Peter's Story - 9. Watching Over Him

"You want something to drink, Marty?" Brad asked, counting out his change at the vending machine. It was the middle of the night, so they were alone in the modern visitors’ lounge area behind the emergency room lobby.

"No, I'm fine, but thank you,” he answered as he put his thick winter jacket over the plump faux-leather beige lounge chair. "Well, maybe just something to drink, I guess." There was exhaustion in his voice as the jacket ended up lying crooked against the seatback, but he was too tired to care as he was finally able to get off of his feet. It looked like he was in a daze.

"Are you doing all right?" Brad asked, handing him the bottle before taking the seat next to him.

Marty sighed before answering. "I think so. I just hope he's OK," he replied as his shaky hand took the bottle from Brad. "Thank you."

Brad sat back in his chair as he folded his arms over his chest. "I have to tell you, Marty, I couldn't figure things out tonight at all. You know. Peter's had pneumonia before, and it got to where we could pretty much tell when he was getting bad. He would really slow down, cough a lot, and just generally look pretty wiped out. So it usually didn't get this far. The signs were obvious," he said before rubbing his forehead with his hand.

"But he was in such a good mood tonight. I've never seen him happier. He was so excited, he could hardly stop talking. I guess I should have seen through that, though. I should have known better, I'm really sorry it got this far."

"I know. He fights this whenever it happens. And he's pretty good at putting up a show, even when he can hardly stand up," Brad replied. "I think that's always been true, Marty, but not like this, at least to me. But I think it's all you."

Marty looked back at him, a confused look on his face.

"In case you don't realize it," he continued, now looking right at him, "he's crazy about you. You make him so happy, so alive. It's almost like he thinks he can overcome anything with you around, even getting pneumonia. I think he knew exactly what was wrong with him, and how bad it was didn't matter to him."

Marty just looked at the carpeted floor ahead of him. "I don't know about that. I'm not really so sure," he said, not having any thought at all that it could be about him. "But he's the type that wouldn't let this stuff get to him, " he said. "Maybe I help him a little, but it's really all Peter."

Brad couldn't help but notice the muscles in Marty's jaw tensing, then relaxing then tensing again, though his hands seemed to stop shaking. He had been a whirlwind of energy when they were bringing Peter in, but now sat almost completely motionless as he continued to stare ahead.

They sat together in silence for a few minutes, both pondering what had happened and what could happen. They both intuitively seemed to understand the struggle that the other was going through and both were allowing the other to work things out in their own head.

"You know," Brad said, finally breaking the calm. "He's been through so damn much, but he always makes it through. I'm sure he told you about his health and all." In fact, Brad wasn't exactly clear about what Marty knew but would have been surprised if Peter was not honest about it with him.

"Yes, he has, so this really isn't a surprise or anything. He's struggled at school a couple times this semester, so I've seen it before, though not this bad."

"He has?" Brad quickly responded, "I mean, he's had some problems this semester?"

"Yes, a couple times when we were playing soccer or basketball. I um...had to force him to lay off it two or three times. It wasn't `a big deal or anything, but he just needed to slow down."

Brad just shook his head. He was doubly glad that Marty was now part of Peter’s life, as even at school with no family around, Peter had clearly lapsed into his usual practice of ignoring his condition as much as possible.

"He's really a strong guy. I mean, I don't know how I would have gotten through all the things that he's been through. And, you know, from what he told me, it's never really going to be over for him. This stuff is always going to be there."

"You're right about that," Brad replied. "Of course he knows it. It's the hardest thing in his life, I think. He covers it up pretty well, at least to most people - they just never know. They just see him as this kind of `golden boy.'”

"Yea, I think some people do see him that way, at least people who don't know him, or who aren't his friends. But his friends know." Marty said, then continued, "I can tell that he really hates what this does to him. But he accepts it and doesn't complain."

Brad smiled. "You're totally right. He doesn't whine or anything like that. But it just frustrates him so much at times."

There was silence again for a few moments until Brad took a deep breath to speak. He was talking to Marty, but this time looked straight ahead, almost like he was in another place.

