Fic - Seven Minutes (3/?) (Rizzoli & Isles)

[cj2017]

Title: Seven Minutes (3/?)

Author: cj2017 

Fandom: Rizzoli & Isles

Rating: PG-13

Category: Hurt/comfort. Ep cont. for When The Gun Goes… So big ol’ spoilers for anyone who’s not seen the finale.

Word Count: This part 3,800

Notes: Many thanks to everyone who’s taken the time to leave feedback – it’s always appreciated. Apologies for a slow update. If it’s any consolation, this section is a little longer than the previous two. Huge thanks, as ever, to Cat (feroxargentea ) my long-suffering beta. My lovely American beta (the one who takes out all my unwitting Britishisms!) isn’t in this fandom, so feel free to shout out any glaring errors and I’ll get them changed. Feedback always welcome.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Please don’t sue.

 

 

~ ~ ~

Seven Minutes (3/?)

~ ~ ~

 

               When Maura was ten, her father had taken it upon himself to fix Christmas lights to their snow-covered roof. One false step and he had fallen, his skull shattering against the icy ground. He had spent a week in an ITU, where Maura had been allowed one short visit. Sitting at his bedside, she had stared and stared at his eyes, too swollen to open, and at the ugly tube protruding from his mouth. He hadn’t moved or spoken or in any way acknowledged her presence. Despite her mother’s obvious disappointment, she had refused to hold his hand – there had been nothing recognizable of her father in that bed.

               More than twenty years later, the otherworldly atmosphere she remembered from that ITU hadn’t altered. The lights were still muted, the voices still hushed. Technology, however, had advanced, and Maura walked past cubicles where the patients seemed more machine than human. They slept or with drugged, expressionless eyes they watched her walk by, as the miracle of modern medicine either restored them to health or, when every avenue had finally been exhausted, kept them in comfortable oblivion until it was all over. Relatives sat in bleary-eyed vigil waiting to learn which way the coin-toss would fall.

With so little opportunity for relatives to speak to loved ones, the background noise was dominated by the recurrent sounding of alarms: a rise in a pulse rate, a fall in an arterial pressure, a syringe-driver malfunctioning or a tube dislodged. The doctor in Maura drew comfort from the hair-trigger sensitivity of the machines and the unhurried efficiency of the medical staff. The patients were nursed on a one-to-one basis, the surgeons and specialists always close at hand.

“Okay then,” the surgeon said quietly, pausing with his palm flat against the cubicle door. “It looks pretty bad. It is pretty bad, but the fact that she’s made it this far…” He shook his head. “Something tells me she’s quite stubborn.”

 Maura laughed, the sound faintly despairing. “You have no idea.”

He held the door open for her and then surprised her by stepping back.

“I have some notes to write up. If you need me, I’ll be at the desk.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes were already straying beyond him, but she was sincerely grateful for his tact. The door closed with a muffled click as he walked away.

For a second, Maura didn’t move. The soft tread of the surgeon’s footsteps faded, and she stood frozen to the spot. Her passage through the ITU had prepared her for the machines and the tubes and the intermittent hiss of the ventilator. What it hadn’t prepared her for was the sight of Jane Rizzoli lying so utterly still. Despite Jane’s protestations and her more recent attempts to blame Jo-Friday, Maura knew from first-hand experience how violently Jane slept. Her fists would lash out, her legs kicking indiscriminately and her teeth grinding against each other. The horrors she encountered in the daylight regularly chased her into the night, and during a bad case she would often turn up to work looking worse than if she hadn’t managed any sleep at all. She appeared to be sleeping peacefully now, but Maura knew that was solely due to anesthesia and strong narcotics. Stepping closer, the illusion was shattered even further by the pallor of her face and the regular breaths that were completely reliant on the ventilator. The rise and fall of her chest was slightly uneven as the vent fed shallower breaths to her right side, a testament to the injury she had suffered and the lengths the medics were going to in order to allow her to heal.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Maura kissed her forehead gently. Terms of endearment had never come easily to Maura. Her family had always frowned upon overt displays of affection or emotion, but that reserved part of her character was something else Jane had steadily been chipping away at. For reasons Maura had never quite managed to fathom, she was perfectly comfortable with Jane’s tactile nature and devil-may-care attitude to personal space.

