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Disclaimer: Yes, they belong to Mark VII Limited and Universal Television. But please don't sue me. I'm really not worth the effort. Really.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to R.S., who encouraged me and told me I wasn't crazy, even when I was. I owe you an ugly tie.
Dedication: Special thanks to a certain individual (and you know who you are!) who inspired me from another realm and introduced me to Johnny owies. Major crooked grin! The character of Dr. Paul Rustin is for you.
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The men of Station 51 had enjoyed Marco's famous chili for lunch, and Mike was putting away the dishes when the air was pierced by a blood-curdling scream.
"Chet!"
A look of feigned innocence appeared on the mustachioed man's face. "Why is everyone looking at me?"
"Because you're probably guilty as sin," Mike replied.
Johnny stormed through the kitchen doorway. His mouth was foaming, and he angrily waved his toothbrush around with his hand. "Chet! This isn't funny!"
Roy tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a grin. "What happened?"
"He put my some of my Old Spice shaving cream in my toothpaste tube. So when I went to brush my teeth..."
Captain Stanley cleared his throat in a feeble effort to sound serious. "Roy, do I need to stand down the squad while you have him checked out at Rampart for rabies?"
Much to Johnny's displeasure, the guys burst out laughing. The Phantom had struck again.
Before Johnny had a chance to respond, the tones sounded. "Station 51. Unknown rescue. 808 Brompton. 8-0-8 Brompton, cross street Grammercy. Time Out 13:18."
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As Roy and Johnny unloaded the equipment from the compartment doors, a young man frantically directed the paramedics to the backyard.
"Please hurry," he cried. "I think my dad's been hurt bad!" He pointed to the older man sitting next to the dilapidated wooden tool shed. "My parents got into an argument and my mom stabbed my dad in the shoulder with a gardening tool. Is he going to be okay?"
The paramedics set the drug box and bio-phone beside the injured man.
"I'm okay, it's just a scratch."
"That looks like some scratch," said Johnny, "Mind if we take a look?"
As Roy began to approach the victim, a woman shouted in a loud voice. "Get away from him!" This is none of your business!"
Startled, Roy stepped back for a moment. "Ma'am, we're paramedics. We don't want to cause any trouble. This man is hurt and needs our help."
The agitated wife ran toward Roy and knocked him off balance, causing him to fall into a pile of debris stacked against the shed.
Johnny rushed to his partner's side. "Roy, are you okay?"
In horror, Roy saw the woman raise a baseball bat behind Johnny's head. "Johnny, look out!" he shouted.
The warning was too late.
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Johnny awoke to the unmistakable, and very nauseating, antiseptic smell of a hospital. He heard some poor tortured soul retching and groaning miserably. Then he felt someone wipe his mouth with a cool, damp cloth.
"Are you done?" Dixie asked.
Slowly it dawned on him that he was the poor tortured soul vomiting in Rampart's emergency department. "I hope so," Johnny weakly answered as he cautiously opened his eyes. "Roy?"
"He's fine, just a few scratches and cuts that didn't even need stitches. I can't say he was too happy about the tetanus shot though." She smiled as she gently brushed Johnny's bangs away from his forehead. "I need to let Kel know you're finally awake."
"Finally?"
"You have a moderate concussion. You've been unconscious for about forty minutes."
Crap. That was going to mean a hospital admission for sure.
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As Johnny suspected, despite the fact his x-rays and CT scan were negative, Dr. Brackett decided to admit him overnight for observation. The dehydration from the nausea and vomiting was an unexpected bonus. That earned him an additional night in the hospital. Johnny was anxious for Dr. Brackett to sign his release papers so he could leave before any new problems developed.
Johnny glared at the flickering light above him. Someone really needed to change that light bulb. He was just about to mention it to the nurse when Dr. Brackett entered the room.
"So hose jockey, are you ready to go? We need this bed for sick people."
"More than ready!" Johnny exclaimed. "No offense," he offered contritely.
"None taken." Dr. Brackett laughed. "Okay, you know the routine by now. I need to see you back if you have any symptoms of concussion, such as headache, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, or blurred vision, etc. I don't want you going back to work until Friday. I've already notified your captain, so don't even think about returning earlier. Any questions?"
Johnny grinned. "How soon can I get out of here?"
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Four days later the paramedics were returning to the station after a particularly busy day.
Rubbing his growling stomach, Johnny looked at his watch. "Man, I'm starved! I sure hope Mike left us some spaghetti."
"I'm sure he did," Roy replied as he attempted to reassure his famished partner.
Johnny briskly brushed his right shoulder and knee.
"What are you doing?"
"Huh? Oh, I must have gotten some cobwebs on me during our last run."
Roy expertly backed the squad into the bay and turned off the ignition. He tiredly climbed out of the squad and walked toward the kitchen.
"Hey, Roy. You forgot to turn the lights off."
"What?"
Johnny pointed to the roof of the squad. "The lights. You forgot to turn them off."
Roy stared at the Johnny paramedic. "Is this your idea of a joke?"
Johnny placed his hands on his hips in an expression of total exasperation. "Just turn them off and come eat, okay?" He turned and headed inside.
A very confused Roy followed his partner. Fortunately, Mike had saved two plates of spaghetti and had kept them warmed in the oven. "Mike, you're a saint," Johnny proclaimed as he scooped up the plates and set them on the table.
As Johnny sat down at the table, he brushed his dark hair away from his eyes. "Hey Gage," Chet taunted, "if you have to push your hair out of your ugly face just to see your food, maybe it's time for a haircut."
"Oh yeah?" Johnny responded. "Maybe all that hair around your mouth is preventing something intelligent from falling out. Maybe you need to shave your moustache off."
Chet didn't respond, but all bets were off as to when The Phantom would strike again.
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The next shift, the guys decided to play a few hands of poker before turning in for the night. Johnny's latest obsession was driving the men to despair. In frustration, Chet grabbed Johnny's wrist. "Gage, so help me, if you don't stop brushing your hair out of your eyes, I'm going to get my shaving kit out tonight while you're asleep and I'm going to shave you as bald as Kojak!
Johnny looked genuinely startled. "Hey, you shouldn't jump out and surprise people like that."
Chet's jaw dropped in astonishment. "'Jump out and surprise people'? I was sitting right here! How could you not have seen me?"
Four sets of eyes watched the exchange intently.
"Man, Johnny, I don't know who this chick is that dumped you, but you're so messed up you can't even see straight. Get over it."
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A week later the men of 51's A-Shift were performing their morning tasks. Suddenly, the quiet routine was interrupted by a loud crash.
"Oh, man," Johnny groaned.
Footsteps quickly scurried to the source of the commotion. Captain Stanley was the first to speak. "What happened?"
"Chet's mop water sneaked up and attacked me. I'm fine. I'm just a little wet," the bedraggled paramedic replied.
Chet immediately became defensive. "Sneaked up? It was in the middle of the floor. You would have to be blind not to see it! I should have shaved you in your sleep. That would keep your hair out of your eyes!"
Roy knelt down beside his fallen colleague, but Johnny waved him off. "I'm fine. I just need to get cleaned up." The men watched as Johnny made his way to the locker room.
"Well, who needs the Phantom when the Pigeon can water bomb himself?" Chet grumbled. "I wonder what's gotten into him?"
"It's as though Johnny's walking around with blinders on," remarked Mike as he prepared lunch. Mike's comment sent a chill down Roy's spine.
Captain Stanley finally voiced Roy's thoughts. "Roy, is it possible Johnny could be experiencing some kind of delayed reaction from his concussion a couple of weeks ago?"
Suddenly Roy was experiencing his own reaction, namely dread. It was entirely possible.
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Roy found Johnny at his locker, sullenly changing into a clean uniform. He briefly hesitated before placing his hand on Johnny's left shoulder. "You about done Johnny?"
