Finding Jaime

Chapter 122

"Jaime, I'm going to lift your shirt and listen to your lungs and your heart, okay? I'm warming up my stethoscope, but it might still feel a little cold. Okay?"

"Uh-uh-k-kay," Jaime said, his eyes closed again. He'd moved his arm over his eyes. 

I watched as the doctor lifted Jaime's t-shirt and as he shivered when he put the stethoscope on his chest. 

"Okay, Jaime, just breathe normally, okay?"

Jaime nodded. 

The doctor listened to Jaime's chest, and then he checked his heart rate and listened to his heart. 

"Okay. Jaime, I'm going to take your temperature, alright? In your ear, like your dad did. Just don't move okay?"

"Uh-k-kay," Jaime said. 

I heard Meagan and Anya talking in the kitchen. Meagan explained what was going on with Jaime today, filling her in, and then Anya came into the living room to watch and wait. 

"Have you given him anything for the fever yet?" the doctor asked me. 

"No," I said. "I figured I would if you weren't able to come, but I held off because you could make it up here."

"Okay. Fair. His temperature is 102.5, which is only slightly higher than what you told me. Make sure he stays hydrated. His lungs sound clear, and his heart rate is good. Keep him hydrated, give him something to relieve the fever, and monitor him to see if it goes any higher. If he starts creeping towards 104, bring him into the emergency room. Bring him in if he starts throwing up and can't keep anything down, including water. He can quickly get dehydrated. He might just have picked up a bug. If his fever isn't staying down by this time tomorrow, call me and we'll reassess. You have a nurse here overnight?" 

"Yes, Anya," I said, indicating Anya standing in the living room doorway. 

"Okay, I'll leave instructions with her, too," Dr. Draper said. "Anya, you heard all that, yeah?"

"Yes," she said. 

"Okay. You know what to look for and when to make the call, correct?"

"I do, yes," she said. 

"Anya, if you could get a urine sample from the young man at some point tonight, that would be great. Jaime, I'm going to take a little bit of blood from you, okay?"

Jaime grunted.

I watched the doctor clean Jaime's arm and insert a needle, taking three vials of blood before putting a cotton ball and a bandaid on.

"Okay. Anya, here's my card in case you need to call for extra assistance or have any questions. Pete, he's going to be okay. After a couple of days of rest and fluids, keep an eye on that temperature, and he should be fine."

I walked the doctor to the front door. 

"He will be alright, Pete. I know every time something happens is scary, especially in his current condition. But he is going to be okay. He's speaking much better," the doctor said. 

"Well, if you consider he wasn't speaking at all, then yeah, this slow stutter is fantastic," I said.

"It's going to take time, Pete. He was lucky to have survived the beating in the first place. Don't push him or let him push himself any harder than reasonable. His brain and his body are still healing. If he pushes himself too hard, he could do some serious damage. You need to remind him to go slow. You need to remember that things need to go slow right now.  There's still a good chance he'll make a full recovery. This bug, virus, whatever it might be, could be a sign he needs to keep going slowly. This isn't like the canyon. This isn't like the cancer. He's sustained serious injuries. Far more serious than the canyon. I know you know this. I know I'm not telling you anything you didn't already know. I'm just reminding you that from now on, Jaime is more fragile than he was. I'm reminding you that you have to remind him that he isn't the same person he was before the assault. He likely never will be the same. But he can heal, and he can recover fully, or pretty damned close. But it's going to take time, and it's going to take work. It's not going to happen overnight."

"I know," I sighed. "I feel like he's frustrated because in his mind, he can do all those things still. In his mind, the words come fast and furious. But as soon as he tries to open his mouth and get those words out, they get jammed up and he can't get them out the way he wants to. He gets frustrated and I don't know how to help him. I can't finish his sentences for him. If I get it wrong, he gets mad, understandably. And if I get it right, he gets mad, because he can't get his thoughts out fast enough. It's not that I'm out of patience waiting for him to speak, I'm not. I'll wait years for him to get one word out if he needs me to. I just hate watching him struggle because he knows what he wants to say and his mind is going faster than his mouth can," I said. 

"I know what you mean, I do," Dr. Draper said. "Just remind him to go slow and listen to his body. Keep encouraging him. Let him do what he can do. Let him challenge himself. If it means he falls down ten times, let him fall down ten times. Be there to help him, but let him challenge himself within reason. I think you know what you're doing, but you can always call my office for advice, or talk to his therapists. He's doing better than any of you, including himself, give him credit for. It's hard, and it's painful, but he will get there."

"Thanks, Doc," I said, as I opened the door for him.

"Call if there's any change for the worse. Take him straight to the ER if his fever goes higher in the next six hours and you've given him a fever reducer. I'll call to check in tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," I said. "Thanks for coming out tonight."

"It's honestly my pleasure. We'll talk tomorrow," he said, and left. 

I closed the door and went back into the living room. Anya was checking a few things, Meagan was wiping Jaime's brow and Jaime was frowning in his sleep. 

"Why don't I take him upstairs to bed?" I said. "Let him get some proper sleep?"

"Good idea," Meagan said, taking the cloth off Jaime's forehead. She ran her fingers through his hair. He opened his eyes just a bit.

"Th-thn-kssss," he mumbled. Meagan kissed Jaime's forehead and stood up so I could pick Jaime up and carry him to his bed. Anya followed. 

I lay Jaime in his bed and changed him into a clean diaper, lamenting that I didn't get to help out when he was a baby but that I didn't need to change a diaper on a 16-year-old. I sighed. I would do whatever Jaime needed, but the fact that my 16-year-old son couldn't currently hold his own bladder because a bunch of his so-called friends beat him so severely that he had almost no control over his own body anymore just made me so angry. 

"I'm going to put a catheter in, if you don't mind, Mr. Wentz," Anya said as I was getting out the clean diaper. "For the urine sample."

"Oh, right. Okay. I'll leave that to you, then," I said. "Good night, Jaime, sleep well."

Jaime didn't respond. 

"Anya, come get us if anything happens, okay?"

"I will, Mr. Wentz," she said. 

"Please," I smiled. "After all these months, call me Peter. Or Pete, which I prefer."

"I'll try, Mr... Pete," she smiled. 

I closed the door to Jaime's room and leaned against the wall. I had never thought this would be my life. I was so happy to have Jaime in our lives. I just hated that he was enduring this now.