Chapter Seventeen
It was late in the morning when Dr. Livelong came into the room, sent for Leaper, and cleared out almost all of the Muppets. Only Robin’s parents and Kermit could be in the room for this conversation.
“Well?” Leaper said as soon as she stepped through the door. Her voice may have been shaking.
Dr. Livelong stood in a corner beside the patient’s bed and waited for the frogs to situate themselves. Kermit shifted to the foot of the bed, Jimmy stood by the window, and Leaper uneasily settled in the crayon-upholstered chair. “I’ve heard you have some questions for me,” the doctor said gently.
“How long will this take?” Leaper asked abruptly, hugging herself tight.
The doctor hesitated. “This conversation, or—”
“
This,” Leaper said, pointing towards the bed.
“How long will he need the machines?” Kermit clarified.
Dr. Livelong sighed. “There’s no way to be certain, I’m afraid. He might wake up any minute, or … it might take longer.”
“
Will he wake up?” Jimmy asked.
“I don’t know,” the doctor said firmly. “There’s no way
to know.”
“But you
do think he stands a good chance, right?” Kermit said. “There would have been no point in operating on his arm if you didn’t think he would make it.”
Dr. Livelong nodded. “There seems to be very little reason for him to remain unconscious.”
“But he
is unconscious,” Leaper said pointedly. She kept her eyes fixed on her lap.
“Yes, he is,” the doctor reluctantly agreed. “And the longer he stays that way, I’m afraid, the lower his chances of waking up.”
All three frogs picked their heads up at this news. All three faces were stricken.
“And
you said he’s hurting,” Leaper said. “
You said you’re giving him pain medication.”
Dr. Livelong nodded. “With the state his arm is in, I would not be surprised if he felt some … discomfort.”
“Pain,” Leaper repeated. “You called it pain.”
Dr. Livelong squinted his eyes a little. “
Pain may be too strong of a word,” he said carefully. “He’s not very aware right now … The medication is a very low dose, and more of a precaution than anything.”
Leaper didn’t seem to accept this. She stared at the heart monitor. “And you don’t know how long … It could be forever, couldn’t it?” she whispered. “Forever, on these machines…”
Kermit felt a shiver run down his back. He pulled his legs up, tucked his head against his knees, and gently traced his nephew’s flipper under the sheet.
“Quite some time, yes,” Dr. Livelong said. “Not forever … but quite some time.”
“And you’ll just
leave him like this?” Leaper turned her attention to the doctor again. “Just leave him, hurting, and not awake, and just—You’ll just
leave him like this?”
“No one’s
leaving him, Leaper,” Kermit said firmly.
“No, certainly not,” Dr. Livelong agreed. “But there’s very little I can do to aid his recovery at this point. We’re monitoring him, of course, and if anything happens we’ll be right here. But in the state he is in, there is very little we can change.”
Leaper’s eyes shifted away from the doctor again, taking in the machinery. The heart monitor, the respirator, the IV… “What if you turn the machines off?”
Kermit snapped his head up and stared at her, his jaw slack. Later, he would wonder how Jimmy had reacted to that question—
if Jimmy had reacted to it.
The doctor was very quiet. “That would be your choice,” he finally said.
Kermit’s head swiveled. “
What?” He could barely breathe the word, much less scream it, and the doctor didn’t hear him.
“Most of this is only monitoring him,” Dr. Livelong continued. “But the respirator … He
might be able to breathe without that, but—”
“No!” Kermit’s voice was audible now, and audibly panicky. “No. You
can’t turn it off, can you? That’s not a choice!”
The doctor raised his hands. “I won’t turn them off,” he said, “Unless—” and he turned to Jimmy and Leaper. “Unless you make that decision.”
“No!” Kermit cried.
Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck, staring at his son and all of those awful machines. “Why would we…”
“I don’t want him to suffer,” Leaper choked out. “He’s hurting…”
“No!” Kermit cried again.
“Would it—
Would he—I mean—” Jimmy struggled for his words. “Without the machines, would he … Is that all that’s keeping him alive?”
