Love M.D. (45 page)

“He’s waking,” she smiles at me.
“His blood pressure is up. Doctor Drake, everything is okay. You’re in the
hospital. We’re here to help you.”

I stare on, flabbergasted, trying
to absorb everything that’s happening. A team of doctors and nurses come into
the room and a flurry of activity goes on before my eyes. As much as I want to
push them aside so I can see him, I want them to help him. I get a glimpse of
his face every so often.

My Morgan is awake.

“All his faculties are not back,
but he’s conscious,” Dr. Edwards smiles at me. “That’s a wonderful thing.”

Tears come. I sob out of sheer
relief.

After some time, the activity dies
down, Morgan and I are alone once more. He stares at me in silence. A single
tear slips down his cheek. I wipe it away, kissing him gently, running my
fingers through his hair. Then I lie beside him and place my head on his chest.

While there is no verbal response,
I feel his hand move slightly over me. I am completely overwhelmed. After some
time I raise my head. He continues to gaze at me then drifts for a moment
before suddenly opening his eyes again.

“It’s okay, babe. I know you must
be tired. Get some rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

He watches me for a while, but
slowly, he gives way to sleep.

I am thankful Morgan is now awake,
but I know we will need all the divine intervention we can get for him to make
a full recovery. Now that we’re here and he’s come this far, I pray he will
return to the man he once was.

I miss hearing him laugh, his
voice, his kind words, what he thinks and feels. I miss being held by him, his
soft kisses. I look forward to the day when he will make love to me again.

But despite everything I miss,
everything he has endured, everything that we have endured, I am thankful he’s
awake.

Through the window blinds, I see it’s
pitch dark now.

I join him bedside.

“Hey,” I smile, taking his hand in
mine. He stares on, but does not reply. Sitting beside him, I kiss his hands.
“It’s dark now, but the views outside are beautiful. There’s mountains all
around us, and they’re covered in snow, just like Lake Louise. Tomorrow I’ll
open the blinds so you can see.”

He stares on for a few more
minutes. Soon, he drifts…

Over the next
couple of days, doctors perform a
myriad of tests on Morgan. Unlike the first team of physicians, they are not
quite ready to write him off yet. That said, they’ve warned me that it may be a
long road ahead, and even if he shows signs of recovery, he may never recover
fully.

Every time he rouses, he stays
awake longer. He still has not communicated yet. I continue to do as I did
before, taking care of his daily needs, trying to stimulate his mind by reading
to him, playing his favorite music and testing any suggestions the neurologists
make.

When Dr. Edwards smiles, my heart
skips a beat.

“He just responded to pain. He can
feel, physically.”

Her news, however small it may
seem, overwhelms me with joy.

The next day,
after a walk to stretch my legs, I
return to the room to find Morgan awake.

“Hey, babe. The doctors say you’re
making progress. I hope you feel better.”

I move toward the window to open
the blinds, and I realize his eyes follow me.

“Have I told you how much I missed
looking into your eyes? It’s so nice to see you awake. I know you probably miss
your family, but they’re thinking about you. Everyone is. We just have to
remain here for a little while longer until it’s safe to return home.”

He looks at me, and I realize the
movement in his eyes are a bit more than usual. I wonder if he is aware of what
I am saying to him.

“Babe?”

He instantly focuses on me.

“Do you understand what I am
saying? Can you hear me?”

He continues to stare on.

“If you can, blink your eyes or
squeeze my hand. Whatever is easier. Just give me a sign.”

He closes his eyes and reopens
them.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. “If you
understand, blink once for yes and twice for no, okay?”

He responds with a single blink. At
that moment, all the prayers, everything I’ve been hoping for seems to come to
fruition. Deep within, I know that Morgan is going to be okay.

Through my tears I say, “I love you
so much, babe. Are you in pain?”

He blinks once, and I immediately
pick up the remote and call the doctor to come in.

I want to tell him so much. I want
to ask so much, but I don’t want to overwhelm him. Beyond that, I remember
during my research reading that I had to phrase my questions carefully and not
make assumptions.

“Oh God, babe, It’s so great to
talk to you.”

He closes his eyes and reopens
them. Dr. Edwards comes in. I explain what happened only minutes before. She
runs some tests of her own then asks, “Is the pain in your head?”

He blinks once.

“Is that the only place you feel
pain?”

He blinks twice.

“Is the other place your throat?”

One blink.

“Any other places?”

Two blinks.

“Okay. I’m going to leave now to
get you something for the pain, but I’ll be back. Zoë will be with you.”

With his rapidly blinking eyes, he
looks at me. As they threaten to close, he fights to keep looking on.

“It’s okay, babe. Close your eyes.
Rest.”

He drifts.

