A House Divided Ch. 03

I called our family doctor, Don Trimble, the next morning and asked for an appointment. I was due for a general checkup, but I really wanted to talk to him about Jo and see if he could give me some advice. I printed out a couple of the pictures of Jo from last year and the recent visit to give him an idea of what had changed.

"My goodness, Mark. These are dramatic changes in her. She looks pale and possibly anemic in these recent photos. How long has this been going on?" he asked in a concerned voice.

"About six months. It's been a gradual thing and I guess I didn't really realize how big the changes were until I saw the photos last night."

"Well, you've a right to be worried. She needs a complete checkup; right away. When can she come in?" he asked.

"That's the problem. She lives in Chicago and she's never here. I'm going to have to convince her to get this done on her own." I said.

"Do you think she's got an eating disorder?" he asked.

"No, she got a work disorder. She took a new job six months ago and ever since then, she's been driving herself mercilessly. I think this is a result of too much work, bad diet and too little rest and sleep." I said.

"Well, that would account for the weight loss and her appearance. There are some other hidden problems that could crop up, Mark."

"Such as?"

"Heart attack, stroke, embolism, ulcers, and assorted other wretched problems when you decide to neglect your body." He passed all this along in his matter-of-fact voice.

"I need some advice on what to do. She's not here and I need to get her to understand what she's risking." I said in an almost frantic voice.

"Well, you can't force her. You'll have to convince her that she needs to change her lifestyle and do something before it's too late."

"I don't have a hope in hell of doing that. I've been trying for six months to get her to understand what this will do to her health and I don't think she's heard a word I've said." I was discouraged and a bit frightened. If my doctor could see the dangers, then I wasn't exaggerating the risks to her. Somehow, I had to get her to understand she needed to change. I wasn't optimistic.

-0-

In early October, Jo resumed what she would describe as her normal routine. Her plan was completed and filed and she was back on the road. While we did get a few phone calls from her, she was running to catch up from the time she spent on the plan and needless to say, she didn't call very often. I tried manfully to talk to her about her health and the changes I saw, but while she listened and agreed to try and improve her diet and lifestyle, I had little confidence much would change. However, for the purposes of consistency, I made it a topic of every phone conversation we had.

We didn't see Jo in October. She was still trying to catch up and couldn't fit us into her travel schedule until November. We had planned a big Thanksgiving family get-together and she had committed herself to be there for the full four days. The weather had changed, the leaves had turned and begun to drop and Pete was now established at University for his freshman year. He was able to come home on the weekends that didn't have a football home game and so he stayed in touch with Lindsay as best he could. She had handled his leaving pretty well; perhaps because her relationship with her mother had improved. I was proud of the effort she made to reconcile with Jo and it had helped take the pressure off me.

It was the second week of November and I was sitting in my office, staring the laptop screen without seeing what was on it. I was daydreaming and only the sound of the phone brought me out of it. I answered it with my usual preparedness to hang up if it was another telemarketer.

"Mr. Mark Holmes?"

"Yes?" I answered cautiously.

"This is Mercy General Hospital in Los Angeles calling. Is your wife's name Joanne Holmes?" It was a woman's voice.

"Yes, that's right. What's happened? Is she hurt? I was fully awake and a bolt of fear passed through me.

"Your wife is in Intensive Care here. She was admitted after she collapsed at a restaurant earlier this evening."

"What's her condition? Is she awake?" I was beginning to panic and I had raised my voice.

"I can only tell you that she is under care here at the hospital and that her condition is listed as serious." the woman replied.

"Who is her Doctor? Can I talk to him?" I asked; again in near panic.

"She's being looked after by the emergency staff doctor. He can't come to the phone right now. Perhaps you can talk to him later." She was looking to conclude the conversation.

"What is your location?" I asked.

"This is Mercy General Hospital on Sepulveda Boulevard. Any cab company will know were to find us."

I tried to get more information on her condition but it proved fruitless. I looked at my watch. It was twenty minutes past ten. That would make it twenty past eight in Los Angeles. I needed to get to L.A. as fast as possible. I also needed to get someone to look after Lindsay. I rushed upstairs to her bedroom and knocked on the door. Her light was out, but she responded right away.