"Yeah."
"We, uh, need to make a supply run. You ready?"
"Sure. Let's go."
The senior paramedic paused as he watched his partner navigate his way around the locker room. Johnny was standing in the doorway when he became aware of Roy's scrutiny.
"What? Did I forget my pants or something?" Johnny asked suspiciously.
"No, you're fine," Roy replied. "I really hope you're fine, Johnny," he silently prayed.
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Rampart's emergency department was uncharacteristically quiet. Dr. Brackett was in the medical records department catching up on his charts, and Dr. Early was enthusiastically explaining the nuances of the different styles of jazz to Dixie, again. She was delighted to see Squad 51's paramedics headed her way. She definitely felt in need of being rescued!
"Good morning, Dix"
"Hi fellas! What can I do for you this morning?" she purred.
"Just the usual," Roy replied as he nervously smiled and handed her a couple of sheets of paper.
Dixie gave the pages a cursory glance. The first form was a standard supply requisition form, but the other was a note from Captain Stanley. Confusion was soon replaced by concern, which was replaced by confusion again. "Does Johnny know about this?" she wondered.
As if reading her thoughts, Roy briefly looked at Dixie and slightly shook his head.
Dixie pretended to reconsider the supply requisition form. "Johnny, I sure could use your help with this. I promise to buy a handsome, hardworking fireman a cup of coffee afterward," she smiled.
"Who would that be," Roy teased.
Johnny laughed. "That's that best offer I've had all day."
"That's the only offer you've had all day, Johnny!"
Dixie paused for a moment before following Johnny down the hall to the supply room. "Joe, I believe this is for you." Dr. Early quickly scanned the note and glanced at Roy. Now it was Dr. Early's turn to be baffled.
"Roy, has Johnny just been kidnapped?"
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Over a cup of coffee in the doctors' lounge, Dr. Early made notes as Roy explained the situation. "Doc, you know how Johnny tends to ignore or downplay symptoms. Cap just wanted to make sure he's okay, and he'd feel much better hearing it from you instead of Johnny."
"He can be rather convincing," Dr. Early agreed.
"The headaches seemed to go away after a few days, so we thought everything was okay. But looking back, there were some odd things we've noticed."
"Such as?"
"Twice he complained I left the flashing lights on in the squad when I didn't. Also, he complained about seeing spider webs for a few days. Then he started brushing the hair out of his eyes almost obsessively. It's extremely distracting. Chet has been threatening to shave Johnny bald in his sleep. This past week Johnny has been running into things a lot and complaining that people just jump out of nowhere. It wasn't until Mike said something about Johnny walking around with blinders on did we remember about the concussion."
Dr. Early slowly leaned back in his chair, and then grinned conspiratorially at Roy. "I suppose if you and Captain Stanley have gone through this much trouble to kidnap Johnny, the least I can do is hold him hostage."
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Johnny sighed irritably. "I'm fine. No headaches, dizziness, nausea or vomiting. I've had enough concussions in my life to be familiar with the symptoms, and I don't have any."
The kindly neurosurgeon crossed his arms. "They pay me for this. Indulge me."
Rampart's extremely reluctant patient rolled his eyes. "My name is John Gage. It's 1979. The president is Jimmy Carter. I'm at Rampart, and I'm wasting your time."
Dr. Early ignored the paramedic's protests and continued his exam. "Okay, Johnny. Cover your right eye, look at my nose, and let me know when my finger appears in your field of vision in your left eye. Johnny impatiently, but correctly responded when Dr. Early tested his left eye. But when the procedure was repeated on his right eye, it immediately became obvious something was very wrong. Johnny realized his vision was limited to a small blurry area near his nose. Annoyance was quickly replaced by alarm.
His mind raced. Blind. How could he lose nearly all his vision in one eye and not notice? What if his charmed existence had ended? What if the famous Gage indestructibility was a myth? What if he had used up his nine lives? What if his career was over? What if his life as he knew it was over? He suddenly became overwhelmed by "what ifs."
Roy's voice interrupted Johnny's morbid reverie. "You okay Johnny?"
"Huh? Uh, yeah. I mean, no. I mean...I don't know," Johnny truthfully answered.
The emergency room physician reached for the ophthalmoscope. "Johnny, I need to look inside your eyes for a moment. Lean forward slightly and stare straight ahead, okay?" Johnny sighed as he complied with the doctor's request, and waited impatiently for the exam to end. Finally, Dr. Early returned the instrument to its holder on the wall.
Johnny swallowed convulsively. "So what's the story, Doc?"
"There is a massive amount of blood in your right eye, obstructing visualization of the optic nerve and retina. You will need to be evaluated by an ophthalmologist to determine the extent of the damage, but surgery will be required at least to remove the blood. Your neurological responses are normal, so I don't expect to find any areas of bleeding in your brain from the concussion. But under the circumstances, I'm going to admit you. I want to repeat your CT scan and do a full work up to make sure we're not overlooking anything." He hesitated for a moment before he continued. "Do you have any questions so far?"
The dark-haired paramedic slowly shook his head. It wasn't that he didn't have any questions. He had a zillion of them. He simply could not trust his voice right now.
"All right then. I'll send Dixie in to draw some blood, and I'll give Dr. Rustin a call. I'll see you later this evening."
The paramedics silently watched Dr. Early leave the treatment room. Roy awkwardly looked at the HT. "I guess I need to let Cap know they're incarcerating you. Do you need anything?"
Johnny attempted a trademark crooked grin. "A 'Get Out Of Jail Free' card would be nice," he replied.
"Seriously. Are you okay?"
"No. But thanks, Roy."
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It was a couple of hours before Captain Stanley could find replacements for both paramedics. Roy had returned the squad to the station and stopped by Johnny's apartment to pick up a few things. He returned to the hospital to find his partner settled in his hospital bed, furiously picking at loose threads.
Roy cautiously entered the room. "No problems with your detail vision in that eye."
Johnny glanced up at Roy. "Oh yeah? Well, I can 'see' your sense of humor hasn't improved."
"Speaking of seeing, has your ophthalmologist seen you yet?" Roy asked.
"Not yet. Apparently he's still at the nurses' station reading my chart and making sure I have good insurance." Johnny's gaze returned to the bed covers. Another loose thread demanded his immediate attention.
Roy placed Johnny's duffel bag in the closet. As he seated himself in the well-worn visitor's chair, a tall, lanky white-coated figure appeared in the doorway.
"Mr. Gage?"
"Guilty," Johnny replied gloomily.
The physician confidently strode into the room and introduced himself. "Hi. I'm Dr. Paul Rustin. I'm an ophthalmologist at Rampart. I understand you've been expecting me."
Johnny mechanically reached out to shake the doctor's hand. As his attention shifted from his blankets to his doctor, he noticed the most hideous neckwear he had ever seen in his life. It was grotesque. It looked like it had been vomited on it brilliant Technicolor. The tie provided a moment of comic relief Johnny desperately needed, and suddenly he was overcome by a fit of hysterical laughter.
Roy was at a loss to understand his friend's odd behavior, and was beginning to wonder if the wrong specialist had been consulted.
"I am so sorry," Johnny gasped, still trying to suppress a few residual giggles. "I don't know what got into me."
Dr. Rustin straightened his tie, and then placed a finger to his mouth in an exaggerated expression of mock contemplation. "Do you suppose it's my glasses?"
A huge smile spread across both paramedics' faces as they vigorously shook their heads.
"You'd think a forty-two-year-old man could do a better job of dressing himself, but believe it or not, there is an explanation," the ophthalmologist offered.
"This I have to hear," Johnny admitted.
