Holding a report in his hands, Dr. Griedlach proceeded to tell Stan that a MRI showed a severely ruptured disk between two vertebrae in his neck. “It’s certainly capable of causing severe headaches and is remarkable enough to warrant surgical correction, if that were the only problem.”
“Only problem?"
“Yes," the doctor continued, “there’s another anomaly in the lower part of your brain that’s a more serious concern. We think it’s the cause of these headaches you’re experiencing.”
“We?”
“Yes, I've reviewed the radiologist’s report of your MRI with Dr. Epstein, a neurosurgeon. There’s something located deep in your brain, Stan." He tapped on the side of his own skull. “It’s not very big, a little smaller than a BB or a peppercorn. We think that it's probably shrapnel from the shell explosion that you told me about. And it's in a very unfavorable location for removal. Now Stan, you're perfectly welcome to talk to Dr. Epstein yourself. There isn't a better neurosurgeon in the country. He says there's almost zero chance of getting that thing out, without crippling you or killing you." Dr. Griedlach brushed his shaggy red hair backwards, with his right hand. He waited for a response from Stan.
"Dr. Griedlach—" He was cut off.
"Son, you can call me Red if you want to. Everybody else does, including my wife and grandchildren." He spoke the words in southern Alabama dialect.
"Red—" It felt uncomfortable, to Stan. “Doctor, What am I supposed to do? Sit around doped up on pain pills for the rest of my life, waiting to die."
"Well now son, I know it's not a life that you or anyone would prefer, me either. But there just really isn't any choice. If Doug can't do the surgery, nobody can. I'll guarantee that. If the doggone thing was just a fraction of an inch toward the anterior cerebral—toward the front of the brain stem, then—" He massaged his chin with his thumb and forefinger, as he peered over his glasses at Stan.
"Now listen Stan. If the blasted thing doesn't move, you can live a long life with it. A lot of people have to live with much worse conditions. You need to avoid any sudden trauma to the head. If it were to move the wrong way, I’m afraid it could be very bad, perhaps even fatal. Of course," he paused, “if it ever happened to move in a favorable direction, then maybe—" He hesitated again. "None of us have any guarantees, Stan. You take it easy, and take your pain medication as Dr. Ravit prescribed, and you should get along okay." Dr. Griedlach rose from his seat.
"Has Dr. Epstein flat said that he won't do it?" Stan was not ready to end the conversation.
"In so many words, yes. Heck, Stan, he can't afford to. We’re not talking about a ten percent risk of failure. It’s more like a one percent chance of survival. No reputable surgeon is going to go against those odds. Even if you signed a dozen releases, some blood sucking lawyer could sue for millions in a heartbeat. And they would probably win too, if the surgery went bad." He brushed his huge bushy crop of red hair with both hands.
"It's because I'm on welfare, and don't have any money, isn't it?"
Stan was desperate. He didn't want to give up. He saw his last thin hope of a normal life slipping away. He wanted to be whole again. He wanted a fighting chance to regain his life and his family.
"Stanley, son, that's not it at all." He put his hand on Stan’s shoulder. “Listen, I've seen Doug work day and night on patients that had no health insurance or money at all, if he had a fighting chance of helping them. Oh, I'm sure, if you had enough money, and wanted to commit suicide, then somewhere in this world, someone would operate, but not Doug Epstein." The wise doctor sensed Stan‘s desperation. “There are some things that reputable doctors just cannot do Stan.”
"I'm sorry Doctor Red. That was unfair of me. I appreciate what you‘ve done. And I appreciate your candor."
Stan accepted that his only hope of return to a normal life was slipping away. Reconciled to the sentence of a lifetime of disability and the possibility of dying sooner, rather than later, he didn't want to add unkindness to his transgressions.
"I know you didn't mean anything wrong, Stan. Now look. I've already sent your records to Dr. Ravit. He can keep an eye on you and treat the pain, just as well as I can. We talked about you this morning. If there’s any change in your condition, then he and I will decide if you should come back here. He's expecting you to stop by and see him this afternoon."
