a traffic accident.” For a moment, I was unable to find my voice and could not answer him.

“Mr. Espan …Mr. Espan, are you there?”

“Yes …is she …?”

“She’s been badly injured. We think she’ll make it, though we need you here as quickly as possible. She was unconscious when she arrived and hasn’t awakened since coming into the Trauma Centre. She’s relatively stable at the moment, though we’re still assessing her condition. She has a severe concussion, and we’ve put her into an induced coma to prevent intracranial swelling. She has internal injuries, but we aren’t yet sure what – or how extensive – they are. At this point we know only that she’s bleeding internally. There are multiple fractures, and we’ll be sending her upstairs to radiology in a few minutes.

“We’ll try and wait until you arrive to take her to surgery, but the internal injuries may make the decision for us. We’re transfusing her now. If her haemoglobin stabilizes, we’ll wait for you, if not …. The documents in her briefcase don’t indicate any drug allergies; are you aware of any medical problems that might impact her treatment? The police couldn’t locate her handbag, and that’s where that type of information is usually found.” I took a deep breath and asked the question.

“She does not carry a handbag and has no allergies; her driving licence is in her chequebook and all other documents are carried in the outer pocket of her briefcase. Are you aware that she is with child?” There was a pause before he replied.

“No, we weren’t. She can’t be very far long.”

“Eight weeks.” I took a deep breath before asking the question. “Is there any possibility that she will lose the child?”

“I can’t answer that, Mr. Espan, but I’ll get an obstetrician down to check her immediately. Is this her first pregnancy?”

“No, it is her second. She lost a child a number of years ago …a chemically induced abortion administered by her then physician; he was subsequently proven to be quite mad. She was not aware of his treachery until she lost the babe.” I stopped speaking again; the words I must voice horrified me, but they must be said.

“I will be on my way within the hour, but in the interim prior to my arrival …if a choice must be made between her life and that of the babe, sacrifice the babe. Save my wife.” With those words, it seemed my heart would cease its beating. I felt the tears gather in my eyes. The doctor’s voice was most kind when he answered.

“Mr. Espan, we didn’t know she was pregnant; she hasn’t shown any indications of miscarriage, but I’ll have her checked immediately. She may have no difficulty at all, or she could miscarry at any moment. Do you have a cell phone?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Give me the number; if there’s any change while you’re in transit, I’ll call you immediately.” I gave him the number.

“Do you have a pen? Let me give you my own cell number. Call on your way if you want, and I’ll update you. Rest assured that she’ll be monitored constantly. If you’re driving, call me when you get to Interstate 45 and the exit for Highway 59 South, I’ll meet you at the Trauma Centre entrance. My number is 713.227.2965. Do you know the Houston area? If not, take the Fannin Street exit off 59 South, and turn left onto Fannin. Turn left again onto Outer Belt Drive and come past Shriners’ Hospital …we’re the next building complex. You can see the trauma entrance from the street. Pull into the parking lot beside the trauma entrance and come inside. The Admissions Desk will be right in front of you. How soon can you be here?”

“I must arrange for someone to feed our dogs whilst I am away. I will call a colleague to come with me to Houston; he knows the city, and I do not. My wife and I live north and east of the City of Dallas …it will take me some five to six hours to make the journey.” His voice was kind when he answered.

“Mr. Espan, we’ll take the best possible care of your wife and baby. I do need to ask you one more question. Please don’t misinterpret this, as it’s standard in severe injuries in which we have no prior information on the patient. Does your wife have a Living Will and Durable Power of Attorney for Health Care?” The pain caused by his question was unimaginable. I held my breath for a moment, letting it out slowly before answering.

“She does. She does not wish heroic measures if there is no hope that she could resume most of her usual activities. She does not wish to be a …burden. I am the Executor and will bring copies with me.” In the names of all the gods, how could she think caring for her – no matter how desperate her situation – could ever be a burden for me?

“Drive carefully, Mr. Espan. We’re doing everything possible for your wife – and your child – and will continue to do so. I’ll see you when you arrive.” I disconnected and called Terry.

DIANA
What is it with the four of us? We seem to careen from one crisis to another, with barely time enough in between to catch our collective breath. I’d told Terry that I’d call Dino and Sooze and let them know that he and Max wouldn’t be in tomorrow …not for several days at least, possibly all week. He promised to call as soon as they got to the hospital in Houston and knew something more than when they’d left Dallas.

