Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 27

Shane and Carmen: The Novelization

Chapter 27 Into the Wild

Dana started dying at 2:33 p.m. and it only took two minutes. For six days she had been fighting the infection in her blood stream. It was a dirty, hand-to-hand, cell-by-cell, take-no-prisoners street brawl with no rules and no mercy. Dana survived these days on sheer will power, on an athlete's grit and determination, but on the afternoon of the sixth day, five days after entering the hospital, she had nothing left to keep up the fight. She was done. Her exhausted heart stopped, and the monitoring machine started beeping frantically at the ICU nurse's station.

"We have a Code Blue in ICU Room 7, Code Blue in ICU Room 7," a nurse announced calmly but firmly over the PA, and everyone came running. One of the nurses brought the crash cart.

A young doctor named Wyler sprinted into the room, looked briefly at the monitor and lifted Dana's left eyelid to look into her eye. It was unresponsive to light. Her lips were turning purple, and her skin color was turning gray. He grabbed the paddles from the crash cart.

"Ready for de-fib, everyone clear," he said. It was 2:34:44 p.m.

"Clear!" a nurse said, removing the oxygen mask from Dana's face. Dr. Wyler applied the paddles to Dana's chest and shocked her silent, motionless heart.

Nothing.

"Shock again, three hundred joules," the doctor said. "Clear!" He shocked her again.

"She's still in de-fib," the nurse said.

"Any pulse?" Dr. Wyler asked.

The nurse listened through her stethoscope. "No carotid. No radial."

"Continue ventilation and chest compressions," the doctor said. "Give her one mig epi, IV."

"Epi is in," the nurse said, pulling the now-empty hypodermic out of the IV plug. It was 2:35:12.

"Let's shock again," Dr. Wyler said. "Everybody clear."

"Clear!" the nurse told him. He shocked Dana for the third time.

Nothing.

"Three hundred amiodarone, please," the doctor said. He watched the nurse inject the drug into the IV.

"Still no pulse," the nurse said.

"Shock again."

"Charging," the nurse said, watching a dial on the machine. "Clear!"

Wham. Nothing.

"Give her sixty migs lido. Shock again."

Nothing.

"Charging. Clear!" The paddles delivered another shock.

"She's still in de-fib. No pulse."

"One more epi push." He waited while the epinephrine went in.

Nothing.

"She's gone," he said. "I'm calling it. Stop CPR. Time of death, 2:35 p.m., March 12, 2006."

***

Dana's death caught the Friends by surprise. Some of it was garden-variety denial, which we all face in these circumstances. Some of it was due to the fact that they had been lied to. Dana had minimized her condition from the beginning, and some of that false optimism still lingered, even on her final day. Some of it was the simple faith in modern medicine, on the knowledge that Dana was in one of the best hospitals in the country, that she was receiving the best care possible, that she was tough, that she was a fighter. Sure, they all knew by now that she'd had the mastectomies, the tumors were gone, she was receiving chemo. Most people who had come this far survived, and there was no reason to believe Dana wouldn't be one of them. They'd all looked up the survival numbers on the Internet: 85 percent lived five years, 77 percent lived ten or more years, 64 percent lived twenty or more. All the numbers were on Dana's side. You saw cancer survivors everywhere, on TV, in society, down the block. Everyone knew someone who was a cancer survivor. Dana would surely become one of them. One day soon Dana would be on a TV talk show, telling the world about her bout with breast cancer. She'd be wearing a pink ribbon and enthusiastically promoting a women's marathon to raise funds and awareness. She'd be out walking the walks and running the 5ks and 10ks at the head of the pack. She'd look great.

They knew about infections and, intellectually, they knew infections could and did kill people. They just couldn't conceive that an infection might kill their beloved Dana. Not in the middle of this warm, sunny California afternoon.

Lara was in Paris and had an excuse, if a poor one: She was oblivious to Dana's worsening health. But Lara had lost her prerogative to forgiveness, because she had abandoned Dana, had run out on her, unable to take the stress that came with nursing. That Lara lacked the temperament for it, coupled with the fact that Dana was a difficult and abusive patient, didn't seem to matter.

Bette, too, didn't know. She had gone to a ten-day silent retreat at a Buddhist monastery in the Cascades in Washington State. She had been unemployed for nearly a year, and it had begun to weigh on her sense of who she was. Her relationship with Tina had deteriorated until she had metaphorically kicked her out of their bed and out of the house, and except for their shared motherhood of Angelica, out of her life. But between the crushing silence and the attractiveness of a demur, bald-headed Buddhist nun, Bette was going bonkers, and finally could stand it no more. Calling herself a "meditation retreat drop-out," she'd packed her bag and left the retreat -- yelling, screaming and happily yodeling all the way down the hill to the bus stop.

