Amnesia (6 page)

“First we have Benny Peterson. He’s in for his two-year immunizations. Then we have Krystal Fern, who has been running at one-oh-one all weekend. Parents think it is just the flu, but Children’s Tylenol hasn’t touched it. Then you have several walk-ins, all with some degree of sniffles and coughs. Who’d have thought with it being so hot outside? Oh, and don’t forget that you have Tracey Randall at three. She is down at MSTI, and is waiting for the results of the frozen cultures. Those are on your desk. Doesn’t look too good.”

Doctor Brandon felt her stomach tighten. After all that Tracey had been through
,
she didn’t need more bad news. Rhabdomyosarcoma is rough enough, but at
six years old
it was heart wrenching. At any age cancer is always nasty. This particular form, although the most common soft tissue tumor found in children, was highly malignant and would spread quickly throughout her system. Eventually too much of the malignancy would invade the tiny form, which would cause the body to shut itself down permanently. They had already taken the first step of resection, or removal, of the primary tumor, but if the surrounding tissue was affected, it called for a rigorous treatment plan that was excruciatingly long and painful for both the child and the parents.

If the news back from the lab was discouraging, that meant more surgery, chemotherapy, and radiotherapy, all of which would exact a huge price, with little guarantee of success. They may even have to take the rest of her uterus, precluding any chance of bearing her own children when grown. If she grows up. Lissa shook her head again. How do you tell that to parents? It looked as if the day was going to be even longer than she thought.

Throughout the long day Lissa found herself glancing around ensuring that everything was where it was supposed to be. She thought that being so busy would have forced all thoughts of the morning aside; after all, it was only her car that got beaten up, not her. And the only thing she could find missing was her hospital badge, and that was easily replaced. Still she felt watched everywhere she went, and edgy wondering if something was going to jump out at her from any number of hiding places. She kept reminding herself that there was no one there, and tried to convince herself that it was no worse than walking through one of those haunted houses, only the lights were on now. But she couldn’t quite convince herself that it was all just make believe.

Finally 2:30 rolled around and it was time to go downtown. She cleared up her office, straightened out the desk, and strode up to the receptionist, noting that both waiting rooms were finally clear.

“Wow! We made it through. I didn’t think that was going to be possible. Listen, Carla, I have to get over to MSTI. The thing is, my car is, um, in the shop right now, and I don’t have any spare cash for the taxi, would you mind….”

“Here’s the keys, keep it as long as you need,” the receptionist interrupted, “it’s all over the news right now, and Chuck said that I should lend it to you.”

Noting the surprise turned horror-stricken look on her face, Carla chuckled and added, “Not your name, just that ‘someone’s’ car got thrashed. I recognized it from when we used to car pool just before the twins were born.” She made a scoffing sound. “Probably time to get a new one anyway. I think that car was as old as you are.”

Gratefully, Lissa sidestepped that issue, and thanked her benefactor. At least that was one hurdle she had cleared. She vowed she wouldn’t keep the car for more than a few days, and that anytime anyone needed a ride again, she would be there. It was so good to know that there were good, caring people that surrounded her, despite whatever one lone bad guy could do.

She stepped through the automatic glass entrance to the building and got blasted in the face with the scorching heat of the day, souring her mood even further. She headed out to the parking lot, barely avoiding getting side-swiped by a patient no doubt running behind for their appointment. She looked grimly over at the construction site that promised so much wonderful parking, and shook her head in disgust. It seemed that as soon as the hospital got some money it was building something new, and always at the expense of the people who had to maneuver around the place. Hopefully it would be done soon, but then what was next?

She quickly found the car, and realized that she had loaned her the old Lumina. That was good, Lissa thought, Carla would need the minivan for the kids. She got in and started the beast, praying that the A/C would cool it down quickly.

She pulled out onto the main thoroughfare and caught the interstate leading to downtown Boise. Then a quick left and she pulled into the Children’s Special Services Center/Mountain States Tumor Institute at St. Luke’s. Although it was a pain to travel down here to meet her patients, it was much better for this type of thing than anywhere else in Idaho. She pulled into the parking slots reserved for doctors, and headed into the building to meet with her charge, dreading every step.

“Dr. Brandon?” she heard, before she got to the front door. She turned to greet the approaching Dr. Cliffe. After a quick hello, he hurried to open the door for her.

“You are such a gentleman!” she exclaimed, surprised by the action.