"Gosh, he was so small when he was born, especially compared to his brothers. You could practically hold him in one hand, " he said as he now looked down at his outstretched palm. "We almost..." He stopped before continuing, gently pounding the fist on his other hand into his palm, "...we almost lost him a couple times. But he always made it through. It was incredible how he did it. Especially with how small he was."

"Even though he made it through the worst part, the first couple weeks, things were still touch-and-go. But it was like he would never give up - never. The doctors even used to remark about what a little fighter he was."

Marty looked over at him. "Yes, I can see that," he said. "He'd be really winded playing soccer, yet he'd still want to be out there, especially if the game was close. I've even had to threaten to sit on him to get him off the field," he said, breaking a small smile.

"It doesn't surprise me," Brad replied. "I'm only a parent, so don't think that I could ever threaten him with the kind of arsenal that you've got!" he continued as Marty's smile got a little bigger.

He recounted many trips to the hospital for various ailments over the years, from digestive problems to perennial breathing difficulties. "Ironically enough, he has pretty good vision, though," he added.

"Well, sort of," Marty responded. "I noticed him squinting a bit on the way up here, and even before that. We may need to tackle some glasses next."

"At least the ophthalmologist doesn't poke you with needles," Brad added.

"Speaking of needles," Brad continued, "There was one time when he was like 15 years old. This lab technician was really rough with an ear exam. He kept telling Peter to hold his head this way, that way, then he'd push a scope or some other contraption into his ear. He acted like he was working on a car more than a person. At the end of that exam, I thought, `Wow, Peter is going to shove that scope up his butt!’" he said, finally getting a big grin out of his son's partner.

"Except for that bozo, though, we've generally been really fortunate with the various medical professions. Our original family doctor, who had taken care of his pop's family when he was a kid, had retired when Peter was just starting school. But he didn't have a successor or partner, so we weren't sure what we were going to do. Then a friend of ours from New Haven had a medical school classmate who was connected with the Clinic and was opening up her own practice. We were a bit nervous, especially with all the close calls that Peter had already had. But Josh, our friend, said she was really terrific."

"Dr. Chiang?" Marty asked, already suspecting the answer.

"Yup," he replied. "We've had specialists in and out, of course, but she's been the family physician ever since then. She's taken great care of all of us, but I think that Peter has become a kind of special project to her."

Marty looked over at him, acknowledging the statement with a nod of his head, then looked down at the floor before speaking again.

"Can I ask you a personal question? Um…if it's too much, you don't need to answer or anything."

"Go ahead. I'll let you know if it's too much," Brad replied with an encouraging smile, though he had no idea as to what Marty might ask.

Marty straightened up in the chair, then turned to face Brad. "On the way up here, Peter told me about his pop, and his health and all. I mean, he had told me the basics before, but went into more detail about how it affected you all, especially when he had bad seizures."

"We're pretty open about it. So, what did you want to ask?" Brad replied.

"How do you deal with it? I mean...um..." Marty was clearly nervous asking the question, partly because he still thought it may be too personal, but also because of what answer he might get back. "Pete said you all were really close and all, which I could see pretty easily tonight,” he said, still struggling for words. "So, when something would happen to Pete’s pop, how did you handle it.?"

Brad was stunned by the question, both because it really was about some of the most difficult times of his life, but also how Marty had drawn the parallel between the two of them.

He looked back at him, then up at the ceiling, putting his hands behind his head.

"I'm sorry, that was probably way too personal. I…" Marty pleaded, seeing how the question affected Peter's dad.

Brad reached over and put his hand on the upholstered arm of Marty's chair. "No, not at all. I'm glad to answer that or at least try to. You know, I'm not sure a lot of people would understand how it is when something like that happens - I mean, his pop's seizures. But I think you do, and you will understand more and more as time goes on."

He paused again before he spoke, trying to figure out even for himself how he did it.

"He doesn't have them a lot, thank God. But when he does, they're pretty bad. He just collapses. And then he's usually completely out of it for like, a day, sleeping the whole time. After he wakes up, he's very disoriented. And if he fell or injured himself during the seizure, which has happened a few times, then he's sore, too. As you must know, they are completely unpredictable, so you can be anywhere, at work, at home, even in the car."