Having pulled one of the chairs closer to the bedside, Maura sank into it and took careful hold of the fingers of Jane’s right hand. They were one of the few parts of her body that seemed safe for Maura to touch. There were lines and tubes everywhere: an arterial line, a central line, and a number of peripheral IV lines. Some dripped fluid or blood, others registered the changes those fluids were making to Jane’s vitals. A surgical drain hung low on the bedrail alongside a chest tube and a catheter, their contents all deeply stained with blood.

With a shudder, Maura tried not to dwell on the fact that she recognized the various pieces of equipment solely because of the evidence they left behind on corpses. Those people whom the ITU could not save would occasionally come to her for autopsy. On her preliminary examination, she would record the fresh scars and livid contusions which told of the extraordinary but ultimately futile measures that had been made in an effort to preserve life. Nausea made cold sweat break out on her forehead, and she closed her eyes against the unbidden and terrible image of Jane’s corpse laid bare on her slab.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” she whispered fervently. “I can forgive you all this,” her voice broke, tears hot on her cheeks, “but don’t you dare die.”

~ ~ ~

               “Frankie’s okay. Apparently your mother already brought him soup.” Maura heard a chuckle from the nurse who was recording Jane’s vitals on a vast chart, but there was no reaction from Jane. That didn’t surprise or deter her, and she continued her monolog. “Korsak and Frost are behaving themselves. Frost was called back to give a statement but he won’t be gone for long. Marissa is feeding Jo, just while I’m here. I thought I’d keep you company tonight.” It was actually already very early in the morning, but for once Maura decided not to trouble herself with semantics. She rubbed her eyes, trying to rid them of the grittiness that was making them sting so badly.

               “You should get some sleep yourself.” The nurse had looked up, her pen tapping against the chart. “I heard what happened. It was on the news.”

               “Oh.” Maura hadn’t even thought of that. Hidden away in the hospital, it had been easy for her to forget that the day’s events would have been a major news story.

               “Way they told it, you both had a pretty rough day.”

               Maura stroked her thumb across the back of Jane’s fingers. “We did.”

               “Can I get you anything?”

               “I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

               The nurse nodded, her hand resting briefly on Maura’s arm before she dimmed the overhead light and left the cubicle.

               Numbers: blue, red, and green, their figures constantly changing but only ever so slightly, cast a soft glow across the sheets.

               “They’re letting you sleep for a little longer, Jane.” Maura watched the numbers flicker hypnotically: 96/60, 114, 97%, 12. The last one never altered; it was the number of breaths per minute the vent was set to. She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “It’s only because the nurses are too busy to keep chasing you back into bed,” she added with a smile. Her eyes felt so heavy, and she closed them, telling herself that she would just rest for a couple of minutes.

               The nurse returned with coffee and a sandwich, took one look at Maura, and put the snack down on the bedside table. After draping a blanket over Maura, she set about administering the drugs that her patient was due. An IV pump alarmed as a tube became kinked, and the nurse swore beneath her breath, correcting the problem within seconds but not before Maura had jerked awake.

               “Jane?” She looked around, momentarily disoriented, before her gaze settled on the nurse. “Oh.”

               “Sorry, she’s fine. Damn thing just got a bit twisted. You go back to sleep, hon.”

               “No, I can’t. I just…” Maura shook her head. “Was I asleep?” Her fingers toyed with the edge of the blanket; she had no idea where it had come from. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

               “You don’t sleep and you’ll be no good to her when she wakes up,” the nurse said reasonably. “She’s gonna be too weak to scratch her own nose when they bring her ’round.” She spoke with the absolute certainty of someone who had worked the unit for years, and Maura was sensible enough to take her advice.

               “You’ll wake me if anything happens?”

               “Of course I will.”

               Leaning her head back, Maura listened to the steady whoosh and hiss of the ventilator. Fifteen seconds passed – three breaths. She never heard the fourth.