The next day, his communication is
intermittent. Doctors tell me that this is not unusual. Hopefully, as time goes
by, they will become more frequent.

By the end of our first week,
despite all Morgan’s strides, there is still no speech. As tempted as I am to
talk to him about all that has gone on, I am aware that mentally he might be
very fragile. Causing him stress is the last thing I want.

He stays awake for as long as an hour
now. During these times, I talk to him about our future—what it will be like
when we see our friends, family and Abby and how great it will be to see
Peaches and Pixie when we return.

One day, at the beginning of our
second week at the hospital, Morgan seems more alert than usual. No speech, but
he’s been up for almost two hours.

“Why don’t I give you a bath?” I
say, pulling towels and supplies together. He stares on the way he usually does
but says nothing.

While working on the upper part of
his body, I notice he’s focusing on my every move.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

He blinks once.

“Are you in pain?”

He blinks twice. I suppose his
faculties are just improving, hence the reason he seems so alert.

When I get to his lower half, I
smile at him and say, “It’s amazing how you’ve lost so much weight, but you’ve
managed to maintain the size of your…
equipment…
”

For a brief second, I see a spark
in his eyes.

“You understand every word I’m
saying, don’t you?”

He closes his eyes. For the first
time in weeks, I laugh out loud.

“In the last few weeks, you’ve been
the only one who could make me laugh, Morgan Drake.”

He stares at me. Ever so slowly,
the charming smile I fell in love with transforms his face.

“I love you, babe,” I whisper.

He blinks three times. That’s
different. Then it occurs to me, “Does three blinks mean you love me, too?”

He blinks once. In a short space of
time, my husband, who has no voice, makes my day. He understands, he’s aware,
he’s communicating and that’s huge. I continue with his bath and when he stands
tall before me, I stop, probably because it’s unexpected, probably because it’s
nice to see. For a moment, I stand still, not quite sure what to say or do.

“Well, you still seem to be
thriving and well, by the look of things in that department.”

He looks at me with a huge smile,
and that is the moment when Morgan Drake starts making big strides in his
recovery.

The news when Dr. Edwards sees him
a few days later is the best I’ve heard in weeks. Sitting at his side, I listen
to her as she explains to Morgan, how she is going to start the process of
weaning him off the ventilator. While she speaks, he holds my hand and all the
worries I’ve had for the last few weeks seem to slowly dissipate.

Over the next few days, under the
close supervision of the doctors, Morgan is taken off the ventilator. By day
six from the day the process began, he is able to breathe completely on his
own.

Agent Peters has been visiting me
daily, but I am completely unaware of what’s going on at home. Frankly, right
now, I don’t care. My only focus is my husband.

That said, I am exhausted after I
spent the last six days afraid to sleep. I wanted to ensure Morgan was okay
while trying to breathe on his own. I curl up on the sofa and drift to sleep.

“Zoë…”

My eyes are closed, but slowly waking out of my sleep, I
hear the soft call. I open my eyes.

My husband gazes at me.

I walk to his bed. “Was I dreaming,
or did I just hear you call my name?”

He smiles and responds, “Hey,
baby…”

Today is the
happiest day of my life. From here on
and for the next week, it is hard work. With physical therapy, it takes about a
week for Morgan to walk on his own again. He is mostly back to normal, but he
has a lot less patience than he had before.

The doctors tell me that those are
side effects from the coma and with some therapy and treatment, over time it
can be managed and possibly go away. It’s shocking, but they believe he can
return to a normal life. The physical scars on his body will always be a
reminder of what happened a little over five weeks ago.

He will be released in a few days,
although I’m not sure to whose custody. I’ve intentionally blanked out all the
drama from at home since we got here. It was my only way to cope with all that
was going on around me.

For now, I’m exhausted. I fall
asleep.

I look over
at the couch and see a sleeping Zoë—my
relentless, ever-supportive wife. Over the last few weeks, it was difficult not
being able to respond to her kind, supportive words, but I know it was hard for
her. No one will ever fully understand what she’s been through. She’s had to go
through this alone. And although the battle I have ahead of me continues, I
know it’s time I start supporting her the way she’s been supporting me.

She twists and wakes. For minutes, she
stares out at the view, unaware that I’m looking at her.

“Baby.”

“Hey. How are you?” she asks,
quickly stepping to my bedside.

“I’m fine. I think it’s time you
and I have this talk you’ve been avoiding.”

She smiles hesitantly. “Can’t we
wait until we leave here?”

“You’ve protected me long enough. I
can handle it. It’s been almost six weeks. I know this wasn’t easy for you.”

“I don’t have any answers right
now. I’m told that the FBI will be here any day now to talk to us.”

“I’m sorry about those doctors and
what they said to you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know, baby. I heard every
conversation that went on in that room. I heard every time you spoke to me, and
I could hear when everyone else but you thought I couldn’t.”