Reags had been so excited about this lecture series. She’d lived in Houston for a few years as a kid and still had friends there. She’d driven down so she’d have her car to get out and visit them. I made the necessary calls, paced the floor for a few minutes, then grabbed my kit and threw in more clean underwear and a seasonal change of clothes before leaving for Max and Reags’ house …it was the most I could do for either of them at the moment

JOSEPH MCLEOD, M.D.
We got the call from the meat wagon on its way in, and I met them in the ambulance bay. Thirty-nine-year-old white female, RTA, her car T-boned in the middle of an intersection on the University of Houston campus. The bastard who hit her was drunk and driving a Dodge Cummins Diesel pickup, one-ton, extended cab, full-box, dual rear wheels. That fucker weighs almost 7,000 pounds carrying nothing but the driver. I was told the patient had been driving a KIA Spectra 5 hatchback …it weighs 3,000 pounds. I know because my daughter drives one. The driver of the ambulance said the fire department had to cut the patient out of her car. They had no idea how she’d survived the impact because the car was crushed. She must have had an angel sitting on her shoulder; I was going to try and glue that little guy’s butt to her and keep him there.

Her face was covered with blood, and the bruises were already purple. There was a five-inch laceration just above her hairline; that accounted for the blood on her face and shoulders. Her pulse was weak and thready, and she was pale …shocky, which probably meant internal injuries. Comminuted fracture of the left ulna, half-a-dozen broken ribs, contusions everywhere. Her left hip had been dislocated by the impact. She was unconscious and had been since the paramedics got to the scene. Pupils were equal and reactive, and reflexes were normal, but I don’t like it when I can’t find a solid reason for the patient not regaining consciousness quickly. That could be due to hypovolaemia. No skull fractures that I could palpate; I got a portable x-ray into the trauma room and did a skull series …no fractures, depressed or otherwise. That meant a severe concussion at best. I put her into a light, drug-induced coma to preclude intracranial swelling and called the husband in Dallas.

Espan. That’s an unusual name, one I’d not encountered previously. He answered the phone by speaking his name. Most people don’t do that; wonder what his profession is. He’s English, that’s for sure. I spent three years in England as kid; my dad was in the Air Force and had been stationed at Mildenhall, a couple of hours’ drive northeast of London. This guy sounds as if he was educated at Oxford or Cambridge. My mother always called that particular accent the ‘British officer’s posh wife’s diction.’

Mr. Espan said his wife was about eight weeks pregnant, which made me thankful I hadn’t sent her immediately to radiology; my priority when she arrived in the ER was stabilising her, and she was shocky as Hell. We could still do most of the films we wanted, but we’d be sure the lead apron was firmly over her belly. I went with her to radiology and got chest films, one of that dislocated hip – I wanted to be sure there wasn’t a fracture there before putting it back into position – both legs and arms, and a more complete skull series. I left a nurse with Mrs. Espan-Kavanagh and went over the films with the Chief of Radiology, George Miller, nodding as he pointed out what he saw. I could see the fractures as well as George, but as a radiologist, his interpretation of their severity would be better than my own.

“Comminuted fracture of the left ulna, that’s going to require a plate and screws …fractures of the fourth through seventh ribs – also left side – and the third and fourth on the right side. Hairline fracture of the left acetabulum, but you should be able to put the femoral head back into place without making it any worse …just do it gently. Pelvis is clear, no fractures that I can appreciate …you said she’s pregnant?” I nodded.

“How far along?”

“Husband said eight to nine weeks.”

“What does OB have to say?”

“Rosen said she’s holding her own. Cervix is still closed. I’m hoping for the best. The husband did say that if it comes to a choice between her life and the baby’s, to save her. He clearly wants this child to survive, but there’s just as clearly no choice in his mind if it comes to that. I’d do the same. He’s bringing a copy of her Living Will with him but was very specific that if she crashes, there are to be no heroic measures unless she has a high probability of retaining relatively normal functioning. She’s bleeding internally, and we’ve started transfusing her …I’m hoping to avoid taking her to OR before the husband arrives.”

George nodded. Most men would make that choice – wife over unborn child – if they had no other option. I’d venture to say that this couple isn’t Catholic, as that would probably have elicited a response of whatever-happens-is-God’s-will. Max Espan wanted his wife to survive; they could have another baby. We’d worked our way through the rest of the films, and George put the skull series on the light box.

“Amazing …there’s not a single fracture …not of her skull, none of the facial bones, not even a hairline. She’s one lucky lady, at least in that respect.” Well, maybe.