~ ~ ~

               Angela Rizzoli was crying. Her eyes were already red-rimmed and swollen, and she was walking the width of the ITU cubicle like a tiger pacing a cage.

               “I don’t understand,” she said again, her voice plaintive. “Was she trying to kill herself? She had no reason to do that.”

               Maura sipped the coffee Frank had handed her. He shrugged when she looked at him for help. This conversation had obviously been on a loop for some time now.

               “She wasn’t trying to kill herself.” There was no trace of doubt in Maura’s voice. “She was trying to get help to Frankie. She knew he was in trouble.”

               “They were already in there!” Angela spun around, gazed at her daughter, and sniffled. “They were already in there.” The sniffles turned into sobs.

               “She didn’t know that, Ange.” Frank stood up and ushered her into a chair.

               She turned to Maura. “We had to tell Frankie. He wanted to know why she hadn’t been to see him. He’s breaking his heart.”

               “He’s a strong boy, Ange.”

               She switched around to face her husband, dabbing her face with a damp Kleenex. “His heart is broken,” she insisted.

               “He’s strong,” Frank said again, more quietly this time, almost to himself. He reached out and gripped his daughter’s hand. “He’s strong like his sister.”

~ ~ ~

               “She won’t remember this,” the anesthetist explained kindly. “She’ll only just be out of the anesthesia.”

               Maura nodded, her heart pounding with fear. The Rizzolis had left over an hour ago, to sleep and shower and pick up things Frankie would need. Had they still been here, she was certain they would all have been asked to leave the cubicle, but the doctor and the anesthetist were used to her presence, and they hadn’t even suggested that she might be better waiting outside.

The cubicle was crowded with medical staff, the chairs pushed aside to make room for a crash cart. Maura stood by the wall and watched as the syringe driver with the milky fluid running through it was turned off. For the first few seconds, nothing happened. After thirty seconds, Jane tried to swallow. The attempt failed miserably, and – subconsciously holding her own breath – Maura watched as Jane began to fight the vent.

“Good girl. Jane, open your eyes for me.” The anesthetist flipped a switch, and the vent sighed once and quieted. He disconnected it from the tube in Jane’s throat and then used a syringe to draw air from the cuff that kept the tube in place. “Okay, breathe in as deeply as you can.”

Jane tried, blinking in confusion but following the instructions regardless. The tube came out in a rush of blood-speckled saliva, and she coughed and gagged as a nurse suctioned the worst of it away.

“Deep breaths. I know that hurts, but try.”

Jane shook her head, her chest burning as she sucked air in. She could hear multiple voices, none of them familiar and all of them speaking in terms far too technical for her addled brain to process. She figured out that 92% wasn’t a good score because someone put the oxygen mask that she hated back onto her. She would have sworn at them if her throat hadn’t felt like it was lined with sandpaper. The oxygen in the mask surprised her by being warm and humidified, and she decided to say thank-you by obliging the voices and taking a couple of deeper breaths.

“Ninety-five percent. Better.”

She smiled fuzzily, and then heard someone mention physical therapy and coughing, which made the words “fuck” and “off” dance across the tip of her tongue. She was opening her mouth to try an experiment with speech, when small, familiar fingers closed around hers.

“Don’t swear at the doctors, Jane.” A smile played around the edges of Maura’s lips, brightening her face just about enough to mask the exhaustion in her eyes. “They’re the ones deciding how much morphine to give you.”

Jane licked her lips but then shook her head in frustration, too doped-up to reply.

“Go back to sleep,” she heard Maura say. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” The drugs weren’t giving her too much of a choice. Reassured that Maura was sticking around to watch her back, she let them pull her back under.

~ ~ ~

               Maura’s second set of scrubs were pale blue and slightly frayed around the edges as if they had been through an industrial wash a few times too many. She didn’t care. They were comfortable, they stretched when she sat with her legs curled up beneath her, and they were cool in the stifling warmth of the ITU.