Jenny and Max were on the other side of town with Tim, Jenny's poor ex-husband, who had found someone new and in fact had married her. Her name was Becky, and she felt like a fish out of water. They were having lunch at Pink's on North La Brea, because Jenny said Tim claimed they had the best hot dogs in LA. Tim was contemptuous and dismissive of Max, and he continued to think Jenny was still out of her mind, despite being released from the sharps ward in Illinois months ago. Becky seemed nice and tried to be so, but she was the outsider -- and several months pregnant, although she had not yet begun to show. In only a few minutes Tim and Jenny were at it.

"Hey, Becky," Jenny finally said, "did you know on the night Tim came to say goodbye to me, he gave me a little revenge fuck?"

Becky turned pale, stood up, put her purse strap over her shoulder. "Come on," was all she said. Tim got up and silently followed her out.

Helena was in a meeting with her lawyer -- and her mother. She'd gotten herself into a serious jam, and Mommy was there to bail her out. Helena had been honey-trapped by a woman named Dylan and Dylan's invisible boyfriend, Danny. Between them they'd led Helena into seducing Dylan and then being filmed doing it. Dylan and Danny sued for sexual harassment and asked for millions. But Peggy Peabody suddenly turned up at the settlement conference and exposed the plot for what it was. Dylan and Danny had a long-standing grievance against the Peabody Foundation, having been turned down five times for grants. Trapping Helena was the payback. Peggy told Dylan to go to hell and see you in court, but Helena, heartbroken and humiliated, signed over a check for $350,000 to just make it all go away. She left in tears.

Tina had been seeing a nice guy named Henry, whom she met when their kids were on a play date at a pool. Now she was sleeping with him. Of all the friends, Tina had always been the bisexual one, the one most likely to slip back to "the other side," and so she had. On this day she was having lunch with Henry and several of his friends at a Mexican restaurant. As they talked, it became apparent that not only did Henry's friends believe that Angelica had been adopted by Bette and Tina, so did Henry. Tina became aware that if she had explained Angelica was her biological daughter, fathered by artificial insemination and by a black man they had actually chosen, no less, it would have changed everyone's opinion, and not for the better. She said nothing, but grew increasingly uncomfortable.

***

Tina picked up some clothes on one of the chairs in Dana's room. "Do you want me to take these home and wash them?" It was a few minutes before noon and she had her lunch date with Henry at 12:30.

"Uh, yeah, sure," Alice said. "Or you can just take them over to my place."

"I brought your mail."

"Thanks."

"Dana? M&Ms," Tina said, holding up a large bag of Dana's favorite candy. It was hard to tell if Dana was even awake, but Tina could see just the faintest trace of a smile, and knew she'd scored. She slung her purse over her shoulder, getting ready to leave. She walked to Dana's beside and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Dana, do you want me to get your mail, too?"

Dana shook her head no, a gesture so small it was almost microscopic. "Okay," Tina said, bending over and kissing her on the forehead. "I love you." She looked up at Alice. "Are Shane and Carmen next?"

"Emm-mm," Alice shook her head no while taking a bite of her sandwich. "Max and Jenny are next after they get back from lunch with Tim, and Shane and Carmen are coming at five."

"Are they bringing you dinner?"

"No, but Kit is."

Tina looked at herself in the mirror above the sink in the room, and felt embarrassed. "I hope I don't look too dressed up," she said. She was wearing a dark, long-sleeved top over stylish jeans for her date.

"You look good," Alice said.

Tina nodded thanks. "Bye," she said, and left.

Alice gave her a moment and leaned over to whisper to Dana. "You're right," she said. "Bisexuality is gross. I see it now." It had been a running argument between them, and for many years Alice had claimed to be every bit as bisexual as Tina. She had bedded and fucked almost as many men as Tina had, and had enjoyed it just as much ... once upon a time.

Dana appeared to crack that faint smile.

"Did I make you laugh?" Alice asked, grinning, and then she chanted in a schoolyard sing-song, "I made you lau-augh."

Dana napped and Alice finished her lunch, reading a magazine. A while later the nurse came in.

"Is it that time?" Alice asked as the nurse started changing Dana's bed linen.