“Not at all,” he responded, “simply training. My Judy would have poked one of my eyes out had I neglected to open the door for her. I remember once that I was in such a hurry to get the groceries in the house one day that I clean forgot to open the car door for her. It wasn’t until at least twenty minutes later that I realized she was nowhere to be seen, so I checked, and sure enough she was still in the car waiting for me to open her door. I didn’t think I’d survive that one.”

By the time he had finished the story they were both laughing and she realized how good it felt. She decided that Judy was either quite remarkable or quite lucky to have been married to this kind gentleman. She told him as much.

“Not the latter, I assure you,” he responded wistfully. “No, I was the lucky one. We only had thirty-two years together, and I look forward to at least a couple of eternities coming up.” He looked over at her and added, “And don’t worry too much about getting married. Wait as long as it takes to get the right guy. I was thirty-six when a young gal came scampering up my walk, trying to get me to come help paint someone’s barn; it was worth every moment of those thirty-six years. And whatever you do, never forget what it was you waited for, or else you will miss what it could really be.”

He smiled gently at her, and she felt herself grow warm from his tender advice gleaned from the experience of years. She remembered the hurt and sorrow she had felt a few nights ago, and felt ashamed for having doubted that the Lord would provide someone for her, and that they could then be together forever. What were a few more years compared to that? She looked down at the floor, trying to word a thank-you, not only to her friend, but also to her Heavenly Father, who was no doubt looking out for her.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Dr. Cliffe concluded, “That coma patient of yours is showing some signs of improvement. I was doing rounds this morning and found that he had moved his head and was crying. You should go check on him when you get a minute.”

He turned and left before she even had a chance to thank him. She just stared after him until he turned and caught the elevator up. Turning, she was so preoccupied that she ran right into someone else, dropping the paperwork in her arms. She stooped, her body clenching from an angry stream of vitriol pouring down from a familiar voice above her. Crouching to retrieve the charts, she started to mumble an apology when she noticed the expensive leather shoes the lab results had come to rest upon. Looking up she verified that the shoes belonged to the glowering face of Doctor Darrion Stanton.

Darrion’s tanned face, complete with dark brown eyes, strong jawline leading to a slightly jutting chin, and small nose with a hint of upturn at its peak, slid instantly to a look of concern and chagrin as he knelt to help Lissa pick up her scattered papers. “Oh, Lissa, I didn’t realize it was you,” he offered, trying to mollify her embarrassment.

Together they rose, her eyes narrowing as she realized that he felt no empathy. She stood facing him, her 5’6” nowhere near his 6’2” height, but her indignation filled the void. She was incredulous at how he could be so condescending one moment and contrite the next. She felt her checks flame with anger as she answered his tone. “Sorry, Darrion, I will be more careful next time.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” he whined, “where are you going so quick? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all week. I even called your mother to find out if everything was okay.”

She just stared in disbelief at his impeccable suit, now covered in a pressed physician’s white smock, and perfectly coiffed hair. “I’m fine, Doctor Stanton. I’ve been covering the ER all week. And don’t call my mother again. I’m a big girl now and can even dress myself without my mommy,” she spit back acidly.

“Whoa, sorry, I was just worried,” he apologized. “I was just sick with concern. Then when I heard about your car, I knew that I should be. Obviously you need someone to watch out for you; protect you from the scum out there.”

Lissa stopped and spun around to him, certain she had misunderstood his implication. “What, exactly, are you saying?”

He contorted his perfect features into the epitome of worry. “I said I was worried about you, and I want to make sure you are safe. I think you should reconsider my proposal.”

He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, which she tried unsuccessfully to shrug off. She was palpably jarred to be forced to deal with such sophomoric antics mere seconds after the heart-warming chat with Dr. Cliffe. In vain she struggled to bring back the calm influence the wizened old man had inspired, but felt instead the empty dread she normally felt when around Darrion.

“As I’ve told you before, I’m not ready to marry you or anyone else right now. But right at this moment I have a patient waiting, and I need to go.”

Unwilling to let it end there the man’s strong hand seized her shoulder painfully, preventing her from leaving. She knew that he was in good physical condition and the pain he was causing stood testament to that. She couldn’t help wondering if his strength would be perilous or protective. She decided she didn’t really want to know.

“That’s fine, hon, we don’t have to rush it. Why don’t you just move into the guesthouse on the grounds for
a while
, just so we know you’re safe? No one could get through the gates and alarm system Dad put in. We would know that none of these creeps could get to you. I’ll talk to your landlord if you like; make sure there are no problems with contracts or anything.”