Dr. Rustin seated himself at the foot of Johnny's bed. "When I graduated from medical school, my mother gave me a dozen of the ugliest ties on the face of the earth. I didn't have the heart to throw them away, so I hid them in a drawer. Unfortunately, she kept buying me more, you know, special occasions...birthdays, Christmas, 'just because I thought of you.' Several years ago my mother was visiting from out-of-town, and I invited her to spend a few days with me. You guessed it. She found the abandoned collection, and I felt like a world-class jerk. In a pathetic attempt to make it up to her, I wore one of those horrible ties every day during her entire visit. After she returned to Wisconsin, I decided to continue to wear them until I felt I had served my penance. Major backfire. Once I allowed myself to be seen in public wearing those monstrosities, people assumed I actually liked them. Soon other people gave them to me as gifts. Finally, in the spirit of 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em,' I decided to adopt the outrageous attire as part of the Rustin mystique. You have to admit, they're certainly a more creative way of assessing a patient's visual acuity than a boring eye chart."
Johnny was beginning to feel more relaxed, considering the circumstances. Roy breathed a sigh of relief.
"So, I understand you need a refresher course on how to play baseball, like when to duck," Dr. Rustin remarked.
"Yeah." The reason for the visit suddenly became all too real.
"Mind if I take a look?"
"Knock yourself out."
Dr. Rustin spent the next twenty minutes carefully examining Johnny's eyes, performing many of the same tests and asking the same questions Dr. Early had. After he drew sketches of Johnny's retinas and made notes in his chart, he addressed the paramedics.
"Okay, here's the deal. The delicate nerve tissue lining the inside of the eyeball, called the retina, has detached. In the process, some blood vessels have ruptured causing a hemorrhage into the eye itself. The eye works similar to the way a camera does. Just as a camera needs film to capture an image, an eye needs a retina. In your case, your 'camera' is out of film, so we'll need to go in and 'reload.'"
"So this means surgery?"
"'Fraid so."
Johnny looked utterly dejected.
Dr. Rustin continued. "The procedure is called a scleral buckle and vitrectomy. I'll reattach your retina and remove the blood from the eye cavity. The surgery usually takes about three hours."
Johnny asked, "How long before I can go back to work?"
The ophthalmologist hesitated before he responded. "This type of surgery is not as simple as resetting an arm or a leg. Recovery can often be a prolonged and frustrating experience. There is a potential for a number of complications, some of which require further surgery."
Johnny did not like the direction this conversation was heading. "What kind of complications?" he asked.
"Sometimes the retina re-detaches soon after surgery or hemorrhages. Often a smaller blood vessel ruptures, causing a minor bleed. Occasionally they are small enough to resolve on their own, but in many cases the vessel needs to be cauterized. Post-operative infections are always a concern. Your vision may not be completely restored to its pre-trauma level. Like I said, there are a number of possibilities."
Johnny was becoming increasingly anxious. "Doc, what do you think? Could this be a career ending injury?"
"Unfortunately, at this point it's premature to make any projections." Dr. Rustin could see his answer failed to satisfy the distressed young man. "Johnny, just because something is possible doesn't mean it's probable. Theoretically you could die of food poisoning from hospital mystery meat, or suffer a heart attack while flirting with pretty young nurses," he said with a wink.
Johnny was quiet for a moment, and then slowly grinned. "Do you think I'll be able to see well enough to pick out my own ties?"
Dr. Rustin laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow."
The next morning the members of Station 51's A-Shift joined Roy at Rampart immediately after the shift change. Roy had told them the surgery would take about three hours, so the men had come prepared and brought their own reading material. Roy had to smile. Good books and magazines had been scarce when a hit-and-run driver had injured Johnny three years ago. He remembered complaining to the guys that his reading choices were limited to ancient back issues of National Geographic and a tattered copy of Green Eggs and Ham. Apparently they chose to be the masters of their own fate.
The morning seemed to drag on interminably. Nearly four hours had passed. What was taking so long? Roy stood up and anxiously rubbed the back of his neck.
"Roy?"
"Yeah?" he answered the scrub-suited apparition. The identity of the surgeon suddenly dawned on Roy. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't recognize you without the colorful neckwear." Roy quickly introduced Dr. Rustin to his friends.
"So did everything go okay?" Roy asked hopefully.
"It was a straightforward buckle and vitrectomy. The blood was removed without any complications, but the retina proved to be a bit stubborn about reattaching. Otherwise, everything went fine."
Chet replied, "Well, of course that's not the first time anyone's used the word 'stubborn' when talking about Johnny!"
The ophthalmologist smiled. "He should be in recovery for about another hour or so. I'm sure he'll do just fine."
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Johnny awoke to a burning, gagging sensation.
"Mr. Gage? Do you feel like you're going to be sick again?"
Again?
Hands gently, but firmly, turned him onto his side. He was powerless to stop the contractions of his stomach. When he was finished, someone cleaned his face and hair with a damp cloth.
"Amy, call Dr. Rustin. Tell him this is the third time in twenty minutes Mr. Gage has vomited."
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Roy had decided Johnny's Luck was now a corollary to Murphy's Law. Upon regaining consciousness in the recovery room, it became apparent the anesthesia made Johnny violently ill. Dr. Rustin prescribed an injection of Compazine to relieve the vomiting. They soon discovered Johnny was allergic to Compazine. Dr. Early then prescribed Phenergan, which was less than entirely successful. A second IV was started to help to flush the anesthesia out of Johnny's system faster, as well as help keep him hydrated. By evening, Johnny had an unbearable headache induced by the unrelenting vomiting, which in turn made the vomiting worse. Demerol was ordered for pain management. When Johnny finally appeared to be enjoying a few blissful moments of fitful sleep, he aspirated.
Roy was shaking his head in disbelief and frustration when Dr. Early entered the dimly lit room. He briefly exchanged pleasantries with Roy before approaching Johnny's bedside.
"Hey, Johnny. Usually people get this sick from hospital food, not anesthesia," Dr. Early lightly teased.
A ghost of a smile danced about Johnny's pale, gaunt features. "You know me, Doc. I gotta be different."
Dr. Early paternally patted him on the shoulder. "I looked at your chest x-rays that were taken after you aspirated earlier. Just to be on the safe side, I'm going to start you on IV antibiotics as a preventive measure. We don't need you developing pneumonia on top of everything else. Your blood work was no surprise - your electrolytes are off, particularly your potassium level. I'll add another IV bag to your already impressive collection. Our highest priority at this point is getting your nausea and vomiting under control. Since you're not responding to medications or fluids, the next step is an NG tube."
Johnny looked at Dr. Early warily. He was desperate for the nausea to end, but he wasn't sure if he was this desperate. The doctor, however, had no such second thoughts. Several unpleasant moments later the dreaded NG tube was in place, and another injection of Demerol and Phenergan had been administered. Roy watched his friend finally succumb to a drug-induced slumber.
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The next morning Dr. Early, Dr. Brackett and Dixie gathered in Johnny's room before their shift in the emergency room began. Johnny was exhausted from his ordeal, but he was feeling almost human again. He was in remarkably good spirits under the circumstances.
"Johnny, you didn't have to get this sick just to get a bunch of young pretty nurses running in to take care of you," Dixie joked.
Roy winked mischievously. "He can't help himself. It's all part of the Gage charm."
Dr. Brackett frowned as he read Johnny's chart. "Joe, his temp is still elevated."
Dr. Early moved his stethoscope as he carefully listened to Johnny's chest. "There's some congestion in the left upper lobe."
"I have pneumonia?" Johnny asked incredulously.
"Most likely. I had hoped to prevent this with the antibiotics we started yesterday." He returned his stethoscope to his lab coat pocket and began scribbling in Johnny's chart. "I'm ordering another chest x-ray and I'm increasing the dosage of your antibiotics. We'll reassess your progress tomorrow, and if necessary, we'll start you on respiratory therapy."