               “And to think I once complained about working in a wrinkled dress,” she said lightly. Jane didn’t stir but her heart rate increased slightly, as it had done on a couple of occasions when Maura had spoken to her. According to the surgeon, she was holding her own, a phrase Maura had always previously disliked for its vagueness but which made perfect sense to her now. Jane was breathing for herself, she was responding to the medication, and so far showing no signs of infection. Earlier, Korsak had drawn the same conclusion when Maura had spoken to him on the phone.

               “So, she’s holding her own,” he had said, before turning to broadcast his news to anyone and everyone within earshot. Realizing he was at the station, Maura had smiled at the faint sound of cheering in the background.

               Outside the cubicle, Maura could hear voices and low laughter as the nurses changed over shifts. Without looking at her watch, she knew it was 9 pm. That was how time was tracked in the windowless cubicle: shift changeovers, medication rounds, doctors’ rounds and the occasional reminders from staff that she really did need to eat something. Within the next five minutes, the nurse on the night shift would be in to check on her patient. Reopening her medical journal, Maura found the piece entitled Liver trauma: Operative and Non-operative Management and continued to read.

~ ~ ~

               There were white ceiling tiles. For a long moment, Jane squinted, trying to focus and then trying to work out exactly why the hell she was waking up to nasty white institutional ceiling tiles. The answer, when it came, was anything but subtle, as an ill-advised attempt to move set a red-hot pain tearing through her abdomen and several alarms sounded simultaneously.

               “Shit.” She panted for air, her body rigid. The pain gradually began to fade, sinking beneath a layer of drugs to leave only a residual ache as a warning not to do anything besides lying still and behaving herself.

               “Jane?” Maura’s voice sounded hazy with sleep.

Jane carefully turned her head towards it. “Hey.” The word was barely recognizable as speech, and she rolled her eyes before trying again. “Hey.”

               “Hey.” Maura came to stand beside the bed. She was smiling, but her expression was wary, as if this had happened a few times already and she was reluctant to allow herself to be too optimistic.

               “I think I annoyed something,” Jane mumbled, her fingers waving vaguely towards one of the monitors, which subsequently began to sound a second, slightly higher tone. She managed a look that fell part-way between sheepish and amused.

               Maura’s smile broadened. “Yes, you did.” The cacophony was slowly dying down. “Do you know where you are?”

               Jane raised an eyebrow. “Not Kansas.” She swallowed and winced. “Hospital.” Her eyes widened as fragmented memories began to coalesce. “Frankie?”

               “He’s fine,” Maura said quickly. “He’s been moved to a regular room.”

               “They tell him?”

               Maura nodded with obvious reluctance. “He was wondering why you’d not been to visit.”

               “Damn.”

               “He’s doing well.” She turned slightly and something clinked beyond Jane’s line of vision. “Here.”

               The plastic spoon touched Jane’s lips and she closed her eyes with relief as the ice chips soothed away the awful grating sensation in her throat. She wasn’t groggy enough not to recognize it as a distraction, but it felt so good that she really didn’t mind.

               “What was the damage?” Another spoonful of melt-water slowly trickled down her throat as she watched Maura attempt to form a reply. The line in her neck tugged aggravatingly when she swallowed, something in her side pulled every time she breathed, and the simple act of keeping her eyes open for five minutes had exhausted her. She had really screwed up this time; what she needed to know was exactly how badly. “Maur, please?”

               Maura set the cup and spoon down. “Okay.” She ran a hand through her hair, unsure where to start. The expression on Jane’s face told her just to start with the worst of it. “The bullet hit your liver, shattered three ribs, collapsed your lung, and caused massive bruising to your right kidney.” Her hand trembled as she indicated on her own body the track the bullet had taken. “You lost so much blood…” Her voice fell away and she shook her head. “You could’ve killed yourself.”

               “I know.”

               “Don’t ever do that again, will you?” Maura tried to smile but it came out all wrong, and she wiped her eyes dry with the back of her hand.

               Not trusting herself to speak, Jane shook her head vehemently. The tubing in her neck pulled and stung fiercely, and an alarm squeaked in protest. She didn’t care.

~ ~ ~

               “Good to see you awake, Detective.” The tall man in the scrubs smiled at Jane and then nodded at Maura as he ran a finger down a column of numbers pointed out to him by the nurse.

