After attempting to clear the tightness from her voice, Meg anxiously asked, “May
I speak to Mr. Jones?”
“I’m sorry. He’s out of town today. May I help you?”
No! He can’t be out of town. She didn’t wait all night to but put off for another
day or more. He has business here in Springfield. And it is very important business,
too. This simply wasn’t right.
“Excuse me,” the voice came back on the line, “is there something
I
can do for you?”
Meg took a deep breath, hoping it would cover her disappointment, and replied, “I
hope so. My name is Meg Richards. My husband was killed . . .” Before she could continue,
the woman broke in.
“I’m so sorry about your husband, Mrs. Richards,” the woman responded, sounding genuinely
sincere. “My heart goes out to you.”
“Thank you,” Meg replied, “but I called to find out the name of the person driving
the other car. You see, the papers didn’t print that information, and I feel that
. . . well, what I’m trying to say is that . . .” Pausing for a second, attempting
to relieve the pressure she felt in both her throat and aching heart, Meg searched
for the proper words. Not finding them, she took a deep breath and blurted out, “I
just want to know who he is!”
The line was so quiet for about ten seconds that Meg thought she’d dropped the call,
but then the woman’s kind voice came back, “I can understand that, Mrs. Richards.
If I were you, I think I would want to know, too. But you see, I can’t tell you his
name at this time. No matter how much I want to or how unfair it seems, I can’t tell
you.”
“Why not?” Meg demanded. “He killed my husband. I have a right to know who he is.
That’s fair, isn’t it?”
Endless seconds crept by with no response. Finally, the voice came back on the line.
“Mrs. Richards, I can’t tell you because of the boy’s age. He’s a minor, and in order
to protect his rights, we are not allowed by law to release any information about
him at this time. I’m sure, if this is any comfort to you, that you’ll find out his
identity in time. But we have to go by specific rules of law and we can’t break that
process. As unfair as it may seem to you, that is the way it works.”
Tears began to fall from her eyes and run down Meg’s face. Her frustration and grief
surfaced just as they had when she had run into a brick wall of noninformation on
Sunday. As she glanced out of the storage room, she noticed Heather walking down the
hall. Not wanting her friend to see her out of control, she closed the door and pleaded
into the phone, “I have rights, too. Why does the killer get all the protection and
I get none?”
“I know it must seem that way now, Mrs. Richards, but if you will be patient—”
Meg snapped, “I’m the one who lost it all, not him. I’m the one who lives by the law,
not him. You’re supposed to serve me!”
“You’re right,” the woman answered, “but my hands are tied, and I can’t do anything
about it. Perhaps you can call back on Thursday. Mr. Jones will be back then, and
well, maybe he can tell you something.”
“Thursday?” Meg barked. “You expect me to wait until Thursday?”
“Mrs. Richards, my name is Jo Blount. If there’s anything I can do for you in the
meantime, please give me a call and let me know!”
“Mrs. Blount,” Meg shot back, “it’s obvious that there’s nothing you can do for me.
It seems that there is nothing anyone can or will do for me.”
A
N ENRAGED
M
EG JAMMED THE CELL PHONE BACK INTO HER POCKET
, stormed out of the room, and marched down the hall to the break room. Before walking
in, she dried her tears and straightened her hair.
“Did I see you on the phone?” Heather asked. “Who were you talking to?”
“It wasn’t you, so what difference does it make?” Meg answered much too harshly.
Heather’s eyes never left her as Meg dropped seventy-five cents in a machine, hit
a button, and watched a Coke fall out. She likely was shocked by the tone in Meg’s
voice and her sarcastic response. As Meg considered what must have been going through
her friend’s mind, she almost apologized. Heather didn’t deserve to be treated in
that fashion. Maybe Meg should explain her frustration, but that would display a weakness
she couldn’t show, at least not yet. So rather than say anything, she popped the top
on the can and took a sip.