Johnny clenched his fist in frustration. "This just gets better and better"
"Hey, do I need an engraved invitation to this reception?" Dr. Rustin asked from the doorway.
"C'mon in."
Dr. Rustin tugged lightly on Johnny's foot. "I understand you've had a miserable time. How are you feeling?"
Johnny attempted a half-hearted laugh. "I'm kind of confused. You see, I came here on a supply run. Then I had eye surgery. Then I had an allergic reaction to the anesthesia and started puking my guts out. Then I had an allergic reaction to an anti-nausea medication. Now I have pneumonia. I'm planning my escape before anything else goes wrong!"
"Well, I can't have you make a break for freedom before I take a look at your eye. Hold still for a moment while I remove the bandages and take a peek." The ophthalmologist carefully examined the inside of Johnny's eye with an indirect ophthalmoscope. After several minutes, Dr. Rustin returned the instrument to its case and motioned to Dixie to turn the room lights back on.
"How does it look?" Dr. Brackett asked.
"I'm afraid the retina has re-detached."
An incredulous Johnny blankly stared at the ophthalmologist. "What?! How did that happen?"
"Johnny, we discussed this before. Obviously I wish this wouldn't have happened, but this is a relatively common complication. Yesterday during surgery the retina was proving difficult in staying reattached. It is possible a re-detachment was simply a matter of time. Also, the severe nausea and vomiting you experienced yesterday could have contributed to the problem. In any event, we'll need to go back in to re-do the surgery. In your current medical condition I need to give you a break. I want to wait until the anesthesia from the first surgery is flushed out of your system and the nausea and vomiting is under control before we can even consider a second surgery. We'll also need to find another anesthetic that's agreeable with you."
"We will also need to wait until your lungs are cleared sufficiently for you to undergo general anesthesia again," added Dr. Brackett. "I think we should go ahead and start respiratory therapy today." Dr. Early nodded his approval.
"Great. Just great. I should have escaped when I had the chance," Johnny muttered in frustration.
Despite the number of complications that plagued him during the first forty-eight hours of his admission, Johnny made remarkable progress. Within a couple of days his stomach felt settled enough to try eating again, and in less than a week Dr. Early deemed his lungs clear for general anesthesia. Johnny had shuddered at the thought, even though they assured him a different anesthetic would be used.
The second surgery had been uneventful. As Dr. Rustin had described it, "Everything went fine. Couldn't have gone better." Much to everyone's relief, Johnny did not experience any nausea from the anesthesia. He was just excessively drowsy, and slept most of the afternoon, evening and night.
The next cause for celebration came when Dr. Rustin examined Johnny's eye the following morning. The retina was exactly where it was supposed to be. No detachment. No hemorrhage. No further complications. Everyone was ecstatic. Johnny, being superstitious, was merely guardedly optimistic.
Due to the complications Johnny had experienced from his first surgery, Dr. Rustin had been overly cautious. He kept Johnny on strong anti-emetics and strict bed rest for the first few days as a preventive measure. Satisfied his problem-prone patient was on the road to recovery, the ophthalmologist had finally signed the discharge papers. Johnny now waited impatiently for Roy's shift to end so he could pick him up. It was decided that Johnny would stay with Roy and Joanne for a couple of weeks while he recuperated. It was going to be extremely hard for him to remember not to pick up the kids. Dr. Rustin had instructed him not to bend at the waist or pick up anything heavier than ten pounds for a while.
Finally Roy appeared. "You ready?"
"I've been ready. I've been ready for two weeks," Johnny reminded him.
Roy picked up Johnny's duffel bag. "Let's go then."
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
"Like what?" Roy asked, genuinely perplexed.
"Like those imaginary supplies we came for when all this started?" Johnny teased.
Roy rolled his eyes. "Just get in the car, Johnny."
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The moment Roy and Johnny arrived at the DeSoto house, the excited chatter of young voices could be heard.
"Unca Johnny! Unca Johnny!" Jennifer squealed in delight. "You look like a pirate!" She reached up with outstretched arms toward her favorite uncle.
Roy gently pushed her arms down. "No, Jennifer. Uncle Johnny can't pick you up right now. Remember?"
The little girl pouted. "But his arms don't have boo-boos."
Johnny sat down on the couch and patted his legs. "That's right, and if you come over here and sit on my lap, you can give your Uncle Johnny a big hug, okay?" The little girl positively beamed with delight.
Chris stared for a moment. "Can I touch your patch? Does your eye hurt?"
"Yes, you can touch it, but very gently. My eye is still a little sore."
Chris appeared very thoughtful for a moment. "Dad, can we have eye patches too so we can look like Uncle Johnny?"
The paramedics exchanged amused grins. "I'm sure we can work something out, son."
"Unca Johnny! I got a new Barbie, wanna see? I'll be right back!"
Not to be outdone, Chris had to tell his favorite "uncle" about his latest acquisition, too. "I got some new Matchbox cars. I rearranged the track and everything. You just gotta see."
Johnny thought this was going to be the longest two weeks of his life.
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"Are you sure you're ready to go back to your apartment by yourself? You're welcome to stay with us as long as you need to," Roy offered.
"No, it's okay," Johnny replied, "but thanks."
"Well at least let me help you straighten up the place and take you to the grocery store. I'd feel much better knowing I'm leaving you somewhere that's reasonably habitable," Roy joked.
Johnny considered his partner's proposition. It had been almost a month since he last saw his apartment. Heaven only knew what condition it was in. "That would be great."
Two hours later Johnny's humble dwelling had passed Roy's exacting standards, namely it was relatively clean and it contained an abundant supply of food for its hyper-metabolic occupant.
Fishing his keys from his pocket, Roy prepared to leave. "You'll let me know if you need anything, right?"
"You worry too much Roy. I'll be fine. Thanks for everything."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Unfortunately, Johnny wasn't fine. Four days after he returned home, his vision began to blur. There was no pain or discharge from the eye. He just noticed he couldn't see as well. He contacted Dr. Rustin's office, and an appointment was promptly arranged for that afternoon. Since it was on such short notice, Joanne had volunteered to drive him.
"I don't understand what happened," Johnny told the doctor. "I just woke up this morning and everything was fuzzy."
Joanne watched as Dr. Rustin adjusted the light source on his ophthalmoscope. "Any pain?"
"No, none." Johnny's voice was tinged with alarm.
The ophthalmologist methodically continued his exam. Finally he returned the instrument to its holder and sat down.
"You have a considerable amount of inflammation, which accounts for the sudden decrease in your vision. In order to get this under control, I'm prescribing a high dose of oral Prednisone, as well as eye drops. You may experience some stomach upset or mood swings. I know the side effects aren't pleasant, but it's important that you don't stop taking the medication. Hopefully we can get this turned around in a few weeks."
Johnny looked like he had lost his last friend.
Dr. Rustin patted him on the back sympathetically. "Hang in there, buddy. This isn't the end of the world."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
It may not have been the end of the world, but it was beginning to feel like the end of Johnny's world. Over the next couple of weeks his vision grew progressively worse. He could barely distinguish shapes and movement in his right eye. The Prednisone upset his stomach and exacerbated his increasingly darkening mood. He didn't feel like eating or going out much these days. Roy had invited him over a few times, even resorting to the "kid card" on one occasion. Even Chet had stopped by to check in on him because he "happened to be in the neighborhood."
When Johnny returned for his follow-up visit eight days later, Dr. Rustin was disappointed with the latest development. Some small blood vessels had ruptured and caused significant bleeding. Johnny pounded the armrest of the exam chair in frustration.
"So," he asked hesitantly, "does this mean I need another vitrectomy?" Johnny did not look forward to the prospect of another major surgery.