Watching him intently, Jane struggled to place his face. She vaguely recognized him, but a pounding headache was making it difficult for her to concentrate. She had initially blamed the headache on a visit from her mother that afternoon, but now, three hours later, she wasn’t so sure.

Noting her confusion, the surgeon took pity on her. “Doctor Gardner. I’m the one who patched you up.” When she offered him her hand, he shook it carefully.

“I owe you a beer, then. Soon as I get out of here.” She was trying to sit herself up in the bed, but the muscles in her arms felt like lead weights and she sagged back against the pillows to catch her breath. Undeterred, she arched an eyebrow at Gardner. “So, when do I get out of here?”

The I told you so look that Maura gave him was unmistakable. Jane narrowed her eyes at her friend as Maura shook her head hopelessly.

Determined to prove that she really was feeling better, Jane dug her heels into the bed, fully intent on pushing herself upright. She froze when pain suddenly bit into her torso. Drawing her legs up, she felt sweat break out on her forehead. “I’m gonna be sick.”

Maura was the first to react, stepping forward with a plastic bowl and holding it unflinchingly for her as she retched. There was barely anything to come up, and Jane shook her head in distress as the effort made the pain intensify.

“Oh God.” Maura cast a frantic look across to Gardner, who calmly adjusted a setting on the morphine pump before injecting a clear drug into one of the IVs.

“This will help with the nausea,” he said, “and that morphine should take about a minute to kick in, Jane.”

 “Okay.” The word came out in a gasp. “Shit.” She looked up at Maura. “I don’t feel so good.” For a second she looked terrified, but she closed her eyes involuntarily as the drugs began to work.

Having set the bowl aside, Maura wiped Jane’s face clean, and then turned towards Gardner.

“She’s running a fever,” he said without preamble.

“I know.” He had only confirmed what Maura had already suspected; she could feel the heat of Jane’s skin beneath her hand. According to the monitor, Jane’s heart and respiration rate had both gradually accelerated over the past hour. Maura had noticed but remained silent when the nurse had quietly paged for assistance.

Working alongside the nurse, Gardner began adding medication to fresh IV bags before piggy-backing them onto already-established lines.

“We’ll give her a broad-spectrum antibiotic and IV acetaminophen to try and control her fever.” He signed an order for more medication and asked the nurse for blood cultures and wound swabs. “It’s possibly a transfusion reaction, but it’s more likely to be an infection. When we know what we’re dealing with, we can try to be more specific with the antibiotics.”

“How long will that take?” The clock on the wall told Maura it was 8.35, but for a disorienting moment she couldn’t work out whether it was evening or morning.

“It’ll take around four hours for the cultures to come back.”

“What can I do?” There was only practicality behind her question, and the surgeon’s expression softened.

“Try and keep her cool and quiet. Get her to drink a little if she’s able.” He increased the flow rate of an IV. “We’ll see how she responds to these. Her fever’s only mild at the moment, so hopefully we caught it in time.”

Maura nodded distractedly, her eyes fixed on the clear liquid dripping from the small bag of antibiotics. The door closed as the surgeon left the cubicle. Maura barely even blinked.

 

~ ~ ~

End part three

~ ~ ~

 

Comments

[iocaste-gr.livejournal.com]

God I love this story and all its details and medical terms I don't understand. Let's hope Jane gets better for the sake of the hospital's doctors and nurses! She'll probably drive them crazy. Also, Maura needs a big hug for being so caring. Thanks for the update ;)

[laurel-hardy.livejournal.com]

This one resonated for me, having watched parents hospitalized towards the ends of their lives, plus a couple of stints myself. I remember coming out of a medically induced coma (in the twilight of transition I convinced myself I was hanging out in a stylish bar) and I remember getting the tubing for the respirator removed (my first attempt at speech sounded like something from a horror movie). It was odd being diagnosed with juvenile diabetes when in my late 30s, but less painful than Jane's situation (other than the hospital bed-in time I longed for a back rub and my own mattress). But being in the States I was being cared for in an ICU, or an Intensive Care Unit, which is pretty standard terminology here. ITU? T for Trauma? And after Jane gets some of her IVs removed, you may be tempted to have them put a plaster on the insertion site, but that will confuse the Americans, who'll think you've put her in an old fashioned cast for broken bones and wonder why. We generically refer to them as band aids. Only those of us of a certain age will think of Bob Geldof's similarly named charity effort.