"Her mom and dad are coming back," said the nurse, a lovely Jamaican woman who pronounced it "bock." "We got to get her cleaned up and presentable. Isn't dat right?" she asked, speaking not to Alice but to Dana. "She's a fighter, dis one!" She wrung out a washcloth and handed it to Alice. She got one for herself and prepared to wash Dana.

"You hear that, Dana? You're getting a little reputation around here."

"So. What dey bring you for lunch?" the nurse asked Alice. "Peanut butter and jelly."

"Uck," the nurse grunted.

"Yeah. I think I'm regressing to childhood." She started washing Dana's left arm, being careful not to disturb all the tubes running into it.

"So you goin' ta get out of dis room today? Take a walk?"

"Uh, well, I took a walk this morning around the nurse's station."

"I meant outside. It's a beautiful day! Why don't you take a walk, get out of dis damn air conditioning." She looked sternly at Alice. "How many days you been in dis room?"

"Five," Alice said reluctantly.

"And has she gone anywhere?"

"No."

"Dat's all I'm sayin'. Clear your head." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It'd be good for da bot' of you."

Finished with the bed bath, the nurse packed up the tub of water and the wash clothes and with a knowing look at Alice to follow her suggestion, she left the room. Alice picked up a bottle of lotion and poured some in her palm. She rubbed her palms together for a moment to warm the lotion, then began to apply it to Dana's upper arm. "What do you think, can you do without me for a little bit?" Dana made no response.

"You want some more M&Ms for your incentive pot?" Alice asked. No response. "Okay, but don't get mad if you get fat. I'm not gonna hear about it." She finished applying the lotion. "All right, I'll work out with you, but you can't show off, you have to promise." Alice pulled a tube of lip balm from her pocket and started to apply it gently to Dana's dry lips." I know how you get. Deal?"

Dana's eyes flickered open for a second. " Deal," she agreed, her voice barely audible.

Alice smiled, and bent down to kiss Dana on the cheek. Dana's eyes opened again for a second. "Ah 'ove you," she could barely murmur.

"I love you, too," Alice said.

***

The nurse was right. It was good to get out of the room for a while. Stretch the legs, work out the cramps. A change of scenery. Alice rode the elevator down to the main floor and wandered into the hospital gift shop. She picked up a couple of bags of different kinds of M&Ms, went to the drinks cooler and picked out a can of ginger ale and a diet Mountain Dew. Standing in line at the checkout register, her attention was captured by a display of felt flowerpots, each containing a large and colorful felt daisy with a Smiley Face stitched on it. When you picked it up, its motion sensor started the daisy singing "You are my sunshine" in a cute but metallic robot voice while it moved and bent slightly, then bowed when the song was done. Alice couldn't resist.

After she'd paid for her purchases she went for a walk outside. It was a warm, beautiful spring day, and truth be told, Alice hadn't seen sunlight in a week. She sat on a bench, melancholy, but glad to absorb a little vitamin C from the sky. She basked in the sunshine and closed her eyes, feeling the heat. Then a shadow came over her, and when she opened her eyes there was someone standing there in front of her, blocking out the sun. For a moment Alice couldn't make out who it was against the glare. And then she could.

"Alice?" the shadow asked.

"Tonya?" Oh, shit. It was that wacko hospitality bitch from the Dinah Shore Open weekend Dana had met. Worse, Dana had possibly fallen in love with her, or thought she had, and very briefly had been engaged to her before Alice and the Friends had staged an intervention to kill the deal.

"Mind if I sit down? It's so weird running into you here." Tonya plopped herself down on the bench, forcing Alice to scoot over and remove her bag of snacks, drinks and felt daisy.

Hey, I've got an idea, Alice thought to herself, why don't you sit down?

"I've been thinking about Dana a lot lately," Tonya said, launching into the monolog Alice was expecting. "I made a really big mistake with her. I threw something really, really special away." She took a sip from the jumbo soda she carried.

Alice hesitated, then said quietly, "I don't really think you threw it away, I think--"

"Yes, I did! I mean, things fall apart when your partner senses you're looking for something better. Think about it! I could have been Mrs. Dana Fairbanks right now."

Alice managed to conceal a grin and looked away. Tonya was looking for something better? Dana hadn't been good enough for her?

"I wish I could just turn back time and do it all over again," Tonya said, oblivious. She took another sip of her soda. Hydration was important. "Do you still talk to her?"

"Yeah, mm-hmm, I do," Alice said quietly.