The doctor answered, "No, fortunately nothing that invasive. A bleed of this size can be successfully cauterized with a laser. The procedure is performed on an outpatient basis under a local anesthetic. You'll be home for lunch." Dr. Rustin gave Johnny a meaningful look. "You are eating, aren't you? You look a little thinner."
Johnny shrugged. "The meds make me feel a little queasy. If I don't eat, I don't throw up."
Dr. Rustin frowned. "Johnny, you need to make an effort to take in some nourishment. You've only been on the Prednisone three weeks. You're probably looking at another three. You simply can't stop eating."
Johnny raised his hands in resignation. "Okay, I'll try."
"Good. Now that we have that settled, let's get you scheduled for surgery."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
"Really? Uh huh. Yeah? Okay. Thanks." Roy had scarcely hung up the phone when the questions began.
"So what did she say?"
"How is he doing?"
"Is he going to be okay?"
Captain Stanley's authoritative voice prevailed. "Give Roy a chance to speak." He motioned to the table, and the men hastily scrambled to seat themselves.
Roy drew a deep breath. "Joanne said everything went fine. The doctor cauterized the sources of the bleeding. Johnny is already out of recovery. They're just waiting to get some prescriptions filled."
"Wow," remarked Gabriel Martinez, the station's temporary paramedic. "And to think they do that with a laser beam. That sounds like something out of a Superman comic book."
"Yeah," Roy agreed. "It's considered day surgery. As soon as Johnny's prescriptions are ready, Joanne is going to take him back home."
"To his apartment?" asked a stunned Chet. "How is he going to take care of himself?"
"I was wondering that myself," thought Roy.
"Well, this isn't major surgery like before. Joanne said his post-operative instructions were just putting drops in his eye four times a day and taking Tylenol #3 as needed for pain. I'm sure Johnny will be okay."
Chet was highly dubious of that claim.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
They always fought over which one of them got the last jelly filled donut. It only made sense to buy an entire dozen. It was perfectly logical.
Chet held his breath as he rang the doorbell. He was not prepared for the sad figure that greeted him. "Gage?"
"Hey, since when does the Phantom make house calls?"
The stocky firefighter nervously thrust the box of donuts into Johnny's hands. "Well, since I know you can't cook, I decided to bring breakfast."
Johnny smiled wanly. "Come on in."
Chet surveyed the cluttered apartment with apprehension. Johnny's place was usually neat as a pin. Was he feeling too sick to pick up after himself? Discretely kicking aside a stack of newspapers, he sank into the comfortable couch. "So, how are you doing?"
"Bored mostly. Even latrine duty is starting to look pretty good."
"You have to be kidding me!"
Johnny dejectedly stared at the floor. "I wish I were."
"Is there anything I can do?" Chet offered.
Several moments passed as Johnny appeared to struggle with his thoughts. "Actually, I need a huge favor. I'll understand if the answer is no. I promise I won't be mad."
"What do you need?"
"Obviously my eye isn't healing too well and I'm going to need a lot of follow up appointments. I hate to keep imposing on Roy and Joanne. Would it be okay if I hitched a ride with you once in a while?"
"No problem, man. Just say the word."
"Thanks, I really appreciate it."
An uneasy silence followed. Finally, Chet grinned as he moved the box of donuts to the middle of the coffee table. "Just so you're clear on this Gage, I always get the last cherry jelly filled donut."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Roy was concerned about his friend. Earlier in the day he had taken Johnny to his one-week post-op visit. From an ophthalmology standpoint, Johnny was making progress. There were no new areas of bleeding, the inflammation had subsided to some degree and the vision had improved significantly. But Johnny was almost unrecognizable. He appeared extremely lethargic. Roy knew Johnny had been having trouble with his stomach due to the high doses of steroids, but he shouldn't be this tired all the time.
He was most concerned about Johnny's withdrawn behavior. Ever since Roy had known him, Johnny had never been at a loss for words. He was always eager to share his latest thoughts and schemes with everyone, whether anyone was interested or not. Now Johnny barely seemed interested in participating in a conversation.
Roy remembered all those times Johnny had nearly driven him crazy droning on and on about the "topic of the day." He didn't realize how much he missed it until now.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Gabriel sipped his coffee. "Man, Chet's cutting it awfully close. It's going to be latrine duty for sure."
Looking up at the clock, Marco agreed. "I don't know why he tempts fate."
Larry DeMensi waved at everyone as he strolled through the door. "Good morning, y'all!"
"I guess that answers your question," commented Mike. Larry had frequently been filling in for Chet during his unexplained absences.
"What is the deal with Chet anyway?" asked Gabriel. "Has he gotten some hot chick in trouble or something?"
Marco choked on his coffee. "Hot chick?! We're talking about Chet!"
Gabriel threw up his hands. "Okay, maybe she's so ugly he's ashamed of her."
"Do you think maybe he owes someone money?" proposed Mike.
Marco quickly snapped his fingers. "What about all those phone calls he sneaks off to make? Maybe he calls his bookie or something."
Gabriel crossed himself. "What if he's in trouble with the mob?"
Captain Stanley shouted "You're all going to be in trouble with me if you're not ready for roll call in five minutes!"
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Roy drank another cup of coffee as he waited in Rampart's outpatient surgery waiting area. Johnny's improvement had been short-lived. Johnny had suffered another hemorrhage two weeks ago. Initially the bleed appeared small enough to resolve on its own, but yesterday's check-up had proved that was no longer the case. Another laser treatment was required. Johnny had been so visibly upset during his appointment Dr. Rustin had prescribed Valium for pre- and post-operative anxiety. There was, however, some good news. The inflammation had finally resolved and the Prednisone could be discontinued.
A splash of garish color caught Roy's peripheral vision. He turned his head. Yup. The one and only.
"Hey, Doc. How is our boy?"
"He's great. He was a little anxious, but he did fine."
"Is he in recovery?"
"Yeah," the ophthalmologist replied. "His blood pressure is still elevated. I'm not worried he's going to stroke out on us, but if it doesn't come down a bit more in the next half hour we'll give him another small dose of Valium before we discharge him to your care."
Roy studied his coffee. "Doc, can I ask you something...can Prednisone change someone's personality?"
"No, it can cause significant mood swings, but it can't change a person's underlying personality."
That wasn't the answer he was looking for. Roy had hoped there was a simple explanation for his friend's recent behavior, and therefore a simple solution.
The surgeon seemed to understand Roy's concern. "Look, I know Johnny hasn't been himself. He's been through a lot. In approximately three months he's had pneumonia, two major surgeries, and now counting today, two minor ones. In addition, he's been on a medication that's affected his moods and digestive system. That's bound to depress anyone."
Roy continued to intently stare at his coffee.
Dr. Rustin absent-mindedly tapped his pen against his side. "Roy, I usually don't offer advice outside my specialty, but you look like you could use it. If Johnny was my friend, I'd be worried about him too."
The blond-haired man looked up.
"You asked about the Prednisone. Johnny isn't going to feel better now that he's off the steroids. It provided a convenient excuse. He needs help. The problem is, he doesn't want it."
Roy looked surprised. "You've talked to him about it?"
"I tried to get him to see Brackett, if for no other reason than the stomach upset. You're his friend, maybe he'll listen to you."
"I don't know," Roy replied sadly. "We don't seem to talk much anymore."
Dr. Rustin gently reminded him, "Johnny doesn't have to talk. He just has to listen."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Roy struggled to balance a bag of groceries on each hip as he knocked on Johnny's door. "Delivery service!"
The door slowly opened to reveal a gaunt, disheveled Johnny. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, and seemed surprised to see his friend.
"So, can I come in or what?"
"Oh, yeah, sorry."
Roy started toward the kitchen. "You look exhausted, Johnny. Why don't you go lie back down while I put these away?"
"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Thanks." Johnny pulled his jacket around him a little tighter as he shuffled to the couch.
Since when did Johnny start wearing a jacket inside his apartment?