"I guess in direct answer to your question, though," he continued, "I really don't know how I dealt with it. I just did what I needed to do at the time...but whatever I did, I have to say...that I always felt... helpless. I want to do something - I want to stop it - I don’t want him to ever suffer, but there's nothing I could ever do. That's the worst part - nothing," he said, unconsciously wiping his eye before continuing.

"After his seizures, I always made sure that someone was in the bedroom all the time, so that whenever he woke up, he'd have someone there. His folks and sister and brother-in-law, would pitch in, as would the kids’ `Uncle Niko,' a family friend and other friends - like his godmother Kate, and the kids and their cousins."

"They'd all try to make the time productive, too" he mused, thinking back on all those times and now breaking into a slight smile. "Besides doing homework, Bik would write detective stories, Robert would draw, and Peter would bring the dogs in and groom them."

He was digressing, but Marty understood and smiled back. "Sounds like Peter," Marty added, then continued. "It must have been hard for you to just watch, though. I mean, you want to do something, but all you can do is wait."

"Yes, wait and listen to what the doctors tell you, though there isn't much that they could do, either. But just helping him to the bathroom - that means a lot,"

"You do all you can," he continued, "but you also have to make sure he also takes care of himself," he said, "as I'm sure you can appreciate with Peter. Kind of like when you put food on Peter's plate tonight."

Marty looked back at him. "Oh that?" he replied, embarrassed that anyone had even noticed. "He just needed to eat more, that's all. It's not like what you've done for his Pop."

"It's exactly what I've done. Exactly, Marty. I almost laughed when you did it. I used to take carbs off Mike's plate because they aren't part of the diet he's supposed to be on. But it's just part of trying to do something, anything... You're right - it doesn't feel like much at all, but when you feel...um..."

"Helpless, like you said" Marty filled in.

Brad bit down on his bottom lip and replied quietly. "Yes, helpless. At least when you do something small, it lets you feel like you have at least a little control," he replied, then looked ahead, almost unconsciously.

"There was one time when we were in New Haven. He was late getting home. I was always nervous about him when he was late, especially as we had friends over that night. Well, I opened the door to look down the street, hoping that I'd see him coming. My eyes went up and down the street, but I didn't see anything. But then I glanced down to the bottom of the stairs and saw him lying there, unconscious in the snow. Gosh, I don't think I ever moved so fast! It was the first truly bad one he had since we were together. It was my nightmare scenario, him being alone and having an episode. Luckily, I was there soon after and he hadn't been out for long, plus our friend, Josh, the erstwhile doctor who I mentioned earlier, was there, too."

"That must have been terrible." Marty replied.

Brad just let out a breath of air. "Yes, it was. But not any harder than what you're going through here right now, Marty.

He was about to reply when they both heard the creak of the lobby door and looked over. It was Dr. Chiang.

Marty practically jumped out of his chair as they both got up and met her before she was even halfway across the room. She had removed her doctor’s smock and had now returned to street clothes, a change that Brad took as a good sign.

"How is he?" Marty asked, the urgency in his voice unmistakable.

"Well, it's typical Peter - push yourself as hard as you can, right to the edge," she said with a look of half admiration and half disgust as she took off her stethoscope and slipped it into the pocket of the jacket she was holding. "He cut it pretty close this time, but I think he'll be OK.

It's just as I suspected, a bacterial infection. The lab tests took a while. Sorry about that, but luckily they showed that it's not an uncommon one, so I've prescribed an antibiotic which should do the trick. We're going to need to keep him here for a day or so to make sure things are working."

She answered a barrage of rapid-fire questions from both, though she wasn't exactly sure at first who Marty was. But it didn't take her long to figure it out.

"I need to give you all some very particular instructions for how he should rest and take care of himself. Who is going to be doing that duty?" she asked, anticipating that Brad would confirm her suspicions.

Marty started with "I'll be..." then suddenly stopped and looked at Peter's dad.

"It's him now," Brad said with a nod, "He's the one in charge now."

"Thought so," she replied. "Brad, you'll need to give this guy here some on-the-job training. I think you know the basics that he should understand," Dr. Chiang said as she turned her attention toward Marty,

"There's a lot to do here. You must make sure that he listens to you and follows these instructions to the letter. Can you corral him? I know it's not easy, but you've got to do it."