Kermit was desperate. “Jimmy, you can’t—”
“He’s NOT your son, Kermit!” Leaper snapped.
“Please, calm down,” Dr. Livelong said softly, soothingly. He turned to Jimmy. “The respirator is very likely keeping him alive. He was having a great deal of difficulty breathing without it.”
Jimmy was probably going to hurt his neck with as much as he was rubbing it. “So, he
was breathing, but…”
“But not enough for us to be comfortable that he could continue to do so,” Dr. Livelong said.
“So it wouldn’t be quick,” Jimmy said quietly. “If we turned it off…” He turned to the frog in the armchair. “Leaper, we
can’t do that to him.”
“He’s
hurting!” Leaper said. “He’s lying there hurting, and we’re just—He’s already dying,” she whispered.
“No, he’s
not!” Kermit argued. “He’s just—He’ll wake up! He will!”
“I’m not letting him suffer like this,” Leaper declared. “If he—if he’s going to—to
go, then … we should let him…”
Kermit snatched the ball out from under his nephew’s hand. “For THIS?” He hopped off the bed and stood less than a foot away from Leaper, shaking the ball in her face. “For THIS, Leaper? You’ll let him DIE for THIS?”
“He’s NOT YOUR SON, KERMIT!” Leaper shot to her flippers. “This isn’t your choice!”
“THE HECK IT ISN’T!”
Jimmy wedged himself between them and pushed them apart. “Calm down, both of you,” he begged.
“There’s no need to make a quick decision,” Dr. Livelong added, also standing between Leaper and Kermit now. “You can take plenty of time. In fact, I’d urge you to. He could wake up in just a few hours.”
“Or he might not,” Leaper argued, her eyes damp. “I’m not letting him suffer!”
Kermit stared at her and hugged the ball against his chest. “I’m not letting him die,” he whispered, and he turned to Jimmy. “Please don’t let him die.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The Muppets were going stir-crazy.
Dr. Livelong had left Robin’s room quite some time ago, but they still were not allowed to go in. The door was closed, and all they knew was that some sort of heated argument was going on within.
They paced nervously and tried to distract themselves in mundane ways—games of poker and tic-tac-toe, most of which were forgotten halfway through.
They made the formal announcement to the press. Yes, Robin had been hit by a car. No, he had not regained consciousness. Yes, his parents were here. No, there didn’t seem to be any brain damage, but his arm had been pretty much shattered. No pictures or interviews were being granted.
Scooter had somehow convinced the hospital to let them use one of the waiting rooms on the first floor for rehearsals in exchange for letting any patients who were well enough see the show free of charge at the end of the week, but no one could focus enough to establish any acts, much less to practice, until they knew what was happening with Robin.
It was well into the afternoon when the door finally opened. Jimmy and Leaper emerged, and both of them looked like they had been crying. They said that they were going down to the cafeteria. Neither of them looked like they had much of an appetite, nor did they say anything else.
Fozzie and Gonzo were the first Muppets to rush into the room, with Sweetums, Rowlf, and Miss Piggy close behind them.
Robin was still in bed, still connected to the respirator, the feeding tube, and the IV. His heart monitor still beeped steadily. His right arm was still wrapped in a bright yellow cast, and his left hand still rested on his ball.
They found Kermit in the room’s private bathroom with tears streaming down his face as he emptied his stomach into the toilet.
“Kermit, what happened?” Fozzie asked anxiously as he put a supportive hand on his friend’s back.
“One week.” Kermit wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “His
parents—” he spat the word out, “Are giving him until
one week from today. And then they—they’re gonna—turn off—” He shuddered and collapsed against the bear. “
Everything,” he whispered.
“No,” Gonzo gasped. Miss Piggy clamped her hand over her mouth. Fozzie hugged his friend tight and rocked him as both of them cried.
Sweetums quietly lumbered to Robin’s bedside. He knelt down and, careful not to disturb any tubes or wires, gently rubbed a finger against the tiny frog. “Don’t give up, Little Buddy,” he whispered. “You’ve gotta wake up now … please…”
The heart monitor gave the only reply.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
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