Tonya looked at her with pity. "I heard you had a really bad break-up."

Alice brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

"Don't worry, it's not like I know anything else," Tonya said. "I've been pretty out-of-the-loop since I've been trying to have a baby."

Well, holy shit, Alice thought to herself. "You're having a baby?"

"Mmm-hmm," Tonya nodded. "I decided I wanted someone who'd always be with me."

Alice had nothing to say to that -- nothing she could say out loud, anyway.

"Okay, I know that may not sound like a very good reason to have a baby, but ... you know what? There are worse."

Alice chewed on that. "Yeah," she said. "Yep." Tonya could set back the cause of Motherhood twenty years.

"I really gotta go," Tonya said. "Wish me luck. I might be pregnant in a few hours."

Alice laughed. What can you do with this crazy woman? "Good luck," she said, reaching out to pat Tonya on the arm. "I really mean it." Tonya reached back and they hugged, then stood up. They began walking toward the hospital when Tonya suddenly realized something and turned around. "I didn't even ask you. Why are you here? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, well, I'm ... um ..." She held up the bag with the plush stuffed singing daisy sticking out of it. "I'm just visiting a friend."

"Are they all right?" Tonya asked.

"Uh, yeah, I mean, they're getting better." She made a cute Alice face.

Tonya thought for a moment, then decided she'd say what else was on her mind. She leaned in. "You know, I was always a little jealous of you, Alice."

"Why?"

"Because Dana loves you so much. It was actually kind of hard to deal with when we were together. I mean, ultimately there was always this other person who was so much more important to her than me." And Tonya shrugged and made a Tonya face. "Anyway," she said, embarrassed. "Gotta go."

Alice watched her walk away. Then she called out, "Hey, Tonya!"

Tonya turned and looked back.

"I'll tell Dana to call you," Alice said.

"Would you? I'd really love that."

Alice just grinned and waved. Tonya waved back, smiling, and then walked away. Alice stood there for a moment, thinking, well, Jesus Christ. Can life get any stranger than this? I gotta tell Dana. And the gang, too. They'll never believe this.

But Alice never got around to it.

***

Alice got off the elevator on Dana's ward just as a med tech was getting on. She'd seen him around. He looked at her funny, but said nothing. Alice didn't register it. Walking down the hall she passed a nurse she'd talked to a few times, but the nurse didn't make eye contact. Alice, lost in her own thoughts, never registered it. When she got to Dana's ICU she stopped at the window and looked in. The Jamaican nurse and another nurse were on each side of Dana's bed, doing something with the sheets. Dana's face was an awful gray color. She was unhooked from her oxygen tube and monitor and IVs. The monitor rack and the IV stand were pushed away into a far corner. The sheet was pulled up to Dana's neck. She wasn't moving.

The Jamaican nurse turned and looked out the window at Alice. Her face was sad.

Alice's hand flew to her mouth.

Dr. Wyler came up to her in the hallway.

"Her blood pressure started to fall," he said. "In spite of our best efforts, we couldn't bring it back up, and her heart failed. We couldn't get her back. I'm very sorry." He walked away.

Alice began to sob. She leaned against the wall and sank down to the floor, heart-broken, weeping inconsolably.

***

Every one of the Friends knew Dana's funeral was going to be difficult for them to bear, but it turned out even worse than they imagined. Alice wasn't in good shape by the time she got to the front door of the church, guided by Shane and by Carmen, who drove. She had cried herself sick for three days, comforted by Carmen, Jenny, Kit and Tina, as needed, but then, as often happens, she got it together on the fourth morning. While Carmen made coffee and breakfast in Alice's kitchen, she took a shower, washing away tears and grief, and got herself dressed. She came into the kitchen somber and subdued. She went to Carmen and silently wrapped her arms around her in a hug. She went to Shane, who was sitting on the couch, and hugged her, too. Then she sat down at the table. "What's for breakfast? I'm starved. I could eat a horse."

She asked about the weather, and about funeral arrangements. She wanted to know about Dana's obituary and about press coverage. She asked who had called and what messages she had received. Did she have phone calls she had to return? She'd get to them this morning. How were the other members of the Friends holding up? Martina and Billie Jean had sent flowers with handwritten, personal messages, as had Gloria Steinem. The rest of the tennis community had sent messages of condolence, too, and in lieu of flowers many had sent donations to breast cancer charities. Carmen brought her the stack of notes and messages, and as she ate her way through the large plate of huevos rancheros she went through them, commenting, sometimes reading out loud.