"What is it Dad?" she asked seeing the look on my face.

"It's your mother, Lindsay. She's in hospital. Something has happened to her and I need to get to Los Angeles right away. I'm going to have to find someone to look after you while I'm gone."

"I want to go too Dad. She's my mom. I need to be there too." she pleaded.

I was about to argue with her and then decided she had a right to be there as well. It would be part of the reconciliation I hoped.

"All right, Lindsay. I'm going to arrange for the tickets. If you have to get up early, I'll wake you. Otherwise, we'll get up at our usual time and pack some clothes. OK?"

"Is she going to be all right, Dad? she asked; concerned.

"I don't know, honey. I guess we'll find out when we get there. Now get some sleep; we'll have a long day tomorrow." I kissed her and quietly left her bedroom and headed back to my computer. I quickly looked up non-stop Northwest flights to L.A. and found one with space at 11am tomorrow morning and arriving in the early afternoon. I quickly booked and paid for the tickets with my credit card, chose our seats and printed our ticket confirmations. I looked up Mercy General and figured out where it was on the Mapquest reference and then began to look for a hotel. I found a Holiday Inn nearby and booked two singles for us for three days. I would extend our stay if necessary. I looked at my watch and it was almost eleven. Too late to call Pete. I would catch him in the morning before he went to class and let him know what was going on. Finally, I went upstairs to my bedroom and pulled out a small, wheeled suitcase. I wouldn't need much in the way of clothes other than casual. I could be packed in a few minutes and decided to leave it for the morning.

I tried very hard to get some sleep, but it was more than difficult. I couldn't help but think of my conversation with Don Trimble and his doomsday scenario of what might have happened to her. I must have finally drifted off sometime after two in the morning because I woke with a start at six when the radio came on. I rose and headed down the hall to Lindsay's room. She was up and moving so I headed back to my bathroom and got myself ready for the day. I called Pete and told him what was happening. He was naturally upset and wanted to go with us as well, but I insisted we would keep him informed. He reluctantly agreed. I called Lindsay's school and let them know she would be away for a few days and I called my office and asked my pool secretary to put the phone on call-forward to my cell phone. That covered the basics. I would take my laptop with me to stay in touch via e-mail as necessary.

We left Minneapolis on time and arrived a couple of minutes early at LAX. We took a cab to the hotel and checked in; dumped our bags in the rooms and then caught a cab to the hospital. We checked in at the front desk and inquired as to Jo's location and who the attending physician was. We headed up to the fifth floor in search of her room. After a ten minute walk, we found Jo's room. Lindsay gasped when she saw her mother; alone in the room, her nose and mouth obscured by tubes and electronic monitors taped to her in several locations. The soft beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor was the first sound we heard before the raspy sound of Jo's breath became evident. She wasn't conscious and there was no one in the room. The sign on the door indicated no visitors. We stood there for several minutes before we moved down the hall to the nursing station. We needed to find her doctor and find out exactly what had happened to her.

After nearly an hour, the doctor came out to see us. He was Asian and young and looked very tired. I was hoping he would have some answers for us.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Tran. Your wife is in serious condition, Mr. Holmes. She has apparently collapsed from exhaustion. She was badly dehydrated and my initial blood work indicates she's anemic. Can you tell me what her normal weight should be?" He had spit this all out in a blur of words and I was still trying to digest everything he had said. It was Lindsay who responded to his question.

"She usually weighs between 135 and 140 pounds." Lindsay offered.

"Well, her current weight is 109 pounds. I think we can see a pattern here Mr. Holmes. She needs complete rest. She'll need a diet plan and a graduated exercise plan. One thing for certain; she won't be fit for work for some time." he concluded in a no-nonsense tone.

"If I have my way, she won't be going back to work at all." I mumbled. "Thank you doctor. You've been very frank. When do you think we'll be able to take her home?"

"It's going to be a few days before I would recommend it. She's very weak and air travel isn't easy on the body. I'd say a week; give or take." He smiled slightly at me and then Lindsay. He had figured out the dynamics of this situation pretty quickly and realized these conditions were brought on by his patient's obsessive commitment to work. He'd seen it many times before and he would see it many times in the future. "If you need anything else, you know where to find me." he concluded.

