Chapter Eight
The nurse and the aides were just filing out of room 396 as Dr. Livelong led the frogs in. Robin lay very still in bed two, an oxygen mask still strapped to his little face, his right hand still bound in a bright yellow cast, his left arm still pricked with the IV tube. Another tube, a new one, pricked at another spot, attached to a small bag of thick greenish mush. Wires from the beeping heart monitor disappeared beneath the sheet. The ball was still carefully tucked beneath his left hand.
Leaper stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of him, a gasp scraping her throat as her hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes darted over the machinery, flicking to her tiny son again and again.
Jimmy stopped, too, giving Leaper a wary glance before staring at the machines. He swallowed hard and stared down at his flippers, squeezing his elbow in his hand.
Kermit walked past them and sat on the bed, just beside his nephew’s little flippers.
“The machines are to help him,” Dr. Livelong said quickly, gently, seeing the parents’ reactions. He stood beside the bed and pointed to the oxygen mask and the tube that connected it to the tank. “This is giving him oxygen, so that he can breathe—“
“He can’t breathe?” Leaper asked faintly.
Dr. Livelong hesitated. “…Not… without help,” he said carefully. He pointed at the new tube. “This is the feeding tube. Until he wakes up, this is how he’ll be ‘eating,’ so to speak. It gives him all the nutrients he would get from a well-balanced meal.”
“He can’t eat…” Leaper whispered. Her knees were shaking.
“Why don’t you sit down, Ms. Slough,” Dr. Livelong said gently, nodding to the armchair under the window—the armchair that was, of course, upholstered in crayon-patterned fabric. Leaper numbly sat down as he pointed to the IV. “This keeps him hydrated, and we’re also giving him a small amount of medicine, all intravenously—IV, for short. It all goes directly into his bloodstream.”
“What’s the medicine for?” Jimmy asked with a scratchy voice.
“It’s a low dose of painkiller—“
“He’s hurting?” Leaper squeaked out, hugging herself tight. Kermit swallowed hard and glanced at her horror-stricken face.
Dr. Livelong hesitated again. “…We can’t be sure,” he said carefully. “But it will also help with the—“
“You don’t know if he’s hurting?” Leaper jumped out of the chair, staring at her son. “Or—or how MUCH pain he could—could be in—“ She was shaking fiercely, and she looked pale.
“We’re doing everything we can for him,” Dr. Livelong said quietly, trying to somehow soothe.
“But—but if he’s hurting—“
“They’re giving him medicine, Leaper,” Kermit said quietly, his hand lightly resting on his nephew’s ankle. “He’ll be okay.”
“You don’t know that!” she choked out, and her angry eyes locked onto the doctor. “You don’t know if he’ll be okay. You don’t even know if he’s in pain at all—“ Her knees buckled, and her hands flew back, snagging the armrests of the crayon-upholstered chair just quickly enough to keep herself upright. “…R—Robin…”
Jimmy came to her side and eased her back into the chair. “They’re doing everything they can,” he said quietly, and he turned to Dr. Livelong. “…Tell us about the… the… results.”
Dr. Livelong nodded and pulled several pictures out of a thick envelope. “These are images of his brain,” he said quietly, showing them. “There is SOME activity, as you can see… not as much activity as we would hope for… but there doesn’t appear to be any damage.”
Kermit took a slow, deep breath. “No damage?” he said quietly.
“There doesn’t appear to be,” Dr. Livelong said.
“So what does that mean?” Jimmy asked.
Dr. Livelong took a deep breath. “Well… it’s good and bad,” he said. “The—lack of damage is… well, it’s remarkable, all things considered, and it will make it much easier for him to recover, if he wakes up.”
“When,” Kermit corrected under his breath.
“But with brain activity this low… well—that is a disappointment,” Dr. Livelong quietly went on. “It does lower his odds of waking up.”
Kermit shivered. Leaper buried her face in her hands. Jimmy gripped the footboard and took several slow, deep breaths. “…Do you think he’ll wake up, doctor?” he forced himself to ask.
Dr. Livelong hesitated, standing up straighter. “…It’s hard to say,” he said cautiously.
“But do you think he will?” Jimmy persisted.
Dr. Livelong’s eyes drifted to the six-ounce frog in the hospital bed. He took a deep breath. “Well, it depends—“
“Just tell us,” Leaper pleaded, pressing her face against her hands.
Dr. Livelong winced. “…He does have a chance,” he said.
Kermit nodded firmly.
Leaper slowly lifted her head and stared at the doctor. “…You don’t think he’ll make it,” she said quietly.
Dr. Livelong looked at her, and then at Jimmy, and then at Kermit. “I can’t really say, for sure—“
“You don’t think he’ll make it,” she repeated.
“I can’t say,” he said firmly.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the beeping heart monitor. Jimmy gripped the footboard with all of his might. Kermit quietly rubbed his nephew’s leg. Leaper stared at the doctor.
“…You don’t think he’ll wake up,” she whispered, barely choking out her words. “You don’t think he’ll make it, and you’re just—keeping him on—on all these—strange—machines, just to—just—What? So he can just—just—suffer a little longer?” She hopped up, wobbling on her flippers. “He—He could be HURTING!” she shouted, pointing at her son. “And you’re—You’re keeping just CONSCIOUS enough to—to what? To keep feeling PAIN? WHY would you—“ She stumbled. “HOW could you—my… he’s…” Her knees buckled, and the room swam around her and then went black as she tumbled to the cold tile floor.
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