He extended his right hand to Stan. "I don't know about you, son, but I believe that all healing ultimately comes from God. And I believe in prayer too. I want you to know that I'll be praying for you.”
Stan managed a weak smile, as he thanked the doctor. He walked back toward the reception room and thought about the doctor’s final remarks. I don’t know if I even believe in God or in prayer, he thought.
When he stepped back outside the medical building, the hot blast of July air reminded him of the heat from the fire that destroyed their house. Karen didn’t know about the fire for some time, and she never knew the true cause. She didn't want to hear from Stan when he phoned for her at her parent's home the next day after the fire. She cut him off abruptly before he could tell her about the fire or the medication problem which was responsible. Although he phoned many times, neither she nor her parents would ever speak to him again. His letters were returned unopened. He was served with a restraining order, while he was still in the hospital, after she left. The order prohibited him from going near her parent's home or Paula's place of business.
He felt utterly hopeless and alone after leaving the doctor‘s office. He wished that he could just see Jenny's smiling face. Just the sight of her, would mean the world to him right then. He ambled on toward the Harcourt Center train station. Oh just to see her smile. Just to hear her giggle, he thought. God if you're really there is that too doggone much to ask? He wondered how much she must have grown and changed in the last couple of months. He imagined that she might be playing and laughing with other children at Mrs. Obenhauer's nursery, at that time of day.
“Oh Jesus," he exclaimed. “Yes!" His heart leaped and new found hope lit up his eyes. The restraining order that prevented him from going near Karen’s parents said nothing about staying away from the nursery. He wondered why he hadn't thought of that oversight before. He walked hurriedly to the train station.
Chapter 20
Robert walked west on Clay, after leaving the downtown train station. He was scheduled to work a late shift today. Radiating heat caused shimmering visual waves above the sidewalk and over the tops of parked cars. The stench of exhaust fumes was heavier than usual in the hot July air. As always, Robert glanced to the right and surveyed the play lot next to the nursery.
He stopped suddenly. To his amazement, the little girl, who had so captivated him on past occasions was there! She was bent over a swing, on her tummy, pushing with her feet. He turned and hurried back to the canvas shop and cut through to the alley behind the play lot. The hasty trip left him short of breath. He knelt on the ground at the northwest corner of the play lot. His position placed him out of view from the nursery’s picture window. Jenny was still hanging over the swing. She was wearing red shorts and a white cotton tee shirt. Her curly brown hair hung below her, as did her arms.
Robert squatted by the play lot fence, on the cobblestone surface of the alley. His hands clutched the chain link fence. Then he remembered the cut he received from the rough galvanized wire before. He carefully retracted his fingers. The little girl was more beautiful than ever to him. Once again, he carefully studied her face and compared her to his recollection of his sister Marge, when she was Jenny's age. She looks exactly like her, he thought.
Jenny slowly swung her arms and occasionally pushed with her feet. She faced Mrs. Obenhauer's observation window in the nursery wall. Mrs. Obenhauer was sitting in her rocking chair watching a television talk show. She occasionally glanced through the picture window at the playground.
Robert paid no attention to the other youngsters in the lot. His fascination was directed, solely at Jenny. He continued to kneel motionless. She’s as cute as ever, he thought. He waited patiently for her to upright herself, so that he could have a better view of her face. He wished that he had a treat for her, something to encourage her to come near. He searched his pockets, but came up with nothing but his pocket knife.
*****
"Psssttt! Jenny!"
At first Robert thought the sound came from the side entrance of the nursery. He jerked his head in that direction and caught a glimpse of a man at the other corner of the lot, near the building. The man was motioning to Jenny and didn't see Robert. Robert resented the other man’s presence and stood to get a better view of the stranger. When he did, his movement caught Jenny's attention.