As Roy put the groceries away, he noticed Johnny had barely eaten any of the food he had brought on previous trips. The freezer was full of leftovers Joanne had sent in individual sized containers: lasagna, spaghetti, meatloaf, casseroles, macaroni & cheese, all of Johnny's favorites. The cupboards revealed a similar story. There were nearly full boxes of cereal, soup and crackers. Roy had never known food to enjoy a long shelf life in Johnny's apartment. There was something definitely wrong with this picture.
"Hey Johnny, I had a some trouble finding a good home for your groceries. Your pantries are a little full," Roy cautiously said.
"Yeah, well I haven't felt much like eating lately."
"I noticed. If you get any skinnier we're going to lose you in the hose bed. Why don't you come over for dinner tonight? Joanne and the kids would love to see you."
Johnny smiled. "No thanks. I really don't feel well."
"Are you running a fever?" Roy instinctively reached for his friend's forehead.
"Just tired. I can't remember the last time I got a good night's sleep."
"You feel warm. Let me get you some Tylenol and some soup."
"I'm not hungry."
"I'll get you some soup and crackers anyway."
"You're a pest, Roy."
Roy mumbled as he opened the pantry, "Someone has to look out for you, Johnny."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
"Well, your vision appears to be clearing. Let's take a look." Johnny held his breath as Dr. Rustin performed the now all too familiar exam.
"Hmm. You have a small area of fluid, although it doesn't appear to be significant at this point."
Johnny looked crestfallen. "So does that mean more surgery?"
Dr. Rustin shook his head. No, not at this point. But it's definitely something I want to keep an eye on."
Johnny had a bad feeling about this.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
"Gabriel Martinez, what on earth possessed you to put purple Kool-Aid in the shower head?" Dixie asked incredulously.
"Dixie," the paramedic not so patiently explained, "this is all out war. So anyway, Chet turns on the shower..."
Roy looked up from the nurses' station to see Dr. Brackett emerging from one of the treatment rooms. "Doc, can I see you for a moment? It's important."
"Sure. Dix, the man in treatment 4 needs an injection of penicillin, but is otherwise ready to be released. Roy?"
Roy followed Dr. Brackett into his office and sat down. As he tended to do when he was anxious, he began to massage the back of his neck.
"Doc, I'm not sure where to start."
"The beginning is usually a good place."
"Well, uh, as you probably know, Johnny has had a few complications since his second surgery. At first everything seemed to be going fine, but then his vision started to deteriorate. He's had one problem after another. I know mood swings can be caused from steroids, but Johnny's not taking them anymore. He's not eating or sleeping. He looks like hell. I've tried to invite him over to the house for dinner or to go out to a movie or something, but he always makes excuses."
"How long would you say this has been going on?" the doctor inquired.
Roy shrugged. "I guess about three months or so. Doc, I know he's lost weight, but he conceals it by wearing layers of loose, baggy clothing. I'm worried about him. He doesn't talk to me anymore, and that's not like Johnny. I never thought I'd see the day when I would give anything to have Johnny rant about something."
Dr. Brackett smiled. "I know just the person who can help. The only problem is getting Johnny in to see him."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Chet had switched shifts with a member of 110's C-Shift so he could take Johnny to his appointment with Dr. Rustin.
It was clear by the ophthalmologist's expression the news wasn't good.
"Don't even say it! I don't want to hear it!"
"Johnny, the fluid build-up under the retina is causing a small detachment. I can surgically correct this problem tomorrow morning. The procedure is performed under local anesthesia and..."
"No."
"No?"
"No. No more surgeries. No more treatments. No more visits. No more. Period." Johnny was visibly shaken.
Chet turned to Dr. Rustin, "Doc. This is all so sudden. Johnny needs a few minutes to absorb this. I think we'll go to the hospital cafeteria for a cup of coffee." He silently prayed the doctor would understand his implied message.
Fortunately, the ophthalmologist recognized the hint. "Yes, of course. That's probably best."
A grateful Chet shook the doctor's hand. "Thanks, I appreciate this."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Dixie "accidentally discovered" Chet and Johnny in the hospital cafeteria and persuaded them to come to Dr. Brackett's office so they could speak in private. Johnny sat on the couch in a highly agitated state, while Dixie sat beside him holding his hand.
Dr. Brackett began. "I spoke with Dr. Rustin. He said you need this treatment; by undergoing a minor surgery now, you can hopefully avoid another major surgery later."
"And we all know how well that's gone so far!" Johnny sputtered. "Besides, did he tell you how he proposes to do it? Under a local anesthetic! I wouldn't even be asleep while I undergo yet another unsuccessful procedure." Johnny's voice faltered as he lost control of his fragile emotions. He buried his face in his hands and began to sob uncontrollably.
The emergency room physician sighed. Arguments to convince the paramedic to consent to surgery would have to wait. He squeezed Johnny's shoulder reassuringly for a few moments and left the room. He returned with a syringe of Valium.
Johnny was still crying, totally oblivious to his surroundings. "Johnny?" he gently asked. There was no response. Dr. Brackett tried again. "Johnny?" The paramedic turned his head slightly to face the doctor.
Dr. Brackett spoke softly. "I know you're upset right now, but I want you to rest. I'm going give to you an injection to help you relax. We'll get you a pillow and blanket so you can take a nap. When you wake up, we'll talk, okay?"
Johnny nodded, but made no effort to move.
The doctor unbuttoned the cuff of Johnny's shirt and pushed the sleeve over his elbow. He was shocked at the appearance of the emaciated arm, and sadly shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm going to need to give this injection in your hip. All right?"
Johnny remained completely uncommunicative. After Dr. Brackett administered the injection, Chet and Dixie helped Johnny lie down and covered him with a blanket. Determined to protect his wounded pigeon, Chet offered to stay with him while he slept.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
"L.A. County Fire Department, Station 51. Captain Stanley speaking."
"Captain Stanley, it's Dr. Brackett."
An uneasy feeling seized Cap. "What can I do for you? Is it about Johnny?"
"I'm afraid so. Johnny's retina is trying to re-detach, and the ophthalmologist wants to schedule surgery for tomorrow morning."
This was unbelievable. His youngest charge had been through so many disappointments this summer. "How is Johnny taking this? Is he okay?"
"No, no he isn't. That's what I wanted to talk to you about actually. He's in my office under sedation at the moment. I hate to ask, but can you possibly arrange for a replacement for Roy? Some decisions need to be made regarding Johnny's care, and he's in no condition to provide consent. Since Roy holds Johnny's medical Power Of Attorney, it's important that I meet with him as soon as possible."
Cap rubbed his forehead. "Yes, of course. I'll stand down the squad until I can get a replacement. I'll send Roy over right away."
"Thanks, Hank. I appreciate it."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Roy sat on the couch beside the reluctant patient, while Dr. Brackett proceeded to explain the need for this latest surgery.
"I know you haven't regained as much of your vision as quickly as you had hoped. But you have made progress. You have recovered most of your field of vision in your right eye, and that is a remarkable accomplishment. Remember when you could only see a small sliver of light?"
Johnny begrudgingly nodded. "But Doc, I'm tired of my vision going up and down like a yo-yo. Every time things seem to be improving and I get my hopes up, a new complication develops. I'm tired of this emotional roller coaster. I want off."
"Your frustration is understandable. Unfortunately, your physical condition is impairing your judgment. You're too stressed, exhausted and malnourished to fully comprehend the long-term consequences of refusing medical care. You need help in making some decisions regarding your treatment. That's why I've asked Roy here."
The doctor continued. "I spoke with Dr. Rustin, and he can perform the procedure under IV sedation. You won't be completely unconscious; you'll be in what we call a 'twilight state.' You may experience brief vague periods of awareness, but no pain or anxiety."