“I didn’t mean to pry,” Heather said as she took a seat beside Meg. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” Meg replied, “I shouldn’t have snapped.”
Poor Heather, she was trying so hard to understand and she couldn’t.
“Maybe it’s good your back,” Heather said.
“Why?” Meg asked.
“Because everyone has been asking about you. You’re the perfect nurse, not only because
you know our business but because you make people feel better by simply being with
them. Even today they are asking about you and asking for you.”
“Really?”
“Oh, Meg, I’m not saying this will make you feel better, but none of us measure up
to you. You have always been the heart of this staff.”
“I doubt that,” Meg replied. “I’m not sure my heart is even beating anymore.”
“Things will get better,” Heather assured her.
“Not so sure about that.” Meg took a sip of the soft drink before adding, “Heather,
you’ve never been married and you’ve never lost anyone close to you. So don’t judge
me now and don’t expect me to be like I used to be. I don’t think I will ever be that
way again. I hope you’ll accept that and not try to find a way to change it.”
Heather nodded but didn’t respond. She probably didn’t have the words to answer. Who
did?
As both nurses sat silent, not talking or looking at each other, a young, tall doctor
wearing a green coat walked in. Looking up, Heather responded first. “Hi, Paul, want
a cup of coffee?”
“No thanks, Heather. I didn’t come here to flirt or drink this time; I came here to
beg! What I really need is for someone to find some records for me. I’m treating a
man admitted and released by the swing physician covering the emergency room on Saturday
night. You see, because the guy was simply treated
and released, no one expected him to need anything else. Well, he came back in this
morning and naturally, he can’t remember what medicine was prescribed. I’ve got to
know. So I checked with records and found his report hadn’t been loaded into the system
yet. It seems that everything was down this weekend due to the storms we had last
week. We actually went back to using paper on everything. So until they get things
fixed and uploaded so I can see it on my iPad, I’m lost.”
Heather nodded. “I’ve got the same issue. I guess we’re just spoiled. We think we
can make a couple of taps and everything will leap into view. Looking through paper
files is a headache.”
“I’m not a filing wizard,” the doctor explained. “You should see me try to get organized
when I do taxes. If it’s not on the computer, then I’m lost. And I don’t want to mill
through the papers that were filled out in the emergency room for the next hour in
order to get this guy out of my hair. No one down there seems to have time right now,
so could you possibly help?”
Putting her coffee down, Heather got up, but before she could say anything, Meg cut
her off. “Heather, you just sit down. You do all the dirty jobs around here and it’s
time some of us took up some of the slack. You’ve got another ten minutes left on
your break and you’ve barely started your coffee. You finish it, and Paul, you have
some, too. By the time you all are finished, I’ll have the records for you.”
Pulling a notepad out of a table drawer, Meg looked at the doctor, “Okay. Now, you
said Saturday night?”
“Actually,” the doctor replied as he took a seat. “He came in about two on Sunday
morning. At least, that’s what he says. His name is . . .” Before finishing he glanced
down at a clipboard he had just set on the table, “Joe Messa.”
Writing the name and the time, Meg looked up and smiled. “You and Heather enjoy yourselves
and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Meg,” Heather interrupted, “are you sure you don’t want me to do that?”
“No, Heather, I need to keep busy. Oh, by the way, if the records are in a big mess
and it does take me a little longer than I expect, will you cover for me until I get
back?”
“Sure,” Heather assured her.
“Don’t worry, Paul,” Meg explained, “I’ll get this information to you just as soon
as I can.”
Meg stopped just outside the door to study her notes. As she did, she overheard the
doctor and nurse speaking inside the room.
“She seems to be doing pretty well.”
“I can’t tell.” Heather’s response was sincere and her tone showed real signs of concern.
That was just like her. She was everyone’s mother hen. “Paul, she seems a little bitter
and a bit harsh to me, but I guess that’s normal. She’s probably just trying too hard
to be efficient and not admitting how much she hurts.”