The glint in his eye was warning enough that the further she was from his grounds the safer she would be. She tried again to turn away, but he pulled her closer instead.

“Come on Lissa, I’m just worried about you being all alone in that little apartment, with who knows what vermin crawling around outside. You know I love you and would do anything in my power to keep you safe. Let’s just give it a try for a little while. I have no doubt you will adore the place. I think you will find that I can keep you better than anyone else in the country.”

He bent his perfect face down to her freckled nose and kissed the tip of it, pulled back, and tried to go for the lips. This time, however, fresh adrenaline filled Lissa’s arms, and she shoved him backward, just far enough to break the moment. She felt herself breathing heavily from the rush of adrenaline to her system, and knew she had to escape before he began to think she was under a different sort of rush.

“No Darrion,” she responded, “I won’t move in with you, now or ever. And don’t you ever touch me again or I’ll have you in front of the Medical Review Board for harassment. Don’t call, don’t talk with my mother, just leave me alone. I will do just fine without you!”

She braced herself for the verbal onslaught she knew was coming, but instead heard him chuckle.

“Poor little girl,” he commented. “Soon enough you’ll realize just how much you need me. Okay I’ll back off for now, but the offer is always open. You know you are always welcome in my home. Just give me a call when you finally come to your senses. I just hope that it is before something even worse happens.”

He spun and walked toward the main entry, waited as the glass doors slid open, and was gone. She gaped after him wondering if somehow she had just been threatened. She shook her head in disbelief, as well as relief, and turned back toward the office that held her small patient. “After a scene with Darrion Stanton” she thought, “this might not be as hard as I’d thought.”

*
             
             
*
             
             
*

It was a tearful meeting with little Tracey Randall and her lost and confused parents. The only child of an out-of-work construction worker father and a mother who had just rejoined the ranks of the working poor, Tracey had turned six only a couple of weeks earlier.  She looked half that. Yet her face looked like she was turning ninety.

Doctor Brandon confirmed their worst fears, explaining that the tumor was malignant and that she would need further treatment. It was a tender moment when Brett Randall picked up his small daughter with rough, calloused hands and held her tightly, tears freely rolling down his weather-beaten cheeks and barely suppressed sobs issuing from his constricted barrel chest.

Lissa felt awkward for intruding in such an intimate encounter and a lump formed in her throat for the honor of witnessing such a rare loving exchange between father and daughter. She recalled her own father and wondered if he would have held her that way if such news were pronounced upon her. She knew it was unabashed selfishness, but she vowed her children would have a father like Brett, brash on the outside perhaps, but holding a deep and abiding love for his family. Something akin to what she knew her Heavenly Father felt for all of them.

For well over an hour the four of them discussed surgery, radiation, and drugs, the threefold treatment plan prescribed for cancer patients. A raw, visceral anguish dried their tears as Doctor Brandon took out a teddy bear to show Tracey what they would do, where the tumor was located, and what would happen next to rid her small body of the ravaging enemy. They outlined a basic treatment plan and a referral for a pediatric oncologist was given.  Finally they bid farewell, a bud of hope in their hearts, and a deeper connection to each other.

Lissa came away from the meeting feeling somehow refreshed, with a renewed urgency to live her life, surprised she hadn’t succumbed of the depression she had anticipated. She had shuffled into their appointment completely self-absorbed in her little world of inconveniences like Darrion Stanton and mangled cars. She was humbled by the long-suffering faith of the Randall family, who was facing the end of their world, yet still held their heads high, defiantly confronting their archenemy, despite the inevitability of losing. In a moment all of her trials vanished in the face of such courage. She could, and would do better.

She walked out into the summer heat, enjoying the prickly feel it gave to her skin, a matching warmth of gratitude filling her heart. Everything seemed just a little crisper; colors taking on deeper hues, sound resonating with dimensions she had forgotten. She took a deep lungful of sun heated air, smiled, and walked over to the St. Luke’s revolving doors with a bounce in her step.

She hopped up the steps, around the fountain in the center of the room, and curved around the reception desk to the elevators just beyond. Punching the up button she waited patiently behind a grandmother holding flowers, a balloon, and a prettily wrapped present in pink paper depicting images of teddy bears, rattles and letter blocks. She grinned to herself thinking that the destination must be the eighth floor where the nursery and new moms stay.