"Doctor, here's my card. It has my cell phone number on it. Please give me a call when you think I can talk to her?"

"Why don't you come back tomorrow morning after ten? She should be more responsive then. Right now I've got her sedated to help reduce the stress on her. Check with the nursing station for updates. I'm not very reliable when it comes to phoning patient's family." he smiled.

"Understood ... and thanks for your help." I said sincerely.

I turned to Lindsay and let a big breath out; blinking my eyes to hold back the tears.

"Well, I guess the good news is that your mom is probably going to be OK." I said with relief.

Lindsay's tears trickled down her cheeks and she just nodded in agreement. I took her hand and we went over to the window on Jo's room and looked at her again. Her eyes were closed, the monitor continued its slow beep-beep-beep and the sound of her breathing continued in a regular pattern. I tugged at Lindsay's hand and we walked down the corridor toward the elevators.

We took a taxi back to the hotel and I arranged for a rental car with the agent at the lobby kiosk. It was past six on Thursday night and I asked Lindsay if she was hungry. When she nodded yes, I suggested we head for the dining room and have dinner. I'm sure she was as tense and exhausted as I was and I knew it would be an early night for both of us. During dinner I thought about my plans for the next week and decided to talk to Lindsay about them.

"I think you should head home on Sunday, Lindsay. You've got mid-terms coming up soon and you can't afford to miss too much school. I'll call Mrs. Carver and see if you can stay with her until your mom and I get home next week. Can you live with that?" I asked.

"I'd rather stay here with you, dad. I want to be with mom when she gets better." she said without pleading.

"You're going to have plenty of time for that when she's home with us again. I don't want you missing any more school. You have big plans for yourself, remember. I still want to see you and Pete at U. of M. together. I guess I'm asking you to do this for me. OK?"

"OK, dad. How will I get home?"

"I'll book you a ticket for Sunday and make sure you have enough money for a cab to Mrs. Carver's." I thought for a moment. "If she can't take you, then you can stay at your grandparents. Which would you prefer?" I asked.

"Mrs. Carver's is closer to school and I can get my stuff from home. Otherwise, Gramma would have to drive me everywhere."

"OK, it's settled then. Mrs. Carver's is first choice." I said smiling.

When we returned to our room, I called Pat Carver and luckily she was home and still up. She instantly agreed to take Lindsay for as long as we needed and then proceeded to quiz me on Jo and what had happened. I had given her a brief synopsis of the doctor's report and I could hear her vocal groans and sighs as I relayed her condition.

"Mark, when you get her home, you can count on me as her personal supervisor, trainer and dietitian. We're going to get Jo back to where she was; that's a promise." It wasn't a boast; it was a pure statement of intent. I was once again reminded of the value of good friends when you really needed them.

When I hung up, I realized I had talked to her for almost an hour. Since I had put both my office and home phone on call forward, I knew there had been no calls on either phone that I hadn't already taken. I walked over to the closed connecting door to Lindsay's room and knocked. There was no answer. I couldn't hear the TV or any other noise and I concluded that she had gone to bed or at least had fallen asleep. I was tired, but my mind was still racing at warp speed. I picked up my wallet, room card and a note pad from the desk and quietly slipped out the door and headed for the lobby.

The bar was lightly populated at nine on a Thursday night. A solitary piano player was noodling quietly in the corner and a handful of people were sitting at various tables. I chose a small booth off to the side and when the waitress came, ordered a Scotch. I pulled out the pad and began writing all the things that had been going through my mind in the past two days. Tomorrow morning, I would phone Jo's parents and tell them what had happened and that I would keep them up to date. After that, I would call my parents to give them the same information. Then, I would phone the Human Resources Department of her company and make sure that she had Long Term Disability Insurance as well as full medical coverage. I was damned if I was going to pay for what they had driven her too. None of them had even had the courtesy to phone me to inform me of her situation. I also wanted to give Shel Moskovitch, our family lawyer, a 'heads-up' in case I needed his help with her company. First thing tomorrow, I would book Lindsay's flight and let Pat know when she was arriving. Pat insisted on picking her up and wouldn't hear of letting her take a cab.

