continued. “Normally, it sheds fluid all day to help maintain the body’s temperature. When the skin is burned, it’s even worse. The patient loses a great deal of fluid and sometimes we can’t replace it fast enough. Other times finding the right fluid balance is tricky. We’ve infused the vice president with electrolytes and are watching him for infection.”
Nunn rubbed at his chin. “Okay.”
“I don’t have to tell you his facial burns are going to be disfiguring. Fortunately, I think we’ll be able to manage these fairly well with plastics. The idea is to make him look as normal as possible. We’ve already taken steps. The best surgeon in the country is en route from Los Angeles. Per his orders, we’ve excised small pieces of skin from other parts of the vice president’s body and have them growing in tissue cultures. When they’re ready, they’ll be used for covering the wounds on his face. I won’t lie to you, Mr. Nunn. This will be a long process. Rehab alone could last six months, if not more.”
Nunn bowed his head. “Jesus.”
“In the acute phase, we’ll be debriding his wounds. Once the wounds are appropriately covered, we’ve got contractures to worry about, particularly where the injured skin crosses joints. Fortunately, there’s very little joint involvement. If you’re going to burn your hands, the best place to do it is on the palmar surface. If the backs of his hands had been burned, even gripping a pen would cause major pain—and take a year of therapy to accomplish.”
Nunn lowered himself down into a hardwood chair at the small table. “How—” He stopped himself, thought a moment, then said, “How can he govern like this?”
“If he can endure a grueling presidential campaign, he’s probably an extraordinary individual. In times like these extraordinary people do extraordinary things. But my concerns go beyond running the country. Between the psychological effects of the facial burns and the loss of his family, he’s going to require substantial counseling and a good support network.”
“Of course.”
“Medically, he’s fortunate, and I’ve tried to impart that fact to him.”
Nunn’s face crumpled into a one-sided squint. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“He’s sustained minor burn damage to portions of his esophagus and larynx, but if it’d hit the lungs his prognosis would’ve been far worse—pulmonary edema can be quite serious because he’d have to be on a ventilator. No, given what happened—the explosions, a freefalling helicopter, the fire... He was very lucky. That’s a tough concept when your family’s dead, you’re hooked up to tubes, we’re peeling away layers of skin, and you’re looking at permanent disfigurement. Fact is, this could’ve been much, much worse.”
Nunn nodded solemnly, then rose tentatively from his chair. “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your candor.”
Farber pushed away from the wall, grabbed his clipboard, and extended a hand. “The vice president has given me permission to keep you updated, so feel free to contact me if you have any questions on treatment requirements or timelines, things of that nature.” Farber’s phone vibrated, and he checked the display. “I’ve got to take this.”
The doctor walked out, leaving Nunn alone. He stood there for a long moment, then headed toward Rusch’s room. He nodded at Dick, who was still waiting beside the secured door.
“We should be okay now, sir.”
“Then let’s give it another shot.” Nunn extended his finger, the device scanned his print and a few seconds later, the green light appeared.
“Door break, authorized entry,” Dick said into his sleeve. He pushed it open and stepped aside.
Nunn pulled the blue paper mask into place, and then walked into the room. A Secret Service agent stood at attention along the far wall, a hand pressing against the earbud that coiled down along his neck and disappeared beneath the navy suit coat that was barely
Nunn rubbed at his chin. “Okay.”
“I don’t have to tell you his facial burns are going to be disfiguring. Fortunately, I think we’ll be able to manage these fairly well with plastics. The idea is to make him look as normal as possible. We’ve already taken steps. The best surgeon in the country is en route from Los Angeles. Per his orders, we’ve excised small pieces of skin from other parts of the vice president’s body and have them growing in tissue cultures. When they’re ready, they’ll be used for covering the wounds on his face. I won’t lie to you, Mr. Nunn. This will be a long process. Rehab alone could last six months, if not more.”
Nunn bowed his head. “Jesus.”
“In the acute phase, we’ll be debriding his wounds. Once the wounds are appropriately covered, we’ve got contractures to worry about, particularly where the injured skin crosses joints. Fortunately, there’s very little joint involvement. If you’re going to burn your hands, the best place to do it is on the palmar surface. If the backs of his hands had been burned, even gripping a pen would cause major pain—and take a year of therapy to accomplish.”
Nunn lowered himself down into a hardwood chair at the small table. “How—” He stopped himself, thought a moment, then said, “How can he govern like this?”
“If he can endure a grueling presidential campaign, he’s probably an extraordinary individual. In times like these extraordinary people do extraordinary things. But my concerns go beyond running the country. Between the psychological effects of the facial burns and the loss of his family, he’s going to require substantial counseling and a good support network.”
“Of course.”
“Medically, he’s fortunate, and I’ve tried to impart that fact to him.”
Nunn’s face crumpled into a one-sided squint. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“He’s sustained minor burn damage to portions of his esophagus and larynx, but if it’d hit the lungs his prognosis would’ve been far worse—pulmonary edema can be quite serious because he’d have to be on a ventilator. No, given what happened—the explosions, a freefalling helicopter, the fire... He was very lucky. That’s a tough concept when your family’s dead, you’re hooked up to tubes, we’re peeling away layers of skin, and you’re looking at permanent disfigurement. Fact is, this could’ve been much, much worse.”
Nunn nodded solemnly, then rose tentatively from his chair. “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your candor.”
Farber pushed away from the wall, grabbed his clipboard, and extended a hand. “The vice president has given me permission to keep you updated, so feel free to contact me if you have any questions on treatment requirements or timelines, things of that nature.” Farber’s phone vibrated, and he checked the display. “I’ve got to take this.”
The doctor walked out, leaving Nunn alone. He stood there for a long moment, then headed toward Rusch’s room. He nodded at Dick, who was still waiting beside the secured door.
“We should be okay now, sir.”
“Then let’s give it another shot.” Nunn extended his finger, the device scanned his print and a few seconds later, the green light appeared.
“Door break, authorized entry,” Dick said into his sleeve. He pushed it open and stepped aside.
Nunn pulled the blue paper mask into place, and then walked into the room. A Secret Service agent stood at attention along the far wall, a hand pressing against the earbud that coiled down along his neck and disappeared beneath the navy suit coat that was barely
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