Entering the car that finally arrived she pushed the seven, where long-term patients were watched, and waited for the rest of the visitors to board. Seconds later the door closed and she felt the familiar tug as the elevator whooshed up to the first stop, then the second, and on until the number above the doors revealed it was her turn to disembark.

Following the hall to the right she strode up to the nurses’ station where a somewhat rotund nurse with the nametag reading “Dolores” was standing making notes in a chart. She smiled and quietly queried the nurse about the coma patient and was informed that the patient was doing well as she was pointed around the corner toward room 7014. Lissa thanked her and started in that direction when Dolores called out to her.

“Will you be checking on the other patient, Dr. Brandon?”

“Which other patient?” the doctor asked, puzzled.

“The fall victim that was found broken up so badly in Cascade. The chart said that you were the admitting Doctor.”

It took her a moment to remember the Life Flight from the previous week, but finally recalled the man. If her memory served her correctly he had sustained multiple fractures and contusions that fit the pattern of a bad fall from a great height. She could also vaguely remembered the idea that he had been in the woods as he had pine needles and tree sap throughout his hair and covering much of his exposed skin. It didn’t quite all add up, as she reviewed her thoughts now, but things rarely do in an emergency.

“What about him?”

“Well, they moved him up here last night. Doctor Stanton signed his chart stating that his recovery time warranted the move. Kind of strange, we don’t normally get orthopedics up here. But he’s the doctor.” She giggled, finding humor in the old worn out phrase.

Something nagged at Lissa for a moment, but wanting to keep her good mood as long as possible she quickly excused herself and headed toward room 7014. She slipped quietly into the room so as not to disturb the patient and then lightly chided herself for the thought. It was hard to disturb a comatose patient by simply walking into the room.

She stood at the foot of the bed for a few moments taking a closer look at the supine man. Dark hair and nicely tanned, he appeared much better having been cleaned and warmed, especially compared to the first time she had seen him. The wound on his left check had a clean bandage on it, but she could distinctly remember the “M” that was there, almost like someone had intended that shape. She also noticed that he was quite tall, around six-four, and actually seemed to hang over the end of the regulation hospital bed. The thought flitted through her mind that he might be more comfortable in a larger bed and that she should perhaps order one for him.

She picked up the chart at the foot of the bed and sat in the chair sitting against the opposite wall. Starting with her own notes when he arrived at the hospital she followed through the details of how much IV glucose had been administered, as well as the antibiotic prescribed for the cut on his cheek and other abrasions. She meandered down through the numbers that were recorded every few hours, his vitals, fluid intake and output and other miscellaneous information noted by the nurses. Finally she reached the comment that he was starting to have muscle twitches accompanied by tearing, a rather hopeful sign in coma patients.

She was totally engrossed in the saga when the opening of the door startled her from her thoughts. In walked the burly form of the kindly nurse performing her scheduled rounds.

“Okay Robbie,” she called to the patient, “time to get your vitals again.” She pulled out a small notebook she carried in her smock and checked his blood pressure, pulse, temperature, and oxygen saturation levels, each time penning reminders in her tiny book.

“Everything looks good!” she exclaimed, as if she were totally awed by the fact. “Now we need to turn you. Wouldn’t want a tough guy like you getting bed sores, now would we?”

Gently, as if with great strength hidden in her short form, she picked up his right shoulder and pushed his bulk over onto his left side. The covers slipped down to his waist revealing bruising all down his back, starting at the wide shoulders, past the tapered contour of his torso down to the small of his back. More the figure of a runner than that of a NFL lineman, he still had a commanding physique, Lissa noticed, despite his current condition.

Bracing his shoulder with her left arm, Dolores pulled his legs back and placed his long arm in front of his body. Then she gently pulled the left shoulder back until it rested in the center of the bed. Finally she straightened the covers, fluffed and replaced the pillows, one under his head another between his legs, and patted him on the exposed shoulder.

“Now that wasn’t too bad, now was it Robbie. See you again in a couple of hours.” She took one last look at the IV lines to ensure they weren’t tangled then turned to leave.

“Robbie?”

Startled, Dolores yelped and clutched at her large chest trying to calm her beating heart. Slowing her breathing she wheezed out, “Doctor Brandon? I didn’t know you were there. Next time cough or something would you? I need my heart in one piece for a while longer.”

Lissa chuckled and smiled apologetically repeating her question. “You called him Robbie. Did we find out his name?”