The next morning, I booked Lindsay's flight. She was leaving at nine thirty, Sunday morning, so traffic wouldn't be an issue. She would arrive just after four in the afternoon and again, traffic coming out of the airport area wouldn't be too bad. I had the hotel print off her boarding pass with her seat assignment. I called Jo's parents and that took almost an hour. They were very upset and each wanted to hear all the details for themselves. I promised to keep them updated on her condition. I stopped them from flying out to be here only because I convinced them there was little they could do and with any luck, I would have her home in a few days. I called my parents and they too were deeply concerned; my father obviously sensing the cause of this breakdown and expressing the hope that her career was over permanently. I couldn't have agreed with him more.

The call to the Human Resources Department of Jo's firm was less satisfying. They were reluctant to give out personal information over the phone to someone who could only claim to be Jo's husband. Worse than that, they were unaware that she was in hospital in Los Angeles. Apparently, none of their high-flying executive had thought it necessary to inform them of her collapse and confinement. I was once again becoming angry and after having threatened to put the whole business in the hands of my lawyer, they reluctantly agreed that their hospitalization plan would completely cover Jo's stay in Los Angeles, her airfare home and any hospitalization she would require in Eden Prairie. Their L.T.D.I. plan covered her for up to two years on agreement by both our doctor and their medical consultant. I was relieved that the financial burden was lifted and her company would be responsible for her recovery costs; including physiotherapy, doctor's visits and even psychiatric care; if required. I smiled ruefully to myself when I calculated that her medical costs would easily exceed her salary for the six months of slavery that she had endured.

Friday morning had dawned warm and hazy in the West Los Angeles area. It was one of those November days you often saw on TV when Southern Cal played Notre Dame; warm even for L.A. Lindsay and I had a leisurely breakfast and I went and picked up our rental car in the parking lot and we drove to the hospital in time for the ten o'clock visiting hours. I found I was anxious with butterflies in my stomach as I anticipated whether Jo would be conscious. When we arrived, the Venetian blinds were closed and we couldn't see inside her room. I walked back to the nurses station and inquired and was told her doctor was with her and we should wait a few minutes until he could talk to us. We returned to her room and sat in the chairs in the hallway outside her door. A few minutes later, Dr. Tran and a nurse came out of Jo's room and he immediately saw me and smiled.

"Good news, Mr. Holmes. Your wife is awake and alert. She's weak and I don't want you to be with her too long to start with, but she's been asking for you both since she found out you were here."

I felt an instant jolt of adrenalin pass through me and it was all I could do to stop from running into her room. Lindsay was first to her side.

"Oh, mom, mom ... I was so scared." she cried.

"It's OK, baby. I'm going to be all right. I'm so glad you're here." she said in a weak voice.

I looked at her gaunt face and saw the fatigue and lack of color that had frightened me yesterday. But the nose mask and throat tube were gone with only the I.V. in her arm visible. She smiled weakly at us and I could see the tears forming.

"You're going to be OK, Jo. I talked to Dr. Tran and he said we can take you home in a few days." I smiled.

"Oh, Mark. I'm so sorry. I was so wrong. I just couldn't see it. I was so wrong." she said miserably.

"Don't worry about it, Jo. We're going to get you back to your old self. You'll be surprised how fast you can recover." I said optimistically.

We talked for a few minutes as I told Jo what we had been told about her condition and how we had learned of her collapse. After we had chatted about home and where we were staying and when Lindsay would be going home, I noticed Jo's eyes begin to close now and then and I knew it was time to go.

"We'll be back this afternoon, Jo. Get some rest and we'll see you then." I looked at her and realized how much I loved her and that I would do everything possible to bring her back to full health. We bid her a tearful goodbye and walked out of her room.

It was a little before noon by the time I had extracted the car from the hospital parking garage and decided we needed a break for a few hours. I remember the rental car map of the area and had a look at where we were. As it happened, we weren't far from Manhattan Beach; a favorite hangout for surfers, skateboarders and pulchritudinous blondes in bikinis on their rollerblades. Lindsay could ogle the bleach-blonde surfer dudes and I could ogle the bleach-blonde babes. It would be good therapy for both of us.