“Then why isn’t she waking up?” George shrugged as he looked at me.

“That’s your province, Joe, not mine. You said there’s a concussion?”

“Severe. I’ve put her on a Mannitol drip to reduce swelling. Pupils are equal and reactive; Babinski is negative, and her other deep tendon reflexes are intact. I don’t see any signs of brain trauma other than concussion, but I’d prefer playing it safe.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ve got other films to read …let me know how she does, okay?”

“Sure.” I headed back to the ER to check on my patient and called her husband again.

“Mr. Espan? This is Doctor McLeod. I have an update on your wife.” His voice was hesitant.

“Is she …?”

“She’s holding her own. She has a broken left arm that’s going to require surgery; that can wait for a couple of days, if necessary. We may not be able to wait on the internal injuries until you arrive, though we’re still transfusing her. We’ve done a peritoneal lavage, and there’s free blood in her abdominal cavity …not sure where it’s coming from. Could be the spleen or her liver. If her blood pressure remains stable and we can get her haemoglobin stabilised, we’ll wait for you. If there’s any negative change, we’ll take her to surgery immediately.

“Her left hip is dislocated, and she has a hairline fracture of the acetabulum; we can take care of that while she’s still unconscious. Multiple broken ribs, but none that present any danger of perforating a lung. Coughing or sneezing is going to be painful for a few weeks, but we’ll put a vest on her to keep the ribs as immobile as possible. No skull or facial fractures. The Chief of Obstetrics says there’s no indication of relaxation of the cervix which means – at least for the moment – she’s not in imminent danger of a miscarriage. He’s monitoring her condition. We’ll try to keep her in the ER until you arrive, then get her up to OR and do an exploratory to find out where she’s bleeding. We’ll worry about her arm later.”

“Thank you, Doctor. We should arrive within the hour.” Apparently he’d brought a friend with him, and if they’d be here within an hour, they must be flying low.

MAXIMUS
I terminated the call and looked at Terry. His eyes were fixed on the road; the speedometer indicated our speed at 140 kilometres …87 miles per hour. A glance at a road sign as we approached and flew past it indicated we were but 26 miles from Houston. It was unnecessary to give Terry directions to the hospital; he knows the city. He wove through the early evening traffic with no need of guidance. Thirty-three minutes after last speaking with Cassandra’s physician, he pulled into a space in Ben Taub Hospital’s trauma centre car park, and we made our way into the building. As the doctor had indicated, the Admissions Desk was visible on entering the door. Terry was with me as I walked to the desk.

“My name is Max Espan. My wife – Reagan Espan-Kavanagh – was brought in this afternoon following a car crash.” The nurse stood as she spoke.

“Let me page Dr. McLeod, and he’ll take you to her.” Moments later a blonde man of about my own age strode toward us.

“Mr. Espan? I’m Joe McLeod.” He extended his hand first to me, then to Terry, obviously noting our physical resemblance. Terry smiled as he took the doctor’s hand.

“Terry Thorne …I’m Max’s brother …different dads.” It was the ruse we had used when Cassandra was in hospital on the last occasion.

“May I see my wife?”

“Of course. Let me warn you Mr. Espan, she’s pretty banged up …a lot of bruising, but nothing that’s permanent in that department. She had a nasty laceration just inside her hairline, and though we’ve closed the wound you need to be prepared for the fact that her hair’s matted with blood. Giving her a shampoo wasn’t high on our priority list. Once we’re sure she’s out of the woods – in a day or so – we can have one of the nurses’ aides do that for her.” He stopped at the door of the room where Cassandra lay on a bed, various tubes running from her right arm, the left splinted; I could see her through the windows in the door.

“She looks pretty rough, Mr. Espan, but she’s alive, and she’s relatively stable, though that could change at any moment. I’ll get the surgical consent forms for you to sign; we need to get her upstairs and explore her belly. Right now, you need to talk to her. She isn’t consciously aware of where she is, but she needs to hear your voice. Reassure her; tell her that she’s still carrying the baby, and the Chief of OB is cautiously optimistic. Your words – your voice - will get through to her subconscious.” I nodded and followed him into the room with Terry behind me. I walked to her side, taking her right hand in my own and leant down to kiss her cheek as the doctor left the room.

“Cara, I am here. You were involved in a car crash. The babe is well, and the doctors are optimistic. You have internal bleeding, Cara …they will be taking you to surgery soon to repair the damage. Your left arm has been broken, but they will take care of your bleeding now and address that later.” I took a deep breath, feeling my throat swell with emotion.