[xanjames.livejournal.com]

I frickin' love this series. All the details combine to create this picture of the excruciatingly slow process of recovery--enough recovery so that Jane and Maura can discuss things. Which to my mind could go anywhere from deep friendship to...something else. Excellent work, thanks.

[goose197.livejournal.com]

Really good. Can't wait to see what happens next.

[anthro06.livejournal.com]

I just want to wrap Maura up and hug her, Lord knows she needs it! I am so wrapped up in this story, in my mind I can actually smell that ICU smell. You know the one....that anticeptic, astringent, sickness smell? God how I hate it.

I particularly loved this part:

“Hey, sweetheart.” Maura kissed her forehead gently. Terms of endearment had never come easily to Maura. Her family had always frowned upon overt displays of affection or emotion, but that reserved part of her character was something else Jane had steadily been chipping away at. For reasons Maura had never quite managed to fathom, she was perfectly comfortable with Jane’s tactile nature and devil-may-care attitude to personal space.

And this just tore my heart out....again. Damn you. =]

“Don’t you dare die on me,” she whispered fervently. “I can forgive you all this,” her voice broke, tears hot on her cheeks, “but don’t you dare die.”

Can't wait for the next installment!

[ml-spikie.livejournal.com]

Very well written and good to see an update to this story. I'm looking forward to more.

[mochalover13.livejournal.com]

I just discovered this fic and I'm so glad I did! Your writing is perfect -- all the attention to detail, and your descriptions are spot on. I also have spent too much time in ICU with ailing parents, and there's nothing like being in that zone -- you lose track of space and time, where all sound is swallowed by beeps and whooshes, and eternity is held in the spikes and valleys of vital signs.
You write with such ease and authority on the subject, I'm assuming you're "in the business." Thank you for gracing us with your writing! I can't wait to read more!

[insanityonline1.livejournal.com]

You wrote so well about Maura's feelings throughout all this and I loved her talking to Jane.

Great part and I look forward to more :)

[cj2017.livejournal.com]

Maura always needs a big hug. That's why Jane's so perfect for her ;-)

Thanks for letting me know you're enjoying the fic!

[just-liv.livejournal.com]

This fic is so good! I'm in love with it!!
Can't wait for the next chapter!!

[cj2017.livejournal.com]

I think anyone who's ever sat next to someone or even just walked through an ITU(ICU!) will always remember that atmosphere. Thank goodness, I've never been unfortunate enough to be a patient in one but I've transferred countless patients between units and they really are a different space in time.

But being in the States I was being cared for in an ICU, or an Intensive Care Unit, which is pretty standard terminology here. ITU? T for Trauma?

Aha! Thank you! I've gone in and re-edited :-) They're mostly ITUs over here - Intensive Therapy Units. I was reading a novel by an ex-doctor once, who claimed they took the 'C' out of Intensive Care Unit because they realised nobody did. He was quite a bitter ex-doctor!

I hope I'm not too bad with the medical US/UK terminology. I've beaten Sarah Connor up so many times, it's second nature now for me to use Acetaminophen or Advil (paracetamol and ibuprofen over here) in fics :-) LOL to plaster/band aid confusion, I will try and remember that.

Thanks for reading and the lovely (and very helpful) feedback!

[cj2017.livejournal.com]

I frickin' love this series. All the details combine to create this picture of the excruciatingly slow process of recovery--enough recovery so that Jane and Maura can discuss things.

Thank you. I'm pretty certain the show won't have the time to devote to a realistic amount of recovery, but it has given us a long enough hiatus that we can take our time filling the gaps in while we wait for new episodes. And it's November already, so only another 7 months or so to wait *grits teeth*

[cj2017.livejournal.com]

Cheers for reading!