"I'll do what I need to do, and so will he," Marty replied, in a voice that left no doubt as to his intentions and his ability to carry them out.

"I don't think you have to worry about that with Marty, Dr. Chiang. I think he has a way of dealing with Peter that's unique."

"That's good to hear, and I hope it's true. And now I think you've got some time to think about it. He's probably sleeping now and won't be up until morning. Let me go through everything with Marty, then you both should go home and get some sleep yourselves."

"Do you think I could stay here tonight, at least here in the lobby? I want to be around when he wakes up. But if I could be in his room, it would be even better."

Brad put his hand on his shoulder. "We've done that more than a few times, Marty, and it just ends up being an uncomfortable sleep and nothing helpful for Peter," he said. "His brothers and cousins would tell you the same thing, especially his cousin Todd. You're going to take care of him best with a good rest for yourself. He'll be asleep soon, if he isn't already, and there's usually no place for overnight visitors in the rooms here. We'll make sure you get in first thing in the morning, OK?"

“Besides," Dr. Chiang added, "he'll only be here for a day or so. For most people, they can go straight home, but because this has gotten kind of extreme, and because of his pre-existing lung condition, I want him here for a day or so of observation.

Marty shook his head in acknowledgement, though with the most extreme reluctance. Since Peter's dad thought it was the right thing, he went along but wasn't sure how much he'd really be able to sleep that night himself.

After getting the short-term plan settled, Dr. Chiang spent the next few minutes carefully going over instructions with Marty, telling him how much Peter should sleep, what he should eat, how often he should take the antibiotics, what to look for in his progress, when he should come in for check-ups, on and on. She had the next month pretty much mapped out, having been through this with Peter before.

`A month!' Marty thought to himself. He was so disappointed for Peter, what with all this coming at the Holidays. But his practical side regarded it as fortunate. Their winter break was about a month long, so he shouldn't lose any class time when school ramped up again after the holidays.

He himself had a problem with his job situation, though, as he was scheduled to be checking books back into the library only two days after New Year’s, not to mention the problem of getting Angela back to start her next semester at the same time. The priority, however, was to get Peter back on his feet before anything else.

"You can drive his car over here in the morning. It's not hard to get to this part of town, and you may as well get used to the route. It probably won't be the last time you drive it," Brad said, both by way of encouragement and warning.

                            ***

Marty walked out of the hospital elevator, his heart pounding. Just as he was afraid would happen, he had tossed and turned all night and hardly got any sleep. And now, just being in the hospital again put him on edge. Thinking he was going to find Peter on a hospital gurney just made it worse. He checked in at the nursing station where he had to wait while the receptionist checked the records.

"OK, here he is. Give me a sec and I'll have someone walk you over to him," she said.

Leaning his body against the station countertop while he waited, he looked down the hall, noticing how all of the walls were reflected in the clean, polished floor. `Antiseptic' was the word that came to mind.

Since his ears were closer to the private nurse's areas beyond the station, he could hear the staff members chatting while they took their breaks.

"Did you see that guy over in 14C, the college student...pneumonia," he heard a female nurse say.

"Oh yea, I gave him some meds in the morning, "she other replied.

"And...?" The first nurse said,

"And what..." The second replied. Then he heard a loud sigh from the second nurse. "Oh Christ, Shelley, gimme a break! Yea, all right, he's cute, but aren't you supposed to be a professional," she said, an ironic edge to the answer clear in her voice.

"Cute! The first nurse replied. "Wow, I've been here 20 years, and he's got to be one of the top ten, if not top five, if not top," she replied.

"Usually, guys don't look so good when they're sick...well, come to think of it, no one does, "she said, laughing at her own joke. "But this guy looks great even when he's got a piece of plastic in his nose!"

"Yea. He has that boyish look that you like in guys. Masculine, but young and vulnerable," she said as she took a sip of her latte.

"Yup!" the first nurse replied as they both broke down in laughter.

Marty rolled his eyes and was about to purposefully move out of earshot when another nurse approached him.

"You're looking for Peter Kovar, 14C?"