Recognizing Robert, and remembering unpleasant past confrontations with him, Jenny scrambled to the ground on her hands and knees and faced him. Her sudden dismount from the swing caused her to fall on top of a toy truck and it made a small cut on her knee. She ran toward the side entrance as fast as her little legs would carry her, screaming, "No! Mummih! Mummih! Bluhh maann! Mummih!"
Recalling past confrontations with Mrs. Obenhauer and fearing another clash with the woman Robert wheeled about and hurriedly walked west through the alley.
Stan’s heart sank. To him it appeared that Jenny ran inside because she was frightened of him. He was devastated at the presumed rejection. He guessed that Karen must have brainwashed Jenny over the last months and even taught her to fear him!
Mrs. Obenhauer charged vigorously from the side door to investigate the cause of the disturbance to Jenny. She swept the crying child up with her arms, and perched Jenny on her hip. This was the little girl's first day back, and the protective matron was not going to have it spoiled. She looked menacingly around the play lot fence.
Stan stepped inconspicuously toward the west, out of the woman's line of sight. He considered approaching her to ask if he might speak to Jenny, but thought better of it. He reasoned that she may have been told to keep an eye out for him, to keep Jenny away from him, or maybe even to summon the police if he came around. He reasoned that he had best just forget it. He didn't want to scare Jenny any more. He walked in defeat back toward the train station.
Mrs. Obenhauer noticed blood on Jenny's knee. She wiped the blood with her apron, as she trudged back into the nursery. Jenny continued to cry. She anticipated another alcohol scrubbing by Mrs. Obenhauer. This time the matron used a numbing antiseptic spray and applied a adhesive patch with a colorful cartoon character on it. Jenny was fascinated with the bandage and immediately stopped whimpering. Mrs. Obenhauer decided that she ought to telephone Jenny’s mother and tell her about the cut just to avoid surprising her later.
*****
As Robert hurried west through the alley, he was puzzled that the stranger in dark glasses, had looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place him.
*****
Despair claimed Stan's spirit as he rode northbound on the train. He felt that he might never know the joy of touching, holding, or hugging Jenny or Karen again.
His thoughts took him back to St. Luke’s maternity ward, two years and a few months earlier.
*****
Stan couldn't bear seeing Karen in pain, so she made him leave the delivery room. He recalled sitting nervously and expectantly in a small waiting room. His imagination ran out of control as he waited. Karen is almost thirty. There could be complications. He wished then that she hadn't gotten pregnant. He agonized over what he would do if something happened to her. If she were to die, life would be meaningless. Did we really need a baby? It was the first time he had faced such dread since they married.
The door suddenly burst open and Dr. Cushman stepped through wearing a broad smile. "Congratulations, Dad, he exclaimed. You have a daughter. They're both doing just fine. Give them a couple of minutes to powder their noses, then go say hello!"
Stan's thoughts bounced from deep despair to lofty joy with those few brief words from the doctor. "She's Okay? They're both Okay?" he blurted. "Thanks, Doctor! Thanks a lot!" A daughter! Both doing just fine! Hot dang!
He recalled sitting on the edge of Karen's bed, looking down at the two of them. Karen had never looked so radiantly beautiful. And the sight of the little red faced baby, lying next to her, brought chills to him. The newborn's tiny eyes were squinted, and a frown decorated her tiny forehead.
"Look at it's little hands," he said. "The fingers are so tiny; like a doll." He touched the precious little hands with the greatest of care.
"She’s a she, not an ‘it‘, Stan, and she won't break. Pick her up. Let her feel her daddy’s strong hands."
His hands trembled nervously, as he held Jennifer Louise Bronsky for the first time. Her six pound and three ounce body seemed light as a feather to him.
“I can’t believe how, something, someone, so small and helpless, could be a real live person. Oh Karen, she's a miracle! A real miracle!"
Stan turned his attention to Karen. He realized suddenly, that her large hump of belly was gone. "Are you alright, Kare? Was the pain very bad?"