Dr. Brackett briefly glanced at Roy and drew a deep breath before proceeding. "Johnny, we also need to address your nutritional needs. You are significantly underweight, and have already begun to lose muscle mass. I want to insert a central line and start you on hyperalimentation as soon as possible. Until you can consume enough calories to sustain yourself, you'll be fed through a catheter in your chest. Do you understand so far?"
Johnny nodded imperceptibly.
"In addition, I want you to be seen by Dr. Lemos, a psychiatrist on staff. Loss of appetite, significant weight loss, inability to sleep and social withdrawal are all classic symptoms of severe depression. He may want to start you on Elavil or another antidepressant. I also believe you would find short-term therapy helpful in coming to terms with your recent situation."
"A shrink. You think I've lost it?"
Dr. Brackett calmly replied, "No, Johnny. I don't think you've lost it. I think you're going though a difficult time and need some help. Will you let us help you?"
Johnny chewed on his thumbnail for a moment, and then looked up at Dr. Brackett and at Roy. "Okay, give Roy a pen and let him sign my life away before I change my mind."
With red-rimmed eyes, Roy reached his arm around Johnny and hugged him.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Roy had been allowed to stay with Johnny while Dr. Brackett performed the admitting history & physical and inserted the central line. He had been shocked when Johnny stripped down to his boxers for the exam. He was painfully thin. He had lost twenty-eight pounds. No wonder Brackett had insisted on the intravenous nutrition.
Johnny remained under sedation for the rest of the day. Roy patiently maintained his vigil at his friend's bedside as he had many times before. But these circumstances were different. Johnny might not be able to walk away from this injury unscathed, and might not return to work as his partner. How could he help his friend come to terms with something he himself was having trouble accepting?
Chet's quiet voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Hey, how is he doing?"
Roy sadly regarded the abnormally still form on the bed. "Brackett said he'll probably sleep most of the day. They'll do the surgery in the morning."
"Dixie said he's going to be here for a while."
"Yeah."
"I'm glad he's here though. He's needed help for a long time. I just wish he would have let someone help him sooner."
Roy shook his head regretfully. "Yeah. I know what you mean." Roy paused for a moment. "I understand you were there for him earlier today. I appreciate it."
The stocky firefighter suddenly looked embarrassed. "No problem. But don't tell anybody, okay? The Phantom has a reputation to uphold, y'know?"
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
The next morning, Johnny underwent cryopexy to his right eye under IV sedation. Dr. Rustin assured everyone the procedure went well, and Johnny returned to his room barely remembering leaving.
Johnny slept most of the day, and was frustrated when the nurses kept waking him to eat boring hospital food or drink the nutritional supplements Dr. Brackett had ordered. "If they're going to force me to eat, it should at least be edible!" Johnny complained. Roy massaged his aching temples. This was going to be a long hospitalization.
Just before 8:00 p.m. there was a loud knock on the door.
Johnny looked quizzically at Roy. "Who could that possibly be at this hour?"
"Mr. Gage? I'm Dr. Robert Lemos. Dr. Brackett asked me to come see you."
A light of recognition shone in Roy's eyes. "Johnny, I'm going to the cafeteria before it closes. I'll see you later."
"Okay."
As Johnny watched his friend depart, he guardedly studied the new doctor. "I take it you're the shrink."
"I prefer the term psychiatrist, but I've been called worse things."
The young man certainly didn't look like the stereotype of Sigmund Freud. In fact, he barely looked old enough to shave, although Johnny knew if he was old enough to be a practicing psychiatrist he had to be at least in his early thirties. Dr. Lemos wore his prematurely gray hair in a ponytail, and he had the physique of a bodybuilder. At least he had better taste in ties than Dr. Rustin. On closer inspection, he noticed Dr. Lemos wore hearing aids in both ears. Johnny thought that was odd for someone so young.
They talked for about thirty minutes. Johnny was surprised how quickly the time had passed. He had been determined not to like this man solely on the basis of his profession.
Dr. Lemos leaned forward in his chair. "Johnny, I'm going to start you on a relatively high dose of Elavil. You may feel sleepy for the first few days. That's normal, and you'll feel less fuzzy as your system becomes accustomed to the medication. I'm also going to prescribe a drug called Periactin. Significant weight loss is a common symptom of severe depression, and the Periactin will stimulate your appetite. You need a little help right now. During your hospitalization I'd like to see you every day for half an hour. Do you have any questions for me?"
"No, not yet."
"Good, then I'll see you tomorrow evening."
The odd thing was, Johnny was almost looking forward to it.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
The next morning, Roy updated the men of Station 51 about Johnny's condition as they gathered around the table.
"So how is he doing?" asked Marco. "Chet said he looked pretty skinny."
Roy flinched at the image of Johnny's emaciated body. "Dr. Brackett has him on a special IV to feed him until he's able to take in enough calories on his own. Johnny's already complaining the hospital food isn't edible."
Chet's eyes lit up. "Hey, Cap, do you think you could whip up a batch of your famous clam chowder, strictly for medicinal purposes?"
Captain Stanley considered the proposition for a moment. "What do you think, Roy? Do you think it would be okay with Dr. Brackett if we took him a thermos of clam chowder?"
"I'll ask. But if Brackett approves the idea, everyone's going to have to take a thermos, too. I don't want Johnny to put it aside and conveniently 'forget' to eat it. If we make a party of it, he'll be more likely to chow down."
Everyone voiced his agreement about the plan.
The normally quiet engineer spoke up. "Well, Chet, your secret is finally out of the bag."
"What secret?" he asked apprehensively.
Mike continued. "The way you've been sneaking around, taking days off, changing shifts, making phone calls when you thought no one was noticing...we thought either you had a really ugly girlfriend or were in trouble with the mafia. Now we know, you were just worried about Johnny."
"Wait a minute," Chet protested, "I just didn't want to break in..."
"It's too late," Roy interrupted, "they already know you care."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Dr. Lemos looked thoughtful. "Why did you become a firefighter/paramedic?"
Johnny automatically replied, "To help people."
"If you couldn't return to work in that capacity, does that mean you wouldn't be able to help people anymore if your vision was less than perfect?"
"What good could I possibly be to anyone?"
The psychiatrist pointed to his right ear. "Surely you've noticed that I'm profoundly deaf. I wear hearing aids and read lips. I would like to think I'm still able to help people, even if some people consider me damaged goods."
Johnny continued to stare at his bedcovers.
"Look, you may still regain a significant amount of vision in your right eye and be able to return to your job. But if you don't, you have to learn to adapt. You are still a decent human being, and you have a lot to offer people. You can be spiritually whole, even if your body isn't. It's your choice."
Damn. He really hated it when other people were right.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Four days later, Roy found his despondent partner listlessly changing channels on the remote control.
"Am I interrupting anything important?"
"Very funny. All I do is eat and sleep," Johnny complained.
Roy sat down. "Good. That's exactly what you need to be doing."
Johnny turned the television set off. "I've changed my mind. I want to go home."
"I don't think Brackett is going to let you do that."
"Screw Brackett, screw Lemos, screw Rustin and screw you!" Johnny shouted.
"You don't mean that."
"Yes I do."
The fair-haired paramedic threw up his arms in exasperation. "I'm not going to argue with you when you're like this."
Johnny was quiet for several minutes, and then he addressed his friend in a low voice. "Roy, I'm sorry."
"I know."
"Roy?"
"Yeah?"
"Tell the guys I said thanks for the clam chowder. It hit the spot."
"Anytime, Johnny."
Johnny grinned. "Tell them I like Marco's chili, too."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Johnny held his breath while the ophthalmologist examined his right eye for what seemed like the millionth time. He wasn't really sure why he cared anymore.
"Well, Johnny, it looks encouraging," Dr. Rustin pronounced as he returned the indirect ophthalmoscope to its position on the wall mount.