"Yes, sir." he replied, picking up a sack of both of their textbooks from the floor, along with another bag of books and magazines.

"OK, follow me," the nurse, who was a man in his 40s, directed Marty.

Motioning him with a wave of his hand, he allowed Marty to enter first.

Even though it was a science fiction scene of blinking lights, buttons, and monitors, his eyes went right to Peter, who immediately started preparing himself to get out of bed.

"Whoa, partner,” the nurse declared. "You'll be getting out of here soon enough, but until then, you need to stay put. OK?"

Peter plopped his head dramatically back on the pillow, which drew a smile out of Marty.

"Thanks," he said, directing his comment toward the nurse. "I'll make sure he doesn't even try get out of bed."

"Unless his bladder is bursting," the nurse replied, which even got a smirk from Peter.

"I'll leave you all alone here. Just press that Call Button there or come out to the station if you all need anything. OK?"

"OK, thanks for showing me in here," Marty replied as the Nurse did a quick review of his chart before exiting the room.

“Hey!" he said, as he gently squeezed Peter's hand and went to kiss him, before the patient waved him off. "Sorry, but the lips have a temporary quarantine" Peter declared with a wan smile.

But he returned Marty's grip forcefully, at least as much as he could in his condition. "Hi," he replied softly, a slight nasal the only effect of the oxygen tube in his nose.

"Feeling better?" Marty asked.

Peter shook his head ‘Uh huh.' But before Marty could ask another question, Peter started talking.

"I'm really sorry I put you through this. I should have known it was coming. I should have..."

Marty leaned over the bed, "Peter, you don't ever need to apologize about this kind of thing. Ever. It just happens. There's nothing that you, or I. or anyone else can do about it."

"But..." he continued to try to protest.

Marty squeezed his hand again, ignoring Peter's pleas. "Like I said, there's nothing you can do. I'm just glad you're OK, and the doctor said that you'll be fine if you just take the meds and get some rest."

Realizing the futility of any apologies, he just returned the squeeze from Marty's hand and spoke softly. "I'm glad you're here. I was only able to sleep last night because I think they drugged me," he claimed with a smile. "I'm still a little groggy right now."

"No worries!" he replied. Like I said, you just have to take your meds and rest and you'll be as good as new. You shouldn't miss any classes either. It should just be for a few weeks, not that you can just storm into the semester. At least you'll be able to get back there on time.

"But you need to go back sooner for work," he protested. "I might be able to make it up there with you and just rest back at school. We could..."

"You're not going anywhere, period. We'll figure out my work situation later," Marty replied. "Right now, you are staying put until you for sure get better. Doctors orders. And mine! And to give you something to do, here's these," he continued, lifting the books and magazines and other assorted reading material onto the bed.

"Just in case we have to stick around for a while."

                            ***

Marty thought that he had only been out of the room for a moment to refill Peter's water, but when he returned there was another young guy standing next to the bed, just then taking off his jacket and chatting with Peter. As the visitor himself was surprised by Marty, they both just looked at each other for a moment, taken aback, until Peter made the introduction.

"Todd...um this is Marty...Marty this is my cousin, Todd."

"So, you're the one I've heard so much about," Marty said, placing the water on the table and extending his arm for a handshake. But like at Peter's house the previous evening, he found himself wrapped in a tight bear hug instead.

When they finally parted and Marty got a better look, he was amazed by the strong resemblance to Peter, even though he had the blond hair that Peter's cousins all seemed to have, at least from what he remembered in the wall photos. Their facial features were a lot alike. He was even slim like Peter, perhaps even thinner, though that may have only seemed that way because he was a few inches taller, Marty thought. In fact, he was even taller than Marty himself.

"And you're the one we’ve heard so much about," Todd retorted. "How do you manage being around this dude, this Kaka wannabe?" he teased, referring to one of Peter's favorite soccer stars.

"Soccer stud!" you mean, Peter protested,

"You wish!" he countered.

As they all continued talking, Marty couldn't help but like him. He had a similar quick wit like Peter, but seemed like a very serious guy, especially when the conversation got down to talking specifically about Peter's condition. The easy banter between them just reinforced what Peter had said about how close they were.