"I'm just fine, honey," she answered. “The medicine helped the pain and now that I‘ve seen Jenny, I couldn't possibly be better. Oh, Stan, I can't wait to get her home. Can you?"
"Let's leave now," he joked and smiled at Karen.
"Okay folks, we have to borrow the little lady for a while, now." A nurse interrupted.
"Why? What's wrong?" Stan asked anxiously.
"Nothing's wrong, sir. We have to take her footprints and check a few things," the nurse returned. "Why don't you run on out of here and let the little mother get some rest."
Karen's eyes looked heavy. Her lips formed a peaceful smile.
"I'll be back to take you both home in an hour," he promised.
*****
Take you both home, he repeated in his mind as he looked out of the train‘s windows. Home will never mean the same to me again, he concluded. Pictures of the flaming house in Eagle Brook flashed through his mind.
"Lake Street," the muffled conductor's voice called. The train doors were about to close, when Stan rose quickly to his feet and hurried off the train. He walked to the west bound side of the station. He hadn't returned to Eagle Brook since the fire. He stood on the train ramp staring blankly across the tracks as he waited for a westbound train. He began to have second thoughts about what he was doing. Why am I doing this? It will just bring back painful memories.
Chapter 21
"Hey stranger!" A hand tapped Stan on the shoulder from behind.
Startled, he spun around to see Jan Murray smiling at him.
"I didn't mean to startle you, Stan. How in the world are you?" She struggled to hide her shock at his appearance. He looked terrible. His face was tired and drawn. His eyes were red. He had lost weight. What on earth has happened to him? she wondered. The train's doors whooshed open.
He was surprised to see someone that he recognized, especially Jan. And he was shocked that she would even speak to him, after his last couple of days at CTC. He wished that he hadn't run into her. He really didn't feel like talking to anyone, certainly not to her. It was embarrassingly uncomfortable for him because it brought back unpleasant memories. He recalled his scathing remarks to her on the day he was fired. He considered simply walking away and catching a northbound train. But the westbound was here and the door was open, so he reluctantly stepped into the car behind her.
"Come sit with me, Stan," she invited. "Tell me what all you've been up to. How's the family. How’s Karen and uh—? What's your little girl's name? I've forgotten."
Sit with her? After the way we went at each other? He was dumbfounded. "Jenny. Her name is Jenny."
"Yes, of course. Jenny. Where are you working now? Things sure haven't been the same at CTC since you left."
/>
So she’s still at CTC. Well, that figures.
She couldn't get over how weary he looked. He must be working himself to death.
"Actually I'm between jobs right now." He answered. He forced a disinterested stare out the train's windows. His pride wouldn't let him be totally honest.
The truth was that Stan had lost two other jobs since leaving CTC. After leaving there, his next employer heard about the erased CTC files, and fired him only two days after he was hired. He had a pain attack on the third day of his next job, momentarily blacked out, and nearly fell out of his chair. They quickly let him go too. Word soon spread to employment agencies and recruiters in the area. He applied for dozens of jobs since, but was never even called for an interview.
"Stan," Jan hesitated, "I've wanted to talk to you for some time. I tried to call your house, but I got a recording that said that your phone was disconnected."
Call me? What on earth for? She had his full attention. “You tried to call me?"
She paused for what seemed a long while to both of them while she searched for words. "It wasn't right, Stan. It just wasn't right."
He turned to face her. “Jan, look, I’m sorry. I had no right to say those things to you. I should have—”
She interrupted him. “That’s not what I meant, Stan.”
Why are her eyes tearing up? What wasn't right? “Oh. I guess you mean the Compton files that I erased. I know I shouldn’t—”
"No. That’s not what I meant. Stan, I— I know I took advantage of— Stan, you worked really hard and I—" She struggled for words. Tears began to slowly find their way down her pretty face.
"Jan, what's wrong? What is it?" He nervously reached into his pockets for a tissue, but found none.