“I love you, Cara.” I felt the tears in my eyes and throat as I spoke the next words. “Do not leave me, Cara. Be strong; stay with me!” Terry stepped to the head of the bed and placed his hand gently on her shoulder.

“Reags, love, it’s Terry. Diana’s at home and taking care of your pups. You’re doing fine, Love. Hang in there. You’d best get well soon, as I don’t intend taking care of this sorry bastard you married for long.” The doctor returned with the consent forms for me to sign, and only moments later a team was there to take her to surgery. Now I must wait. I watched them wheel her to the lift and whisk her away from me. I turned to Terry.

“I lived to see my first wife die …Terry, I cannot lose Cassandra. I cannot live without her.”

REAGAN
It’s some sort of strange dream. I can hear Max and Terry talking to me, but can’t seem to answer them. Max has my hand in his; I know he wants me to respond somehow, to squeeze his hand or say something, but I can’t manage it just now. Everything hurts. It hurts to breathe, and my belly hurts, along with my left arm and hip. It feels like something is slicing through my scalp, and I can’t open my eyes. I have a headache worse than the migraine from Hell. I hear someone say they’re taking me to surgery to repair something. What happened? The last thing I recall is watching Max as I drove down the lane on my way to Houston and then a grinding crash. Oh, God …is our baby all right? Please, God, don’t take this child from us. It would kill Max to lose this baby.

DIANA
I picked up the phone, looking at the caller ID; Terry’s cell.

“Terry? How is she?”

“They’ve just taken her to surgery to stop internal bleeding. Her arm’s broken in three places, but they can wait on that …they have to stop the internal bleeding first. The doctor in the ER said her arm will require a plate and pins to stabilise it, but thinks it will heal without incident. She has half-a-dozen broken ribs, but none so bad as to risk puncturing a lung. Her left hip was dislocated and has a hairline fracture. They’ve put it back in place, and it should heal well. She has a nasty cut above her forehead – just inside her hairline – and that’s been stitched …her hair’s a mass of clotted blood, and she looks like she’s been hit by a tank. I suppose in a manner of speaking she was …the truck that hit her was a one-ton Dodge work truck. Driver was drunk. For some reason known only to God, her face was spared …but for the bruising, there isn’t a mark on it.” I couldn’t say a word. Thank God she was alive. Terry’s next comment caught me completely out in left field.

“Did you know she was pregnant?”

“WHAT?!”

“About eight or nine weeks, according to Max; it looks as if your suspicions are confirmed. I imagine they didn’t want to tell anyone until she was safely past her first trimester. For reasons known only to God, she hasn’t miscarried; the Chief of Obstetrics is watching her like a hawk. I have to go, Diana. The police are here to talk to Max about disposition of what’s left of her car. I’ll call later.” He was gone as quickly as that. I put the phone back on its base and looked at the three furry faces watching me.

“Come on, Babies. Let’s go play for a while.” I picked up their Frisbee, and we went out back to let them work off some of their pent-up energy and worry. They knew something was wrong when Max left, and my arrival without Terry confirmed it. I said a silent prayer for my adopted family …Reags, Max, and their unborn child.

MAXIMUS
“Mr. Espan?” I stood leant against a wall of the surgical waiting room. Terry was sitting beside me and looked up when the man spoke. It was a police officer, dressed in the black uniform of the University of Houston Police Department. I nodded.

“Officer Tim Williams. I was the first unit on the scene of your wife’s accident. May I ask how she’s doing?”

“I thank you for your concern of her, Officer Williams. The surgeons are working now to stop internal bleeding. Her left arm is broken, but they will attend to that later. She has multiple fractures, but I am advised they will heal. She has a severe concussion; she had not regained consciousness prior to taking her to surgery. The attending physician hopes the concussion will lessen as she begins to come out of the anaesthesia following surgery. We pray there has been no permanent or additional and as yet undetected damage.” He nodded before speaking, seeming to consider his words carefully.

“I called HPD, the Fire Department, and an ambulance immediately. Mr. Espan, I didn’t expect them to get her out of that car alive. She’s a very lucky woman …and you’re a lucky man.”

“It is my understanding that the man who hit her was intoxicated.” He nodded grimly.

“Your wife had our total attention until the paramedics arrived; the driver of the truck was too drunk to get out of his vehicle. Once the medics got there, my partner pulled him out of the cab …I had to pull him off the guy. If I hadn’t, I think he’d have killed him.

