From My Window

Starsky makes a discovery looking out his hospital room window.

Sweet Revenge recovery.

Episode related: Sweet Revenge

You would think, especially with all the professionals around here, that they would know a hospital is no place to get better.

They wake you at all hours, not letting you get that ‘restorative sleep’ they say you need; there are no carpets on the floor; no pictures or pretty colors on the walls; no comfy chairs for anyone to sit on; no big windows to let the outside world in; no burritos or pizza allowed, and no place to put stuff people bring you to cheer you up. Can’t even bring stuff from home to disguise the place.

Once he understood, Hutch used to bring something from home every other day: a book, a coffee cup, a picture etc., and he would rotate them, bringing one and taking the other back. It was something I really looked forward to, and would always be a surprise.

And those visiting hour regulations; don’t they realize that the time you really need someone is at two in the morning when all the monsters come out and you can’t sleep? That’s when you need a friendly smile; a warm hand and voice that loves you and assures you that you are still among the living and things will get better.

Take my window for instance; it’s about four feet off the ground, and four floors up. Not much to see when you’re lying flat on your back and barely able to move your head. For weeks I could see nothing but blue sky, or clouds, with the occasional bird or plane to distract me. It was real exciting the day the window washers hove into view—normal people doing normal things. One guy smiled and waved at me then got down to business. Guess they don’t have time to entertain the sick and wounded. Nights are the worst because you don’t even get to see the stars that often, smog you know, but on a real clear night it could be spectacular.

When they finally started raising my bed, I lost a lot of my view and nobody could figure out why I would get grumpy. They never thought to ask me, except Hutch of course. He would always ask, and understand, but there was nothing he could do then.

But, when I graduated to a wheelchair, he surprised me one day with a pair of binoculars. At my questioning look, he moved my wheelchair to the window and handed me the binoculars, and I’m sure my huge smile told him how special and important he was to me. I spent most of that day bugging the nurses to be put in my chair so I could watch out the window—they still kept insisting I needed lots of rest but failed to understand that I could only rest if I was content and weary at the same time. I wasn’t pushing it, honest, but I do know my own limits and weaknesses and know when I’d had enough, even then.

I guess I’d had the binoculars about a week when I noticed something about Hutch. I could see part of the parking lot from my window and soon began to notice returning visitors; at first they moved like they were caught in quick sand, but as time went on most of them seemed to find the joy in life again and pranced in with flowers and gifts. It made me smile to finally see them carefully escorting their relative, family or friend out to the car and slowly driving away.

Of course, there were also the ones I could just tell had lost someone. They would move a step, then stand lost and puzzled as to where they were. Move a step, and then fumble for car keys. Move a step, and then slowly turn looking for the car. When they got in the car, it wouldn’t move for the longest time, then it would inch it’s way home. Talk about sad, I would tear up and be silent all day until Hutch came.

Anyway, to get back to Hutch; I happened to be watching one day when he came earlier than usual. I smiled my usual welcome, which of course he couldn’t see, and then watched as he exited his car and just leaned against it for several minutes. Then I really zeroed in on him—something wasn’t right. His head hung between the arms that propped him up, his shoulders were so low and his legs seemed so weak that, if not for his arms, I’m sure he would have been in a heap on the ground. Immediately all kinds of bad thoughts scurried through my brain: somebody died; he was hurt; he had bad news to tell me about me (the doctors often tell Hutch stuff they won’t tell me); my mom was sick, and on and on it went.

I continued to watch as he started that ‘quick sand’ walk into the hospital. Oh god, I hoped I could deal with whatever had happened.

When Hutch came into my room half-an-hour later (he always stops to grill the nurses on my day) I thought I’d gone nuts. He entered with a cheery ‘Hi, partner, how was your day?’ and practically skipped across the room, dropping a chocolate bar in my lap. I was stunned, and I’m sure my mouth hung open like a flytrap.

His sunny smile changed immediately, and he knelt beside me, a hand resting urgently on mine. “Starsk, what’s wrong buddy? You okay, you need something?”

To me it seemed like eternity before I could shake my head clear of the awful pictures I had been imaging. “No, everything’s okay Hutch. Think I’ve been staring out that window too long.”

He believed me. “Won’t be too much longer buddy, I promise.”

He stayed around for several hours making small talk and welcoming other visitors, and then it was over and I could lie back and try to figure this out. Something was wrong with Hutch, no doubt about it. And being the gold shield, number one detective at the BCPD that I was, I would get to the bottom of it.

Over the next week I managed to be at my window three times to watch Hutch. Although none were as dramatic as the first time, each one was a small replay and bothered me more.

I’d also taken to scrutinizing him carefully each visit, finally noticing several minor things: his clothes, for the most part, looked slept in, and were hanging kind of loose; his hair hadn’t been cut in months it seemed; his eyes, when not on me, appeared dull and lifeless, and some days even I couldn’t ignore the black bags under them; and finally, when other visitors came, it was almost like he breathed a sigh of relief and quietly retreated to a corner chair, occasionally falling asleep there.

Enough was enough; time to resolve this. I made two phone calls, one to Dobey and one to Huggy asking them to come visit on the Q.T. They both agreed without question. Hope you understand what that meant to me—without Hutch, and my friends, I’d be six-feet-under, I just know it.