It was only half an hour later when Mike showed up, along with Angela, who was carrying her thick winter jacket and a blue cap that she had knitted herself. She had her blond hair pulled back simply behind her head, her cheeks still red from the cold outside.

As Todd reached out his hand to greet her, he accidently bumped into the tray next to Peter's bed, spilling the entire contents of his glass of water onto the floor.

"Oh jeez, sorry about that,” he said, quickly grabbing a towel off the nearby equipment counter to clean up the spill. Just as he was getting up off the floor he hit his head on the undercarriage of the table.

"Ouch! This isn't going so well!" he moaned as he quickly rubbed his head before again reaching out his hand to greet her. "I guess I'll introduce myself here for a second, but then I've got to get back to work down there," he said with a nervous laugh.

"No worries. I've been down there on clean-up duty before, too" she replied. "Are you OK?"

"Oh yea. I'll be fine. It's pretty thick - it can take a lot," he joked as he rubbed his head again.

"By the way, hi Uncle Mike," he said, turning toward him now.

"Careful. We don't need two of you in here," his uncle said, reaching over and squeezing Todd's neck before he approached the bed.

"How are you doing, son?" he asked.

"Better, much better. Thanks for coming and bringing Angela and all. And how are you? And how's dad?" he asked, which brought on answers and other

questions from all around the room.

As they all started to chat away again, Peter thought to himself about how odd Todd's clumsiness was. Both the men and the women in the family were athletic to one degree or another, but Todd was exceptional in his talent and abilities, which made it all the stranger. And although it was not particularly hot in the room, Peter noticed him unconsciously wiping his hand on his pants, as if his palms were perspiring.

Perhaps something was bothering him. `But what?' Peter thought. He was trying to figure out a way to subtly broach the subject when he saw his Pop look at his watch.

"Damn!' Mike said. "I can't believe how long we've been here. I've got to get going."

He was trying to get the worst of his office tasks behind him before the holidays, he explained. Not wanting to force Angela to conform to his own tortured schedule, he asked her if she wanted to stay around or go back to the house with him.

"I think I'll stick around for a bit. Maybe Marty can take me back when he takes Peter home,"

"That might not work," her brother answered. "Peter has to be here till the doctor can re-examine him, and that won't be until after dinner.

"Oh...um, I see. Well, maybe I will come back with you. I wouldn't mind staying for a little longer, but I'm not sure that there is a way..."

Without letting her finish, Todd spoke up in a nervous, shaky way that Peter detected. "Um,...I need to...um...go right after lunch...I could, if you want, you know, if it works and all...um, I could take you back. But if it doesn't, you know...that's cool, too...just a thought."

It was at that moment that Peter just wanted to smile but resisted the temptation and went to his rescue instead. "Angela, you could do anything you want, but it might be cool to hang out here for a bit longer, maybe have lunch, and then Todd could take you back to our place."

Marty, however, had no thoughts other than how generous it was for Todd to make the offer, which was simply in line with all the great hospitality that they had been shown since they drove into town.

He looked at Peter, and even under the thin tubes that crisscrossed his face he could detect a subtle grin. Then he practically smacked his own head for not picking it up sooner.

"I think he's trustworthy and all, Angie. Besides, we know where he lives," he quickly added.

"Sure - that would be good," she replied, in a tone which seemed to bring some obvious relief to Todd's face.

"Well, I guess that's settled, then," Mike added, happy that they had worked everything out for themselves. "Hopefully, I'll see you all at home tonight, OK?" he said as he reached into his pocket to check for his keys.

"You going to be all right now, Peter?" he asked, approaching his son's bed before leaving and placing his hand above him on the bed frame.

"Sure, Pop. Thanks. I'll be fine. I've got the 24-hour nursing arranged now, you know." He said, nodding toward Marty.

His Pop reached over onto Peter's leg and smiled as he shook it. "Take care of yourself, OK? I'll see you tonight,"

"OK, Pop. See you tonight."

"And you - drive safe, OK?" he said as he turned and put his hand on Marty's shoulder, giving him a firm shake, too.

"Will do. Todd gave me the directions, too, just in case Peter gets tempted to take some detours!” he said to laughs around the room.