“Mr. Espan, your wife knew she was going to be hit. Half-a-dozen people saw her turn and look at the truck bearing down on her; HPD is still interviewing witnesses. One second she was looking at him and the next she disappeared below the level of the windows.

“When the guys from the Fire Department were able to get the roof of the car off, she was lying across the console with her upper body partly in the passenger seat. She threw herself as far down in the car as she could …that’s the only reason she’s alive. If she’d been sitting upright when he hit her car, the impact would have decapitated her.” Terry stood and introduced himself. I could not speak immediately, thanking the gods that Cassandra had possessed the presence of mind to do as she had.

“Terry Thorne …Mr. Espan’s brother. They haul the bastard off to jail?” The man nodded.

“As soon as they got Mrs. Espan out of the car and on her way here, his ass was in the back of a patrol car and on its way to 61 Reisner Street. He blew a BAL of .195 at the scene. Said he’d been drinking beer since about ten this morning – at least we think that’s what he said; he was slurring so badly it was hard to understand him. He hit Mrs. Espan’s car just before two. He was almost two-and-a-half times over the legal limit. I’m not sure how he managed to get his ass out of his house and into his truck.” He stopped speaking and extended his hand to me.

“Mr. Espan, your wife’s one tough lady …has to be to have survived that impact. I’ll keep her in my prayers.” He shook my hand firmly before walking away.

Terry and I waited more than four, all but interminable, hours before the surgeon walked out to meet us in the waiting room.

“Which of you is Mr. Espan?” I acknowledged my identity and introduced Terry.

“Bill Chamberlain. We’ve just sent your wife to Recovery; she’ll be there until she regains consciousness. I’m hoping that won’t be more than an hour, as she was starting to wake-up before we put her under for the procedure. Now, as to her condition. We explored her belly – thanks for letting us know ahead of time that she’s pregnant, and yes, she is still pregnant – and removed her spleen. There were a couple of bad lacerations, and the spleen is an organ that’s hard to repair because every suture you put in once it’s damaged causes more bleeding. Fortunately, she can live a long and healthy life without it.

“We fully explored her belly, and that was the only source of bleeding. From what I was told of her accident, I consider that to be a minor miracle. I’m going back to check on her now, and we’ll be moving her to Surgical ICU as soon as she comes around. There’s a waiting room outside the ICU – it’s just down the hall to your right – and I’d advise you to go on down there and wait for her. As soon as she’s there and in a bed, the nurses will let you know. I’ll be checking on her until I go off shift at 11:00, and the doctor coming on then will monitor her throughout the night. Dr. Rosen – our Chief of OB – will do the same. Once she’s in her bed, you can see her for 15 minutes every two hours. With luck, she’ll be out of ICU within 48 hours and into a private room.” He put one hand on my shoulder.

“Mr. Espan, your wife is a strong woman. I have every reason to believe that she’ll pull through this with no long-term consequences. An orthopaedic team will take her back to OR in a day or two and repair the damage to her arm. After that, she just needs time to heal. If you need me or have questions – even after I’ve gone off shift – feel free to have one of the nurses page me.” He nodded at us and walked away. I felt Terry’s arm go round my shoulders and finally let go my reserve, weeping in relief.

REAGAN
You know how the words of a song will start running through your brain and you can’t turn them off? I was doing that. Replaying an old song by Kris Kristofferson and the words just kept going on, over and over, like a recording on an endless loop. It was as if I was replaying my life since meeting Max.

I have seen the morning burning golden on the mountain in the sky,
Aching with the feeling of the freedom of an eagle when she’d fly.
Turning on the world the way he smiled upon my soul as I lay dying.
Healing as the colours in the sunshine and the shadows of his eyes.

Waking in the morning to the feeling of his fingers on my skin,
Wiping out the traces of the people and the places that I've been.
Teaching me that yesterday was something that I never thought of trying,
Talking of tomorrow and the money, love and time we had to spend.

Loving him was easier than anything I'll ever do again.

Coming close together with a feeling that I've never known before in my time …
He ain't ashamed to be a lover, or afraid to be a friend.
I don't know the answer to the easy way he opened every door in my mind,
But dreaming was as easy as believing it was never gonna end.

And loving him was easier than anything I'll ever do again.

And it was, it is …loving Max is even easier than taking the next breath. I can feel his hand holding mine; he lays it on his cheek, and I feel the scruff of his beard before he presses his lips to my palm. I think I smile at him and hear his voice, low and husky.

“She is awakening.” I hear another voice …Terry. What’s Terry doing in our bedroom?