Yes, but for how long.
He continued. "The fluid finally appears to be receding. If this trend continues, hopefully the retina will flatten soon. Let's keep our fingers crossed."
And our toes.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Dr. Lemos listened patiently while Johnny ranted.
"I feel like a lab rat! First the lab techs wake me at some God-forsaken hour every morning to draw blood. Then Brackett makes me change into nothing but a hospital gown just to weigh me! He said he wouldn't remove the central line or discharge me until I gain at least ten pounds. Did you know the nurses take notes on everything I eat? I'm not even allowed to take my meds with water. I have to take them with juice or milk. It's like everything that passes my lips has to have a calorie!"
"Johnny, if you woke up tomorrow with normal vision, do you honestly believe you could perform the duties required of a firefighter/paramedic in your current physical condition?"
Reluctantly, Johnny shook his head.
Dr. Lemos paused before he continued. "Dr. Brackett's tactics may seem extreme, but he has your best interests at heart. He believes your vision is going to recover sufficiently for you to be able to return to work, and when it does, he plans for you to be healthy enough to do so."
Johnny was taken aback. "He really thinks so?"
"He wouldn't be going through this much trouble if he didn't."
Johnny considered this for a moment. Dr. Kelly Brackett's brusque legendary bedside manner may leave a lot to be desired, but the depth of his friendship was obviously not in question.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
The aroma of homemade chili and tamales filled Johnny's hospital room. Chet comically stood guard at the doorway in a futile attempt to keep the fumes from reaching the nurses desk.
"Guys, I can't tell you how much I appreciate this," Johnny said as he adoringly unwrapped another tamale. "I don't know how they expect people to actually eat the stuff they serve here."
Marco wiped some chili from his moustache with a paper napkin. "Anyway, I'm glad the mystery was finally solved."
"What mystery?" Johnny managed to mumble around a mouthful of tamale.
"Chet's whereabouts. The way he was sneaking around. We thought he had an ugly girlfriend he was too ashamed to be seen with, or maybe he had gotten involved in the mob or something. Finally we found out he was caring for you," Marco explained.
Chet frantically came running into the room to defend himself. "I wasn't caring. I was just..."
Johnny smiled, enjoying his friend's obvious discomfort. "No Marco, Chet couldn't possibly have a girlfriend, not even an ugly one. And I think he's too dumb to get mixed up in the mob. That only leaves one other possibility..."
"No, it doesn't," Chet vehemently declared.
Johnny blew him a kiss. "It's okay Chet. I love you too."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Johnny pensively stared out the window of his hospital room at the night sky.
"A penny for your thoughts," prompted Roy.
"They're not worth that much."
"What's on your mind?"
Johnny was quiet for a moment. "You'll think it's stupid."
"No, I won't. I promise."
"I'm scared."
"About what?"
"I think I can see."
Roy grinned enthusiastically. "Johnny, that's great. Why didn't you say something?"
"Because I'm scared. I'm scared I'm going to get my hopes up again. I'm scared I'll jinx myself."
"Johnny, it doesn't work like that."
Johnny sighed. "Maybe not for you, but it does for me."
Roy put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "When do you see Dr. Rustin again?"
"In a couple of days."
"Does he know about this?"
"Not yet."
"I'm sure everything will be fine."
"Right."
Johnny wanted to believe.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
"Well, Johnny. It looks great. Everything is exactly where we'd want it to be. The retina is firmly attached. There's no leakage, no hemorrhage and no swelling. Most importantly, your vision has shown remarkable improvement." Dr. Rustin appeared very pleased with this development.
Johnny closed his eyes and almost melted with relief. He wondered if it would be too undignified to kiss his ophthalmologist.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Once Johnny's vision began to improve, his physical and emotional health recovered dramatically. The men from the station had been "sneaking" food to him on a regular basis, and Johnny managed to gain twelve pounds. Dr. Brackett had been amused by the so-called clandestine activities. He had approved the supplemental meals when Roy first proposed the idea, but he was astonished what a cooperative patient Johnny had been when he thought he was doing something forbidden. He was going to have to remember that tactic for future reference.
Six weeks later, Johnny's health had finally stabilized. It was time for him to go home.
Dr. Brackett sat on the foot of Johnny's bed. "How do you feel about leaving the hospital?"
"I'm not sure," Johnny honestly answered. "Are you surprised?"
"Not really. You've learned to feel safe here."
"I'm afraid to go home. I'm afraid I'll end up back here."
Dr. Brackett rubbed his chin. "Johnny, you don't have to go home right away. You know you're welcome to stay with Roy for a few weeks. I think you should. You need to be around people. At this point in your recovery, I don't feel it's healthy for you to live alone."
Johnny hesitated.
"It's only for a short time."
Reluctantly, Johnny slowly nodded his consent.
As the physician stood to leave, he addressed the dark-haired man. "Johnny, I know we've had our share of disagreements over the past few weeks, but I hope you understand, I did what I felt was best for you. I just couldn't stand by and let a friend self-destruct when I was in a position to do something about it. I hope some day you can forgive me."
With tears in his eyes, Johnny replied, "There is nothing to forgive."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
After Johnny's discharge from the hospital, Roy and the men at the station made sure he stayed busy. During the day Johnny helped Joanne with household chores and the kids. In the evenings, he helped Roy with yard work or went bowling with Chet and Marco. Johnny usually went to the movies or out to dinner with one of the guys on the weekends. Occasionally, he stopped by the station to visit. There were also backyard barbeques at the DeSotos, disastrously funny double dates with Chet and a house painting party at Cap's place to keep him occupied.
Johnny continued to receive glowing reports from Dr. Rustin. Although the vision in his right eye would never be exactly the same as it was before the accident, the residual defect would barely be noticeable. He still needed to put on some more weight, but he had regained the famous Gage appetite. Leftovers had become a thing of the past in the DeSoto household. Most importantly, he acted like Johnny again. He was energetic, amusing, and even, God help him, annoying.
Roy couldn't wait to work with him again.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
"So," said Dr. Rustin, "I hear you're going back to work on Monday."
Johnny grinned from ear-to-ear. "Yeah. I have to admit, there was a time I wasn't so sure that was ever going to happen."
"You're kidding!" the ophthalmologist joked.
"Well, I got you a little going away present. I couldn't resist. I thought I'd add to your collection."
Dr. Rustin cautiously opened the box. He laughed as he held up its contents: a red tie decorated with Dalmatians.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Johnny could not believe this day had finally come. Nearly seven months after his concussion, he was returning to work as a paramedic at Station 51. He cheerfully breezed through the locker room door.
"Welcome back," Roy beamed.
Captain Stanley patted his youngest crew member on the back. "It's good to have you back, Pal."
"Thanks. It's great to be back." Johnny set his duffel bag down on the bench and began to unpack.
Yes, the sun was shining, and the birds were singing, and the Phantom was lurking...
What?
As Johnny tried to hang his uniforms in his locker, something prevented his hand from reaching the hanger. Upon closer inspection, he noticed several sheets of clear Saran Wrap thwarted his efforts.
"Chet!"
His nemesis stood at the doorway, brushing his mustache mischievously. "C'mon Johnny. The Phantom missed you!"
finis
Author's Note: In a medical college far, far away, I used to work as an ophthalmic technician/photographer and electrodiagnostician. Officially my specialty was "diseases of the retina and vitreous and ocular manifestations of systemic diseases." In truth, I looked like a mad scientist, working in conditions of near darkness, wiring patients to machines while I reeked of darkroom chemicals.
One day while I was reading Emergency! fanfic, I became a tad nostalgic about my former profession. The thought occurred to me that Johnny would be a perfect victim, ahem, candidate for an eye injury with the possibility of so many complications. And what would a Johnny owie story be without complications?!
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