Fugues of the Mind part 2/4: Obbligato

Free Web Hosting Provider - Web Hosting - E-commerce - High Speed Internet - Free Web Page

Summary: A surgeon at the hospital weighs in with his interpretation of the
events in room 12 C.

It's a rough job, but to be honest, I must say that I truly enjoy being a
doctor.

Sure, it sometimes becomes a bit disheartening to see the things I see on a
daily basis. You develop something of a disorder, something that keeps you
from getting attached to people. This is probably why I'll never get
married.

But no worries. Working in the Pit is at once both a blessing and a curse.
Those guys on "ER" have no idea.

I am fated to remember one particular patient, not because he was rowdy or
boisterous, but because of what he had going for him. Lucky bastard.

The call came in just as the city was getting dark. A bus had slammed into a
passenger car just outside of DC. The car's passenger was fine, save for a
bit of emotional trauma, but the driver was a different story. This was
baaaaad.

I was paged to the front of the Pit and I took off, careening around corners
at thirty miles an hour, knocking over a cart of blood factor for the
hemophiliac in room 19, my lab coat fluttering behind me.

I can't say that I have ever seen a guy as fucked up as this poor soul. He
looked like he'd been run over by a freight train. Dave Bushouse, an EMT I
knew all too well, gave me the scoop as we wheeled him into the OR.

"We're looking at severe head trauma and massive blood loss. Broke both
legs.
Compound fracture to the left arm and a dislocated shoulder. Went into
cardiac arrest twice before we got him in here, but he's a fighter. Nurses
know him 'cause he's got a medical file as long and complicated as Homer's
Odyssey. He's going to need all you can give him, John." I gave him my
abridged emergency room version of a smile and took charge of the gurney.

"Okay people, let's go. Is he typed? We're gonna need some blood in here
stat...help me get him on the table, folks."

When I operate on gravely injured people, I forget the details of the
surgery
almost immediately afterward. My mind pushes it away and stores it in some
inaccessible neuron in the back of my brain. This happens to all trauma
surgeons. Why do you think their first act after surgery is to report
directly to the next of kin? A doctor would lose his mind if he even
attempted to remember the illnesses and injuries plaguing the hundreds of
people he'd see in a day.

I know Dana well. She's not just an acquaintance, but also a friend and a
colleague. I went to med school with her and I suppose it was just fate that
we'd end up working in the same city. I'd met her partner once, when he was
in here with a gunshot wound. Nice guy. The nurses said he was nuts. I don't
think he's insane; I think he's just a bit crazy.

So you can imagine it would be hard on me to operate on him, especially
given
the circumstances. We saved him, though, and I can only chalk that up to
luck. He'd had a full-blown grand mal seizure once we got him onto the
table,
and while we were trying to save his arm he'd periodically call for his
partner. Poor schmuck. His heart quit on us once more but we did manage to
get it pumping again. This guy definitely has more than nine lives.

Did I mention that his left arm was dangling by a couple of tendons and a
flap of skin, and that it took us close to 11 hours to perform the necessary
surgery to make sure he kept the limb? The man is a walking disaster area. I
wonder if he got hurt this much as a kid.

I made Jack Conroy go out and break the news to Dana. I didn't have the
balls
or the stomach to tell her that her partner was in a coma we didn't expect
him to wake from. And if he did, there was a signifigant chance his once
brilliant mind would be worth less than two bits in a department store.

For days after that I observed them. Her behavior, and the way his heart
monitor would kick up whenever she entered the room. She'd sit by him and
just think, I guess. Sometimes she'd talk to him. Once I overheard her
telling him a hilarious story about a guy she dated in college - me.
Stifling
the laughs was tough. So that's what she was thinking...

I would stand just outside the doorway, safely out of view. I'm sure she
never knew I was there. All her energy was focused on the guy in the bed, a
man I consider the luckiest fella in the world.

There was no doubt in my mind that she loved him. "Partners" didn't hold
elaborate bedside vigils for their fallen companions. Maybe she blamed
himself for his current condition. Or maybe she felt that if she just stayed
there long enough, he'd come out of it and everything would be okay.

One eerily quiet night I decided to approach her, just to try and gauge how
she was doing. To my ultimate surprise she recognized me right away.

"Hello, John," she said quietly as I stood near the edge of his bed. I felt
like I was intruding on some private moment they were sharing, but Dana's
silence neither invited or dismissed me.

She stopped, allowed her eyes to travel over her partner's face, then gently
laid his hand on the bed and stood up. I took her by the arm and gently lead
her out of the room. It was like guiding a disoriented child.

The two of us sat on hard-backed plastic chairs in the empty cafeteria, me
sipping a Dr. Pepper while she slowly consumed her caffeine. Our strange
reunion had occured mere minutes ago, and I was startled and a bit taken
aback when she started to speak.

"No, I mean I put him up to this. I was going to quit and I wanted to go see
about a job at this clinic and he insisted on driving me."

"Dana, this isn't like you...to feel guilty about something. I think I know
you better than that."

"Not anymore, John. He's my weakness now...Mulder is my vulnerability and I
don't think I realized that until he told me he wanted me to be happy."

I was speechless. I didn't know what to make of Dana being honest with her
feelings. It was something I wish I could have seen when I dated her.

"He's going to die, isn't he?" she said flatly, staring at me from across
the
table.

"Nnn..." I stuttered. "I don't think so. We've seen him before...the nurses
say he's gotten out of stuff worse than this."

She rose and threw her cup in the trash can next to our table, then quietly
stepped on to the elevator to return to her partner's side. I sat for a
second, digesting the events of the past 48 hours.

I hoped to God that man would wake up soon and see just how lucky he really
was.