“Looks like it, Mate. I’ll get the nurse.”

“Cassandra …Cara, can you hear me?” I nod and try to speak. I can’t. My throat is too dry. I hear a woman’s voice. I’m not at home, I’m not waking in the morning with Max beside me ….

“Mrs. Espan? Can you open your eyes for us? I think that would make your husband a very happy man.” I try, but my lids are so heavy. I finally manage to get my eyes open just a bit and see Max’s face only inches from mine. He looks so tired, so worn.

Where am I? Everything in the room is white but for the drapes on the window, and they’re closed. I hate closed drapes; I want to see the sun. The woman – a nurse? – holds out a spoon with ice chips in it.

“Try a bit of ice to moisten your lips and mouth.” Ice …I never thought ice could be so wonderful. She offers a bit more, and I take it. I swallow and am finally able to croak a question.

“Where am I?” His voice is low when he answers.

“You are in hospital, Cara. You were in a car crash. Do you remember anything from yesterday?” Yesterday? I struggle to sort through the thoughts swooping through my brain, but nothing comes other than recalling that I left home on my way to Houston.

“I remember you watching me as I drove away. Car crash?” Now I remember the impact. I close my eyes, listening to his voice, to the comfort and peace it brings me.

“You were hit by an intoxicated driver yesterday – Sunday – afternoon. Terry came to Houston with me. It is now Monday morning.” I try to nod in acknowledgment, though I can’t recall anything other than Max smiling at me, squinting into the morning sun as I drove away from the house and something hitting my car. He’s still talking, but I can’t stay awake any longer.

I remember the night I told him about the baby. Before our wedding and departure for Banff I’d made the decision to discontinue any means of contraception. I’ll never forget the smile on his face once we got to Banff, and he realised what I’d done. We wanted a child. We’d lived together for a year-and-a-half. We weren’t getting any younger and to Hell with the biological clock ticking in the background. We couldn’t hear the clock for the claxon alarm screaming at us.

It hadn’t happened immediately …only Russell Crowe gets his wife pregnant on their wedding night, even though Max and I were of ages similar to Crowe and his wife. Frankly, I think Max was a bit embarrassed. I believe he honestly thought that I’d be pregnant when we returned from Banff. Two days after we got home, we learnt that I wasn’t. I hadn’t expected to be pregnant and was ambivalent; he was devastated.

“Cara, in our first life, I impregnated you within days of our meeting.” I remember smiling at him.

“Yes, you did, but things were different then. I was significantly younger in that life than in this one. I was what …22 in that life? I’m 39 in this one. You were no more than 35. Women my age don’t conceive as easily as younger women.” If the look on his face was a valid indicator, he wasn’t buying that one. He took a deep breath, looking at me as he spoke.

“Perhaps the problem lies with me. I have told you I was not always careful prior to meeting you last year. I know I am not diseased, but perhaps some infection ….”

“Did you ever show any signs of an infection?” Now he looked embarrassed.

“I do not think so, but in truth I do not know. What signs might I have seen?” That told me he’d somehow managed to escape any sexually transmitted disease in that first life as well as this one; no man would ever forget the pain of trying to urinate with gonorrhoea or the acid burn of a syphilitic chancre sore.

“A sore on your genitals?” A negative shake of his head. “Any discharge from your penis?” Same response. “Any burning when you urinated?” Another negative shake. “Were you tested for syphilis and gonorrhoea in addition to HIV?”

“Yes.” Jesus, this was like pulling teeth.

“And those results were …?”

“All negative. I should have told you had any of the tests been positive for disease.”

“Did you think to ask for a sperm count at that time?” Now he looked at me.

“They can count my seed?” I did manage not to laugh, and he obviously knew that ‘sperm’ equalled ‘seed.’

“Well, not individually, but they can count the number in a small amount of your semen, and that tells the approximate number in any given ejaculate. That lets them know if you’re at normal levels or have a low sperm count. They can also tell how motile the little buggers are …how well they swim. They have to swim well in order for the woman to conceive.” His eyes glazed …I’d just gotten a bit too technical for him.

“I have not had my sperm counted. What constitutes normal?” I smiled and hugged him.