“So you heard my outburst over the
life support?”

I nod and hold her hand. “Thank
you, Zoë. Thank you for believing in me and never giving up.”

She’s gotten so used to putting up
a brave front for me. Her eyes are filled with turmoil but looking on, she
gently smiles.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I know, and I love you so much for
that. But I also know how difficult it’s been for you. I can only imagine what
it’s been like having no support the last few weeks. You stuck it out here with
me, alone, with no one to talk to.”

“That’s not true. I had you.” She smiles.

“You know exactly what I’m talking
about. You’re thin. You’ve taken care of me. Now it’s time to let me take care
of you.”

She chuckles. “Who’s the one in the
hospital bed?”

“I’m fine. I may be a little more
tired than usual, but I’ll be okay. Come on, baby. Talk to me.”

She looks at me seriously. She
stares on silently.

“Baby, please. You don’t need to
protect me anymore.”

“It was scary,” she whispers. “I
thought I was going to lose you. And if you ever managed to survive, I was
afraid you might not remember who I was. If we weren’t taken into protective
custody, I was afraid I’d be forced to give you up. And they’d take you and
your heart away from me.”

I hold her trembling hands then
move aside. I pull her into the bed so she’s lying beside me. “I love you,
baby.”

“I love you, too,” she responds.
And suddenly, holding on to me tightly, she finally breaks down and weeps in my
arms. It’s almost like all the feelings she suppressed the last few months, all
the emotions, the ups the downs, the fears and the scares come together.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s over now. I’m
fine, and we’re going to be okay. When I thought about everyone you lost, I
fought to stay alive because of you. I wanted to be there for you. I promised
you I’d always be there, and I don’t ever want to break that promise.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. More than you’ll
ever know.”

After Zoë drifts to sleep in my
arms, I call the nurse and ask her to call Agent Peters so I can find out where
we go from here. The battle with my health is partially over, but we still don’t
know what lies ahead. If there is one thing I know, I can’t wait for this to
end.

A few hours later, Zoë and I are
playing cards when there’s a knock on the door. Two men walk in. Agent Peters,
I know. The other I assume is the Phillip Cross that Zoë has mentioned so
often.

“Doctor Drake, it’s nice to finally
meet you and see you awake. I wish it was under more pleasant circumstances.”

“Me, too. Thank you for all your
hard work, and for looking out for Zoë. Where do things stand?”

“It’s a good thing we got you out
of San Francisco when we did. Doctor Davidson was pushing to pull the plug on
you because he was part of this mess.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Zoë says
sarcastically.

“When this all started, I don’t
think you two could have had any clue what you were about to uncover. This case
had so many facets, many of which, even to me, were shocking. Your
colleague—Doctor Grant King was part owner at Mount Sierra. They’d administer hydrofluoric
acid to patients through a nebulizer then perform emergency tracheotomies that
would cost between sixty and a hundred and fifty grand, each. He worked with a
team of seven other doctors at Mount Sierra and two teams at other hospitals in
Oakland. Thirty-four doctors were involved.”

“Are you telling me that other
doctors were aware of this?” I ask.

“Yes. Not only were they aware,
they were the ones who would perform the procedures. Each of them raked in
anywhere between twenty and sixty grand every time they did one. Three
hospitals participated in this over the last year. They performed two hundred
and four emergency tracheotomies. Forty-one patients died, including your
brother, Zoë. I’m sorry.”

“What about Doctor Francis and
Doctor Roberts?”

“Doctor Francis is Doctor King’s
son from a previous relationship. Camera evidence shows him going into your
brother’s room. After Doctor Drake left and before Megan Kole was called in, he
was the only person to go into that room.”

“That’s why they didn’t call me.
They induced Zach’s condition. They planned this,” I sigh.

“Yes, only I’m not so sure Doctor
Francis wanted Zach to live.”

“What?” Zoë says softly.

“Doctor Francis was seeing Megan
Kole for a short time before Zach. She ended things, but he wanted to get back
together. Megan told us up to a few days before her engagement to your brother
he tried to get her to change her mind. She told him there was no chance that
that would ever happen because she was in love with your brother. She said she
even went as far as telling him she’d met the man she was going to spend the
rest of her life with.

She told me the Friday before the
surgery, she and Zach were at a club. She ran into Doctor Francis there, and he
saw Zach so he knew what he looked like. It’s unfortunate that Zach ended up at
the very hospital he worked, but it appears that your brother was murdered.
Doctor Francis gave him double the dose that he gave all the other patients.
Megan even told us that after Zach’s death, he tried contacting her again, but
she never returned any of his calls. It looks like Zach’s death was what we
call a crime of opportunity. Zach happened to be in the wrong place at the
wrong time.”

