The next shock was the temperature. Even by nine in the morning it was still in the thirties. Winter was on its way.
The gloomy weather did not improve the general moodiness of the adults, who'd awakened with the same sullenness they'd taken to bed. The children were initially happy, although even they started to be affected by their parents' ill humor. David and Angela were relieved to get away. As they drove down the mountain David asked Angela to remind him never to play tennis with Kevin again.
"You men can be such children with your sports," Angela said.
"Hey!" David snapped. "I wasn't the problem. He was the problem. He's so competitive. I didn't even want to play."
"Don't get so riled up," Angela said.
"I resent you implying I was at fault," David said.
"I wasn't implying anything of the kind," Angela said. "I was merely making a comment about men and their sports."
"All right, I'm sorry," David said. "I suppose I'm a bit out of sorts. It drives me crazy to be around morose people. This wasn't the most fun weekend."
"It's a strange group of people," Angela said. "They seem normal on the surface, yet underneath I'm not so sure. But at least they didn't get into any sexual discussions or start acting out like at the lake. On the other hand they did manage to dredge up the Portland tragedy again. It's like an obsession with Kevin."
"Kevin's weird," David said. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. I hate to be reminded of Portland's suicide. It makes going into my office an ordeal. Whenever he brings it up, I can't help but picture what the wall must have looked like behind my desk, splattered with blood and brains."
"David," Angela said sharply. "Please! If you don't have any concern for my sensibilities, think about Nikki's."
David glanced into the rearview mirror at Nikki. She was staring ahead without moving.
"You all right, Nikki?" David asked.
"My throat hurts," Nikki said. "I don't feel good."
"Oh, no!" Angela said. She turned around and looked at her daughter. She reached out and put the back of her hand to Nikki's forehead.
"And you insisted on going on this stupid trip," Angela muttered.
David started to defend himself, but changed his mind. He didn't want to get into an argument. He already felt irritable enough.
11
Nikki did not have a good night, nor did her parents. Angela was particularly distressed. By the wee hours of morning it was clear that Nikki was becoming progressively more congested. Well before dawn Angela tried the usual postural drainage combined with percussion. When they were through, she listened to Nikki's chest with her stethoscope. She heard rales and rhonchi, sounds that meant Nikki's breathing tubes were becoming clogged with mucus.
Before 8:00 A.M., David and Angela called their respective offices to explain that they would be late. Bundling Nikki in multiple layers of clothing, they took her to see Dr. Pilsner. Initially their reception was not encouraging. The receptionist informed them that Dr. Pilsner had a full schedule. Nikki would have to return the following day.
Angela was not to be denied. She told the receptionist that she was Dr. Wilson from pathology and that she wanted to talk with Dr. Pilsner. The receptionist disappeared into the interior of the office. Dr. Pilsner himself appeared a moment later and apologized.
"My girl thought you folks were just the usual CMV subscriber," Dr. Pilsner explained. "What's the problem?"
Angela told the doctor how a sore throat had led to congestion overnight and that the congestion did not respond to the usual postural drainage. Dr. Pilsner took Nikki into one of the examining rooms and listened to her chest.
"Definitely clogged up," he said, removing the stethoscope from his ears. Then, giving Nikki's cheek a playful pinch, he asked her how she felt.
"I don't feel good," Nikki said. Her breathing was labored.
"She's been doing so well," Angela said.
"We'll have her back to normal in a wink," Dr. Pilsner said, stroking his white beard. "But I think we'd better admit her. I want to start intravenous antibiotics and some intensive respiratory therapy."
"Whatever it takes," David said. He stroked Nikki's hair. He felt guilty for having insisted on the New Hampshire weekend.
Janice Sperling in admissions recognized both David and Angela. She commiserated with them about their daughter.
"We've got a nice room for you," she said to Nikki. "It has a beautiful view of the mountains."
Nikki nodded and allowed Janice to slip on a plastic identification bracelet. David checked it. The room was 204, one that indeed had a particularly pleasant view.
Thanks to Janice, the admitting procedure went smoothly. In only a few minutes they were on their way upstairs. Janice led them to room 204 and opened the door.
"Excuse me," Janice said with confusion. Room 204 was already occupied; there was a patient in the bed.
"Mrs. Kleber," Nikki said with surprise.
"Marjorie?" David questioned. "What on earth are you doing in here?"
"Just my luck," Marjorie said. "The one weekend you go away, I have trouble. But Dr. Markham was very kind."
"I'm so sorry to bother you," Janice said to Marjorie. "I can't understand why the computer gave me room 204 when it was already occupied."
"No trouble," Marjorie said. "I like the company."
David told Marjorie he'd be back shortly. The Wilsons followed Janice to the nurses' station where she phoned admitting.
"I want to apologize for the mix-up," Janice said after the call. "We'll put Nikki in room 212."
Within minutes of their arrival in room 212, a team of nurses and technicians appeared and attended to Nikki. Antibiotics were started, and the respiratory therapist was paged.
When everything was under control, David told Nikki he'd be back to check on her periodically throughout the day. He also told her to do everything the nurses and the technicians asked her to do. He gave Angela a peck on the cheek, Nikki one on the forehead, and was on his way.
David returned directly to Marjorie's room and gazed down at his patient. She'd become one of his favorites over the months. She appeared tiny in the large orthopedic bed. David thought that Nikki would have been dwarfed.
"Okay," David said, feigning anger, "what's the story here?"
"It started on Friday afternoon," Marjorie said. "Problems always start on Friday when you are reluctant to call the doctor. I didn't feel well at all. By Saturday morning my right leg started to hurt. When I called your office they switched me to Dr. Markham. He saw me right away. He said I had phlebitis and that I had to go into the hospital to get antibiotics."
David examined Marjorie and confirmed the diagnosis.
"You think it was necessary for me to come into the hospital?" Marjorie asked.
"Absolutely," David assured her. "We don't like to take chances with phlebitis. Inflammation of veins goes hand in hand with blood clots. But it's looking good. I'd guess it's already improved."
"There's no doubt it's improved," Marjorie said. "It feels twenty times better than it did when I came in on Saturday."
Although he was already late getting to the office, David spent another ten minutes talking with Marjorie about her phlebitis to be sure she understood the problem. When he was finished he went to the nurses' station and read her chart. All was in order.
Next he called Dudley Markham to thank him for covering for him over the weekend and for seeing Marjorie.
"No problem," Dudley said. "I enjoyed Marjorie. We got to reminisce. She had my oldest in the second grade."
Before leaving the nurses' station David asked the head nurse, Janet Colburn, why Marjorie was in an orthopedic bed.
"No reason," Janet said. "It just happened to be in there. At the moment, it's not needed elsewhere. She's better off in that one, believe me. The electronic controls to raise and lower the head and feet never break down, something I can't say about our regular beds."