Waking Up in Dixie by Haywood Smith Page B

grandmother.
    Another hour passed, during which Elizabeth escaped into a soggy sleep, curled in a chair in front of the droning TV. Then someone was shaking her. “Mrs. Whittington?”
    She looked up to see Dr. Clare standing over her, a concerned look on his face. He’d said he’d call, but there he was, in person.
    A chill settled to her marrow. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
    “No,” Dr. Clare hastened to reassure her. “He’s holding his own.” He smiled. “Your husband is obviously a very strong man.”
    Thank you, God!
Elizabeth crumpled in relief. She could almost believe that everything was going to be all right. Then the words
brain damage
brought her spine erect. “The damage . . . ?”
    Dr. Clare met her frightened gaze with frankness. “The surgery went very well. The frozen section sent to the lab for immediate testing indicated that the tumor is benign and very slow-growing, but we’ll have to wait for the biopsy results for confirmation. That should come in by Friday. The good news is, the growth was regular and well encapsulated. Could have been there for decades. As for what damage the rupture of the tumor’s blood supply might have caused, we won’t know for certain till your husband wakes up.”
    Elizabeth wanted to hope for the best, but was afraid to. “And when will that be?”
    “Not for at least several days. We’ll be keeping him sedated to try to minimize the swelling. Everybody reacts differently tothis type of trauma. We’ll just have to wait and see. Take it one day at a time.”
    “But he’s out of the woods, so far?” she asked.
    “So far, so good,” he said, patting her upper arm. “Let’s just pray it stays that way.”
    “When can we see him?”
    “Once he’s settled in ICU, the nurse will notify you when you can look in on him. After that, you might want to get a room nearby and get some rest, yourself. This is going to be a long week.”
    “His mother . . .” Elizabeth couldn’t help putting herself in Augusta’s shoes. “She really wants to see him. And our daughter.” Why was she explaining? “Our son’s on his way.”
    The doctor remained kind and patient. “As soon as he’s settled and stable, you can each peek in on him, but he needs to rest.”
    As if he could in intensive care.
    The doctor’s pager went off, and he looked at the screen. “Sorry. I have another emergency.” As he rose, he handed her a card. “Here’s my PA’s name and direct number. If you have any concerns or specific questions, please call him. Families often see signs of trouble before the staff does, and I want to know right away if anything goes wrong.” He rose to leave. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
    “Please, go. And thank you.”
    She’d scarcely been alone a minute, collecting herself before braving Augusta and Patricia, when Charles strode in and wrapped her in a warm bear hug. “Hey there, Mama-lama. What’s the latest?”
    Tears of gratitude and relief sheeted down her cheeks as she related what the doctor had just told her. “Now we just have to wait.”
    Charles rubbed his palms up and down her back, then gave her another, briefer, squeeze before he drew away. “Where’s Patti? And Gamma?”
    “Powwowed in the other waiting room.” She didn’t need to explain. Charles had long since wised up to the way things were, but he’d accepted the situation with a grace Elizabeth hadn’t been able to muster. “Let’s go tell them.”
    Her son took her hand, and fortified by his presence, she accompanied him into enemy territory to deliver the news.
    Then they went, one by one, to see son, father, and husband lying pale and bandaged, connected by a maze of wires and tubes to monitors and IVs.
    The blank peace of his expression gave them all comfort.
    And then the waiting started.
    At first, they all stayed at the hospital, taking turns getting food and necessities, fielding calls from church friends and Howe’s employees and Women’s Club