“I can’t believe this,” Zoë
murmurs. As we continue to listen, I hold her as her silent tears fall.

“Other patients died prior to Catherine
Modene. Doctor Roberts was the one who oversaw the other doctors who performed
the surgeries. Doctor Francis was the one who poisoned and picked the patients.
They selected patients who were in for some serious issue and who weren’t
necessarily conscious so that they could do their misdeeds unchecked.”

“How did Deandre get caught up in
all this?”

“After Zoë approached the hospital,
and you found out about the substance, apparently Doctor Singh spoke to Doctor
Roberts about it, unaware of his involvement. A note with the D.A.’s name and
address in Deandre’s handwriting was found in Doctor Robert’s office. We have
him on camera going into Deandre’s lab late one night. It looks like he might
have gotten suspicious, poked around and found out he was going to turn over
these samples to the D.A.

In Doctor King’s account there are
several large cash withdrawals, including one on the day that Deandre and his
brother went missing. And he insinuated that he was responsible for their
deaths during the sting operation. Camera evidence also shows Doctor Roberts
going into Deandre’s lab and leaving with some things in a Styrofoam box. We
suspect those were additional samples he had prepared. Doctor Jackson’s assistant
told us some samples had gone missing the very day he died.”

“So Grant King was behind all of
this?” Morgan asks.

“He’s the one at the top—yes.”

“I can’t believe it. He seemed like
a kosher guy. He told me he wanted to come and give his support on the next
trip we had planned. How does Robin fit into all this?”

“Your sister was having an affair
with Grant King.”

“What?” I exclaim.

“Zoë hasn’t told you?”

“No,” she answers, looking at me.
“I haven’t discussed anything about the case with him.”

“Not even the sting operation?”

She shakes her head.

“What sting operation?” I ask. “You
put your life in danger for me? You were part of this?”

“Do you want to tell him or should
I?” Phillip asks Zoë.

“You can tell him,” she responds
softly.

“The only reason we have so much
information is because your wife wore cameras and mikes and approached your
sister. Robin gave Zoë the pieces to the puzzle that were missing. She
confirmed that it was the missing file that started this. They thought Zoë
stole it. What we weren’t expecting was Robin’s lover to show up while Zoë was
there.”

“Where did all of this go down?” I
ask.

“At Robin’s house,” Zoë replies.
“José was in L.A. with the twins. Grant was the same man I saw at the
restaurant the night those men came after us on the boat.”

“We also have him on audio and
video alluding to the fact that the thugs he hired could not—and I quote—’
do
the job properly.’
”

“So my sister was aware of all of
this?”

“It appears so. It doesn’t look
like she was initially aware of the plan to get rid of Zoë. At some point, she
had to have known enough to put the pieces together, yet she said nothing. That
makes her an accessory. For more than one reason, she was trying to protect
Grant when Zoë asked her who was behind it. Not only was he heading this, but
his son committed murder.”

“Oh God.”

“She was the one who brought the
false documentation to Doctor Roberts’s office, and she knew it was to cover up
what Doctor Francis did.”

“Did she admit to any of this?”

Phillip nods, “She came clean in
exchange for a lighter sentence. It’s because of her we found out exactly what
happened to Zach. And because of her, we found out this was going on at two
other hospitals.”

“I can’t believe this. This must be
some mistake.”

“I wish it were.”

“She’ll lose everything—José, her
kids, her medical license. I could never forgive her for this.”

“Because of her, we were able to
arrest Doctor Francis. He thought they were meeting privately to discuss the
police and the FBI raid. We were there, waiting for him.”

“Zoë, I’m so sorry.”

Zoë holds my hand. “It’s not your
fault. You didn’t know.”

I’m furious—beyond furious. Her
selfishness almost cost me Abby, Zoë and my life.

“So Todd Hughes never had anything
to do with all this?” I ask.

“No. He happened to be at the wrong
place at the wrong time
or
right time. Due to a partial description of a
vehicle he gave that was parked on the main road, we were able to arrest two
men. They were able to identify Doctor Roberts from a picture and Doctor
Francis in a line up as the ones who paid them to torch Zoë’s office and
house.”

“Did you ever find out the identity
of the men on the jet skis?” Zoë asks.

“Doctor Drake, we think you might
have shot one of them and he died. Not because of the gunshot wound, but due to
hypothermia. A partially decomposed body washed up on shore after New Year’s,
fitting the physical description you gave to the police. His face was gone. The
fish had already helped themselves.

He had a bullet wound to the
shoulder. We assume making it to shore would have been more difficult under
those conditions. We retrieved the bullet from the body. Once you return to
California, we can run a ballistics tests and confirm that the bullet came from
your gun.