Escape from bed was not as easy as expected. Cassiopia had decreed that the nursing assistant on each arm was embarrassing and unnecessary, but when she stood, her legs suddenly abandoned her. She drooped into their grasp, then forced herself back up to find she was perched upon something akin to spaghetti. A few steps gave an excellent imitation of the rubber-legged Scarecrow from Oz. Fatigue and irritation quickly set in, so she was relegated to a wheelchair, as the doctor still wished her to be up and about. She begrudgingly agreed, but only after realizing the arrangement allowed her to visit Markman.
What she found disturbed her. There were two many tubes and wires. A feeding tube came from the mouth. Intravenous lines in both arms with multiple bags hanging from each stand. A pulse sensor was on the left middle finger, and two sensors attached to each temple area. From the chest, a wire emerged leading to other equipment. Markman’s hands rested at his sides, his eyes closed. He was breathing on his own, but apart from that, he looked bionic. Cassiopia’s emotions ran the gambit from angry, to disappointed, to worried, to a soul search for hope. She wanted him to awake now that she was here.
She coasted up to him, and placed a hand on his cheek, just as she had on the mountain. His face was warm and soft now, recovered from the harsh, bitter winter they had escaped. She decided to adopt hope, summarily dismissing all misgivings. She squeezed his upper arm, and held to it, then rested her head on the side of the bed and fell asleep.
Her own recuperation was rapid. By morning, she was walking short distances unassisted and made trips up and down the hallway outside ICU. The Professor arrived early with clothes and other necessities. Rogers showed up at noon and had lunch in the cafeteria with them. She planned to stay a day or two in case Markman improved. Dr. Palmer finally agreed to discharge Cassiopia the next day, provided someone was on hand around the clock to keep an eye on her. Markman’s condition remained unchanged.
When the time came to be wheeled out to the rental car, Cassiopia had problems. It did not feel right leaving Markman behind. She would stay nearby and return daily, of course, but that wasn’t enough. He should be with her. They had arrived together. Why weren’t they leaving together? With urging from her father and Rogers, she dejectedly climbed into the car for the ride to the hotel.
A number of tasks demanded Cassiopia’s attention in the days that followed. She replaced her cell phone and added a second one to her account, for Markman. There had been no sign of her briefcase or laptop on the mountain, so time was invested replacing those things. Dozens of requests for interviews by news media were rejected out of hand, though her escape from the mountain was quite adequately reported, even without her.
At the end of the week, a call came from Dr. Palmer’s office. Would Cassiopia meet him at the hospital that afternoon for a consultation? She went early and sat by Markman’s sleeping form. The Doctor arrived a short time later and motioned her to follow.
In his office, he shut the door and sat behind his desk. He leaned back and seemed to relax.
“How have you been?”
“I’m doing quite well, better every day.”
“Kind of a miracle after what you went through.”
“I still need a miracle,” she replied.
“It’s time we made a change. That’s why I’ve called you in.”
“What kind of change do you mean?”
“I see no promise of Mr. Markman coming out of coma anytime soon. Please don’t let that get you down. It’s not to say he won’t awaken tomorrow, for all we know. But, at this point, we need to set him up for long-term care for several reasons. He needs to start physical therapy. Do you know what that means?”
“Exercising his arms and legs?”
“Exactly, but it’s more than that. A physical therapist will manage that care and monitor it. A good long-term care facility will do a much better job of hygiene and other special needs. ICU was never intended for long-term patients. At this point, we’re in the perfect position to relocate him.”
“Where might we go, and how do I manage the costs?”
“I don’t understand. I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“The Neila Endowment. They have already registered to cover all expenses. They have arranged an opening at the Leadstrom Institute for him. It’s the premier trauma research center in this country. To be honest, I was kind of shocked that they got him in there. The openings are usually few and far between. They will even provide the transportation. State of the art. I can’t tell you how glad I am that one of my patients will be picked up by them.”
“I know nothing of any of this. Who do I ask?”
“Finance or maybe the case worker. That would be a start. Mr. Markman must have some kind of coverage you’re not aware of. Was any of his family in the military?”
“Oh, yes. His father was a high-level Air Force officer.”
“Well, this may be some benefit related to that or something.”
“When should he be moved?”
“You need to see our social worker, and she’ll help you get power of attorney. From that point on, you’ll have no problems managing his personal business. Let me know when that’s done, and we’ll set up the transfer. You need to do that soon. ICU needs the space.”
Cassiopia thanked the doctor and began a ghost hunt through the hospital to find the right people. Most of the paperwork was easy. Finding information about the Niela Endowment was not. Finance knew only that a committee managed it. They did not know who or where. There was a post office box for contact. It was in Washington, D.C., so was the Leadstrom Institute.
Back at the hotel, she explained everything to her father, who seemed as confounded as she. She made calls to Rogers and Dan Parrish and brought them up to date. Parrish assured her the house was fine, but he had not seen the neighbor’s beagle. Afterward, she lay on the hotel bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to feel assured that the move was a good thing, finally consoling herself by promising to be there every step of the way.
Chapter 11