“Around 40 million sperm per ejaculate is considered normal; some men are higher, some lower. (His eyes almost crossed at that number.) Max, it’s very early days. I haven’t been tested to determine how fertile I may or may not be at this point in my life. Let’s give it time. If nothing happens within six months, we’ll look into fertility testing.” He nodded but was not a happy man. I’d explained that there was only about a 20% probability of my conceiving in any given month, and that a wait of four to six months was not unusual once a couple began trying to conceive. It sometimes takes as long as a year. I’d be doing well if I could hold him off until the first of the year; I struck out. In spite of my conversation with Sharon Fletcher the week before Christmas, we presented ourselves at her office three days after Christmas for consultation because Max couldn’t go any longer without ‘answers.’

Sharon looked up from the questionnaires we’d completed and smiled.

“Well, if you two aren’t pregnant, it obviously isn’t for lack of effort.” I’d managed not to laugh, and Max flushed a dark red. One of the sections on documentation for fertility testing asks about frequency of intercourse; the table for response looks like this.

Frequency of Sexual Intercourse	Yes	No
Once a week	√
Twice a week	√
Three or more times weekly	√
If ‘yes’ to the preceding question, please indicate average daily frequency (where intercourse occurs more than once daily) and number of days per week on which intercourse occurs.	2 to 4 times daily, each day

You can just imagine the look on his face when he got to that portion of his questionnaire. “Cara, are they truly asking the frequency with which we couple …on any given day?”

“Yes, they are …and be honest! Sharon isn’t going to be shocked. She has numerous patients who live and die by a basal thermometer, just as we did until last week.”

That statement forced me to explain basal temperature and the optimum range for conception; he’d known I was taking my temp and recording it, but he’d no idea why I was doing so. Typically for Max and where things regarding the workings of the female body are concerned, he’d not asked because he just didn’t think it ‘appropriate’ to ‘pry.’ He took a deep breath and filled in the blanks.

Max obviously isn’t averse to doing it, but he’s not comfortable with talking about it to anyone but me. I know it’s silly, but I find that degree of naiveté and innocence – not to mention modesty – in a man as worldly as my husband to be absurdly endearing. I looked back at Sharon, and she nattered right along, completely ignoring my husband’s flushed face.

“The easiest thing to do is to get a sperm count on you, Max. Fertility testing on women is very involved, and much of it isn’t particularly pleasant. I know you don’t want to put Reagan through any unnecessary discomfort, so we’ll check you first.” She hit the intercom button on her phone before Max could say a word in protest or agreement.

“Georgia, could you step into my office for a moment?” Georgia knocked and popped her head in the door five seconds later. The fact that Georgia looks like a Playboy centrefold probably didn’t do a thing to ease Max’s discomfort.

“We need to get a sample from Mr. Espan for sperm count. If you’ll take him to the collection room and explain the procedure, Reagan and I’ll have a chat, and I'll check her over while he collects the sample for you.”

I thought Max was going to have a stroke, in which case we wouldn’t need to worry about sperm counts, conception, or anything else other than his survival. I could only imagine what his blood pressure was as he hauled himself out of his chair, gave me a dirty look – he’d managed to forget this was his idea – and followed Georgia out of the room. Sharon and I managed not to laugh until the door closed behind him.

We got the report later the same day; his volume of ejaculate was normal, and the sperm count was just over 40 million; more than 80% of them were swimming well. Bear in mind that frequent ejaculation lowers both amount of ejaculate and sperm count …I could only imagine what Max’s volume and count would have been if we’d been having sex two or three times a week like ‘normal’ newlyweds in our age range.

Sharon examined me whilst Max was collecting his sample. No indications of uterine fibroids or endometriosis, and she already knew that I had minimal uterine scarring. None of those presented any problems to my conceiving. She collected mucous for examination, and we were done in 15 minutes. By the time we got back to her office, a very chagrined Max was waiting for us. His low-voiced comment to me in the lift on our way to the lobby was priceless.

“If I did not love you as I do and did not wish so ardently for a child – and am assured that you feel the same on both counts – I would never have subjected myself to such humiliation.” I smiled at him as we walked out of the building.

“Max, give it time. We’ll conceive when we’re intended to conceive.” We did …retrospectively, I think it very likely happened that night we initiated the sex swing.

I’d quit drinking on our wedding day – the social wedding – and the last glass of champagne at the reception was my last drink until after I gave birth to our child, assuming that was in the cards. When I was a month late, I’d made the stop at Wal-Mart on my way home from school, picked up two EPTs, and tucked them under the bathroom counter until the next morning. Hormone counts are highest in the first urination in the morning; if I was pregnant, it would be most likely to show then.