[cj2017.livejournal.com]

Okay that's two votes for a Maura hug... soon as Jane's back on her feet ;-)

I can actually smell that ICU smell. You know the one....that anticeptic, astringent, sickness smell? God how I hate it.

I know the one. Not helped by the fact that they're always so damn warm. They're really not places you want to stick around in for long.

And this just tore my heart out....again. Damn you. =]

Heh. Sorry about that ;-)

[cj2017.livejournal.com]

Thank you both for taking the time to write and comment, it's always appreciated!

I also have spent too much time in ICU with ailing parents, and there's nothing like being in that zone -- you lose track of space and time, where all sound is swallowed by beeps and whooshes, and eternity is held in the spikes and valleys of vital signs.

And no one really explains what any of the damn numbers are, or why that beep is going off quite so persistently. I don't work in an ICU, but I'm a paramedic so I've spent hours standing in them waiting for patients to be untangled enough for me to transfer them to a different unit. Standing and waiting gives me plenty of time to look around (over here, the units tend to be open-plan) and I guess that's given me plenty of accidental research for this fic!

[cj2017.livejournal.com]

Thanks to you both. I'm very glad you're sticking around and enjoying it. The feedback is always appreciated.

[sunsetwriter.livejournal.com]

Fantastic update! This is so detailed and realistic that I feel like I'm watching it rather than reading it. I'm really looking forward to how Maura is going to handle Jane when she's feeling just well enough to get herself in trouble... ;-) Thanks for filling the off-season with such a great story.

[mochalover13.livejournal.com]

Ah yes, a paramedic! That explains your expertise! But it's just the right tone -- not too much, but enough to make this extremely believable. THIS is the first couple of episodes I want to see for season 2!

I was fortunate enough that my biology major (pre-med) had braced me for much of the "goings on" in ICU. Plus: I never shy away from asking questions and demanding answers (in a respectful manner). Most health care providers appreciate the fact that I use proper terminology and don't faint at the sight of blood -- my own or anyone else's. It served me well during the 2 weeks prior to my father's death: while he was in a medically induced coma, I would hold his hand and speak to him in low soft tones. I have a naturally deep voice, and it must have been soothing to him, because the doctor and his nurses would watch in astonishment as his BP and pulse would lower and smooth out while I was talking to him, and he quit fighting against the ventilator. As a result, instead of seeing him for 15 minutes every 2 hours, they allowed me to stay in there with him for hours at a time. I will always be thankful of that time I got to spend with him.

[cj2017.livejournal.com]

Heh, I think I'm just curious enough to pick up on details. ICUs are way beyond my level of expertise but reading notes on transfers does help.

THIS is the first couple of episodes I want to see for season 2!

Hmm, call me a sceptic but I'm thinking Jane will be fully-functional by episode 2! TV characters do tend to have remarkable powers of recuperation...

As a result, instead of seeing him for 15 minutes every 2 hours, they allowed me to stay in there with him for hours at a time. I will always be thankful of that time I got to spend with him.

I'm sure it must have been a comfort to him as well. They do say, people in comas can hear what's going on and that certainly seems to have been true in your dad's case.

[cj2017.livejournal.com]

I'm really looking forward to how Maura is going to handle Jane when she's feeling just well enough to get herself in trouble... ;-)

Heh, whatever gives you the impression that Jane will be a problem patient?! ;-)

Thanks for filling the off-season with such a great story.

Pleasure. Thanks for reading.

[jenrind.livejournal.com]

Still loving this series and can't wait for the next update...is it bad that I kind of hope the fever gets worse before we see Jane on the road to recovery and general bitchiness? :) But geez, poor Maura.

[cj2017.livejournal.com]

is it bad that I kind of hope the fever gets worse before we see Jane on the road to recovery and general bitchiness? :)

LOL. I guess it's called Hurt/Comfort for a reason - no, hurt, no comfort ;-)

But geez, poor Maura.

I know, time to give her a break I think! I'm well into the next part (probably the final part) so hopefully won't keep people waiting too long. Thanks for reading!