Dalton slowly straightened and looked over his shoulder at the door. A young woman, at least by his standards young, somewhere in her thirties, stood there. She held a metal clipboard in her hand. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m Dr. Kairns. I was assigned yesterday to take care of your wife. I assume you know that Dr. Inhout, who was caring for your wife, was transferred.”
Dalton slid off the bed, his highly polished boots making contact with the tile floor. Dalton was a little less than average height, five foot nine inches tall, and had a stocky, well-muscled build. His face was dark and well tanned, cut with deep lines, his hair heavily peppered with gray and cut very short. He walked across and held out his hand. Kairns, after a moment of surprise, took it.
“Thank you for taking care of Marie, ma’am,” Dalton said.
“Well, you’re welcome, but I haven’t really done anything yet.” She held up the chart. “I have— ”
Dalton took her elbow. “Perhaps we should talk outside.”
Kairns looked over at the bed. She knew the woman could not hear them, but she allowed herself to be escorted out of the room. They walked down the hallway to an empty waiting room. Large windows revealed Cheyenne Mountain to the west, the sides covered in snow. Between the window and the mountain lay rows and rows of barracks, motor pools, and housing areas, all comprising Fort Carson, home to the 4th Infantry Division and the 10th Special Forces Group. Behind and to the right of Cheyenne Mountain, and barely visible, was the bright white top of
Pikes Peak, catching the first rays of the rising sun coming over the Great Plains of Colorado from the east.
Kairns flipped open the chart once more. “We took another MRI and there’s no doubt your wife suffered an aneurysm in the anterior portion of the frontal lobe.” Kairns looked up at the sergeant major. He nodded, indicating he knew what an aneurysm was.
Kairns showed him the MRI. “It happened here. Fortunately, there wasn’t too much bleeding or swelling of the brain, but I have to warn you it could happen at any moment even though she’s been in here a while. The brain is very strange. Very delicate at times, very tough at others, and there’s much we don’t know about it.”
“Why is she unconscious?” Dalton asked. Ever since being admitted four months ago, his wife had been in a coma.
“In effect, she also suffered a stroke. I thought Dr. Inhout would have explained all that.”
“He did, but I’d like to know what you think the situation is, given that you are the one who is going to be caring for her.”
Kairns said, “Even if your wife regains consciousness, there is a high likelihood of some brain damage. The blood that came from the burst blood vessel, well, that flow was interrupted, obviously, and the part of the brain that blood vessel feeds did not get enough oxygen for an extended period of time.”
Dalton nodded to indicate he understood. He walked over to a hard plastic seat and sank down in it. He wore heavily starched camouflage fatigues that were covered with insignia: The Combat Infantry badge with two stars and the Master Parachutist badge were sewn above his name tag. Below it was sewn the small dive-mask badge indicating Dalton was scuba qualified. On his left shoulder was a Special Forces patch, of subdued green and black to match the fatigues. Above it was a Ranger tab and a Special Forces tab. He wore an identical Special Forces patch on his right shoulder, indicating combat service in the unit.
The patch was in the shape of an arrowhead, homage to the stealthiness and craftiness of Indian warriors. An upright dagger was in the center, to indicate the covert way Special Forces operated. Three lightning bolts ripped across the dagger, representing the three means by which Special Forces soldiers infiltrated their objective: by air, sea, and land. The patch, and the green beret that went along with it, were the insignia of the elite of the United States Army. Sergeant Major Dalton had served thirty years in the unit, one of the very few left on active service who had served in Vietnam. Mornings like this he felt the cumulative effect of those thirty years.
Kairns grabbed another seat and pulled it nearby.
“What’s the prognosis, ma’am?” Kairns had an oak leaf on her white collar, and despite the twenty-year age difference between them, she held the higher rank. Other than her rank, the only other insignia she wore was the abacus of the Medical Corps. On his collar, Dalton had pinned the three chevrons and three rockers, with a star circled by a wreath in the center, indicating he was a sergeant major, the highest enlisted rank in the Army.
Kairns looked down at the chart once more, but Dalton was aware she didn’t need it for the information. She knew, she just didn’t want eye-to-eye contact when she told him. He knew, even before she spoke, that the answer would not be good. The previous doctor had been full of crap, in Dalton’s opinion. Even when Dalton had asked the man to level with him, the doctor had hidden behind a flurry of medical terms, most of which, despite his own medical training, Dalton had had to go to the library and look up. He knew more about aneurysms now than he particularly cared to. As he did about the other afflictions ravaging his wife’s body.
“There is most likely some permanent damage to the brain. We won’t know exactly how much or what kind until your wife regains consciousness.”
Dalton could hear the “if” in her voice. He had always been able to read people, and the skill was one he had honed over the years.
“When do you think that’s likely to occur?” he asked.
“That’s hard to say.”
“There’s a possibility she might not regain consciousness at all, isn’t there?” Dalton asked in a quiet voice.
Kairns leaned back in her seat and looked directly at him. Dalton noted she had soft green eyes, just like Marie’s. He knew his wife would have liked this woman. Marie had always made friends so easily.
“Yes, that is a possibility.” Kairns cleared her throat.
“Go ahead,” Dalton said.
“This setback on top of your wife’s advanced amyotrophic lateral sclerosis…” The doctor paused.
“Her body has been gone for two years due to ALS,” Dalton said. “All she’s had is her mind and now you’re telling me that’s probably not going to come back?”
“No, it’s not.”
Dalton tried to keep his voice steady. “She’s not going to regain consciousness, is she?”
Kairns slowly shook her head. “No, I don’t think she will.”
Even though he had long expected those words, their impact surprised Dalton.
“There’s the issue…” Kairns paused again.
“Go on,” Dalton dully said.
“There’s the issue of whether you want to continue the life support,” Kairns said.
Dalton rubbed his chin, feeling the slight stubble there, aware that he would have to shave when he got to work. He felt a rapid beating in his chest. He dipped his head and put his hand on his forehead, hiding his eyes from the doctor. He slowed his heartbeat as he’d been trained, forcing his mind to accept the reality. His hands felt cold and clammy and in a remote part of his mind he knew that the blood vessels were closing, choking the flow of blood, and he knew he could reverse that process, he’d been taught that, but he didn’t care right now. A tear rolled out of his right eye, down his weathered cheek.
He heard movement, and when he looked up a minute later, he was alone. He looked down the hallway. Kairns was standing twenty feet away, writing something into the chart. Dalton stood and walked over to her.
“My wife appreciates all you’ve done for her.” Dalton caught the quick quiver of her eyes and said, “I’m not nuts, Major. When you spend thirty years with someone, you know what they would be thinking, so I just thought I’d let you know that. And I certainly appreciate all your efforts.”