Huggy came first, and at my timid question, it was like I’d turned on his tap or something, and he spurted out his own concerns about Hutch: never seeming to eat, but only sipping on a beer when he went to the bar; showing up at all hours, sometimes at two in the morning, and either talking nonsense or just sitting; having a minor fender-bender just outside The Pits one night and having to be forced out of the car; wiring all his energy and anger into nailing Gunther; and just not smiling or joking as he should be knowing I was okay.

Captain Dobey came later that night knowing Hutch was on an arranged all-night stakeout. I didn’t have to ask him anything, the first thing he said to me was: “It’s about time you noticed, Starsky.”

Then I listened as he told me about the other Hutch, the cop—who wasn’t anymore: the Hutch who spent every waking hour, when he wasn’t visiting me, in his quest to nail Gunther, and nothing Dobey could do deterred him. Dobey had finally roped in the police doctor when Hutch had a fainting spell late one night. Hutch had been forced to take stress leave for three days, and under orders to rest and take the pills prescribed. It was either that or go on permanent disability. But Dobey knew Hutch, and had roped Edith, Huggy and several other friends in, in an attempt to keep the damage under control. It had worked to a point, but if something wasn’t done Hutch was going to lose the compassion and understanding of our fellow officers and friends, who he treated as non-entities, and the brass would take notice and fire him.

Boy, oh boy.

It had hurt to hear, and to realize how blind and selfish I had been. I spent most of the night thinking, before a plan formed.

You see, I now realized that all those rules and schedules serve a purpose, for the patient as well as the staff. Designated visiting hours let the patient know when they can expect company, giving them something to look forward to, and plan for, after all the tests and therapy and stuff. If visitors wandered in at any old hour, none of the medical things, for all the patients, would get done on time and then the doctors would have to delay treatment, or discharge (heaven forbid). And, the patient’s recovery could be jeopardized by continually having to play nice and tiring themselves out.

It made sense too about the décor being the pits—too many patients in and out with too many likes and dislikes, and, of course, the need to keep it sterile etc. Also, who’s to say that at two in morning I couldn’t pick up the phone and call Hutch? Just the sound of his voice can turn me around at normal times.

Okay, so maybe I grew up a bit in the process and began to look with new eyes at my situation. Doesn’t mean I still can’t grumble. Some stuff still doesn’t make sense—why can’t I have a pizza?

I spent my free time the next day, drawing up a schedule on a spare calendar one of the nurses found me, and a set of rules with consequences. I felt determined and in charge.

When Hutch came that night, I asked him to shut the door behind him. He obeyed with only a slight raised eyebrow. I’d asked the nurses not to let any other visitors in so Hutch and I could battle out what I knew could be World War III.

My opening salvo was, “Hutch, you look like shit and I know why, and I have the remedy.”

Nothing like letting loose all your ammo in one volley. I sat back and waited for the counter attack. Surprise—there was none.

I watched as Hutch’s face slowly let go and he allowed the weariness, pain and weakness to show. He had a shocked look that threatened imminent collapse. I ordered him onto the bed, and before I had time to go into my ‘mother-hen’ mode he was sound asleep. I like to think he at last felt safe and secure with me to stand guard.

Three hours later, after visiting hours, when a nurse finally showed up, the real battle began. Hutch was still out and failed to respond when pushed or prodded. I tried everything I could think of to convince her to leave him alone and let him rest, and even our bickering didn’t rouse him.

Finally it sunk into her that there might be something wrong with him, and I grabbed onto to that and played it for all it was worth, stressing his weight loss, his fatigue and very pallid complexion. I for real began to panic when, while taking his blood pressure and checking his eyes, she changed into her professional persona. Before you could say ‘Captain Dobey’ the night crew was all there, taking blood, starting an IV and sending for the doctor. I was forgotten for the moment.

What it finally all came down to was that Hutch was dehydrated, under weight, mildly anemic and just plain stressed out. Surprise, surprise.

I couldn’t convince them to let him stay in my room but relaxed when they assured me he would just be down the hall. Despite the late hour, I called Dobey at home and brought him up-to-date, and I was almost in tears while I reported. He took control, ordering me back to bed and to stop the guilt trip, and at the same time he was being my totally compassionate friend. Did I tell you how important friends are? Now you know.

Hutch was off the roster and on medical leave for three weeks, which he almost appreciated. We had our little talk and I presented his schedule of visits to me, to the Dobey’s and Huggy’s for food and friendship, and also trips to the gym when the doctor allowed. I had no compunction about laying down the rules and the consequences if not followed.

He listened, and agreed about taking better care, but bristled at the schedule and its consequences. In fact, he didn’t like it one bit when threatened with removal of visiting privileges, but he knew I could order it.

What really got to him finally though was the fact that if I spent all my time worrying about him, how could I get better and get sprung from this place. Basically we both had the power, and we know it. Our devotion and love for each other impacts so much on the behavior and response of the other, that occasionally we are our own worst enemy.

Now I can stand at my window, binoculars in hand, watching Hutch and know that we have won. I am getting better, and hope to leave here in the next week or two; Hutch still brings me surprises and treats when he visits, on schedule, and is back at work now having left Gunther for the experts to handle.

And when I’m really back on my feet, I’m gonna throw one hell of a party as a small thanks to all the friends, family, and yes, even nurses and doctors, who got me to the point where I can stand at my window and watch the world.