I got up a few minutes before Max, grabbed one of the tests, and headed for the guest bathroom. Five minutes later, I was looking at a “PREGNANT” reading in the results window. So far, so good. If I hadn’t started bleeding within seven days, I’d retest. One week later, I retested. “PREGNANT.” I called Sharon and made an appointment.

Sharon rolled her stool away from the exam table and smiled at me. “You can get dressed. And yes, you’re definitely pregnant, between five and six weeks. You can break out the champagne for Max tonight.” We’d hugged each other, and I almost floated out of her office.

Max knew something was up as soon as he walked in the door, though as astute as he is, I’d expected him to snap sooner and not just for the obvious reason. My breasts had already begun to increase in size and were so sensitive that I could barely stand for him to touch them. Of course it isn’t that uncommon for them to get sore as I approach my period, and he’s used to that, but as closely as he’d been monitoring my cycles, I was amazed that he hadn’t realised I skipped the last period. Perhaps he had noticed and was holding his breath as I’d been holding mine.

“Why are you dressed in this manner? Am I tardy for a celebration?” I was wearing a little black, V-necked number that had a tight, cummerbund style bodice that fastened under my left breast with four large gold buttons, and draped to my feet. I was barefoot, and smiled up at him as he put his briefcase and laptop on the table beside the front door.

“Let’s get you out of your coat and tie.” I was tugging his tie loose as he shrugged out of his suit coat, smiling as he looked at me.

“Has something happened to make you so joyous on this night?” I smiled and nodded. “Will you tell me, or must I guess?” I tossed his tie toward the coach along with his coat and turned back to him, cupping my hands on his cheeks.

“I’m pregnant.” He didn’t say a word, and I’m not sure he could have even if he’d tried; he didn’t have to say anything …the sudden tears in his eyes spoke for him. His voice was low and rough with emotion when he finally regained his voice.

“I had hoped this last month but dared not say anything …I feared doing so would tempt Fate.”

MAXIMUS
She had been quiet all morning, but now began to move restlessly as if in pain. I pushed the call button for her nurse. The woman entered the room moments later. Cassandra had been installed in a private room the evening before, having been considered sufficiently stable to remove her from the intensive care unit. I looked up, speaking as the nurse entered.

“She has been quiet until a few minutes ago …she is now moving restlessly, and seems to be in pain.” The nurse checked her pulse and breathing and seemed concerned. She pulled back the sheet, apparently to look for bleeding from Cassandra’s surgical wound. That wound was fine, but there was fresh blood at the juncture of her legs. I looked on in horror as the nurse turned to me.

“It appears your wife is having a miscarriage, Mr. Espan. I’m so sorry, but you have to leave now; we need to get her down to OB and take care of her.”

To be Continued

NOTES

“Cry”	“Cry,” Back to Bedlam, James Blunt 2005. Lyrics may be found on our Lyrics page. Those wishing to download this song can find it at: http://www.mp3search.ru/album.html?id=30203 or here http://music.allofmp3.com/r2/James_Blunt/Back_To_Bedlam/group_7672/album_1/mcatalog.shtml?albref=14
115 kilometres per hour	The conversion for kilometres to miles is 1 kilometres = 0.621371192 miles, i.e., Reagan has a ‘lead foot’ and travels the Interstate at just over 70 miles per hour when traffic flow permits.
RTA	Road Traffic Accident
Comminuted fracture	A fracture in which the bone is broken into pieces. Repair includes pins at the very least, and bone grafts at the most difficult end of the spectrum.
Hypovolaemia	Low blood volume, usually resulting in a state of medical shock.
Mannitol	A medication given to reduce swelling of the brain and prevent an increase in intracranial pressure.
Negative Babinski	In checking for neurological injury, a negative Babinski indicates no injury to the spinal cord.
Lavage	Lavage – to wash or to irrigate. In this case, making a small opening in the abdominal wall, inserting a catheter, and running sterile saline into the abdominal cavity. When the fluid flushes out, any free blood indicative of haemorrhage in the abdominal cavity will turn the returning fluid pink to red from it previous clear state.
Acetabulum	The “cup” portion of the hip joint, the part attached to the pelvic girdle. The femoral head – the top of the thigh bone – fits into the acetabulum and rotates as the leg is moved.
HPD	Houston Police Department
61 Reisner Street	Headquarters for the Houston Police Department. The City Jail is in an adjacent building.
BAL	Blood Alcohol Level. The ‘legal limit’ in Texas – as in most states – is .08
Sperm Count	Click here http://www.netdoctor.co.uk/menshealth/facts/semenandsperm.htm assuming that you’re interested!

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