The doctor agreed. “I know she’s a strong woman, but I’m surprised she came back to
work so soon. By the way, I don’t mean to change the subject, but you sure do look
good today. I couldn’t help but note . . .”
That was Paul, always on the make, especially with Heather. Nothing detracted him
for very long. Well, at least, Heather and Paul seemed to believe in her strength.
That was enough for Meg at this moment. The last thing she wanted was to look weak.
Having something but Steve’s death to think about put a special kind energy in her
step and she quickly made her way to the emergency room. Thankfully, one of her mother’s
oldest friends was working in the ER.
Lena Worel was a white-haired, heavyset lady, with pale skin and big blue eyes. Despite
the fact that she’d been on a
diet for as long as anyone could remember, her whole body shook when she walked. As
a child, Meg thought Lena looked a great deal like Mrs. Santa Claus. And her cheery
face and laughing voice only added to this perception. In fact, Lena was the reason
that Meg had first gotten interested in nursing. She’d loved the woman’s uniforms,
especially her hats, even though by the time she became a nurse the hats were gone
and the uniforms were scrubs. Over time, as they worked together, Lena became more
than a friend, she had somehow taken on the role of an aunt.
“Meg, honey, what are you doing here today?” the old woman gently inquired.
“Now Lena, I’m doing what all good nurses do—working! You know as well as I do there’s
not much that can be gained by sitting at home and looking at the walls.”
Hoping her answer would satisfy the woman, Meg began to look around the room for the
most recently filled-out forms. One glance convinced her that a hurricane had struck
the place. Finding something in this mess would be like finding the proverbial needle
in the haystack. Yet it had to be done.
“Lena,” Meg asked, “What in the world happened back here?”
“Oh, child,” the big woman answered, throwing her arms into the air. “Jean, the unit
secretary, got the flu last week and then Katie, her assistant, quit. And except for
the really serious cases, nothing has been filed. Worse yet, we still haven’t gotten
the computer system back up. Even though it’s not my job, I organized some of this
mess today. I had to because I’ve had folks ask for a specific file, and I was tired
of weeding through all of them to find that one.”
Meg began checking through the layers of forms but the longer she looked the more
lost she became. Lena finally cleared things up.
“What are you looking for, maybe I can help? Believe it or not, I have created a system.”
“I hope you can, Lena,” Meg sighed. “I guaranteed I could find the information in
a flash that Dr. Mason needed.”
“Well, Meg,” Lena asked, “what exactly does he need?”
“A patient, who was treated and released this weekend, showed up this morning for
follow-up. I came down to find out what the swing doctor had prescribed.”
“Okay, Honey, when was this person treated? If you know that, I think we can find
the information you need. I spent an hour when I first came creating some order out
of this chaos.”
“Sunday morning, about two.”
Turning to six rows of papers stacked on a table in the back of the small room, Lena
pointed to stack number six. “I’ve already taken a little time to put together at
least a system for this organization. These are Sunday’s forms,” she said, pointing
to a small mountain of papers. “You’ll find what you need in this pile.” The nurse
seemed obviously proud of her knowledge and work and her next statement proved it.
“When I came in this morning, none of this stuff was organized at all, but now we
at least have it by days. What name do you want?”
“Joe Messa.”
“Okay, let’s see if he’s here.” As Lena’s fingers begin to sift through the stack,
a voice came over the hospital’s paging system.
“Nurse Lena Worel, you are needed in records,” the voice announced.
Glancing up at the speaker, the older nurse wondered out loud, “What do they want
now? Oh, well, the last thing I need is to keep Gertrude Johnson waiting. You know
how she is.” Looking across the room at Meg, she asked, “Can you get along here without
me? I know it’s in stack six.”
Smiling, Meg replied, “Of course, now move along before Gertrude has a cat!”
After Lena cleared the room, Meg began to sort through Sunday’s treatment forms. The
fourth one from the top, a form filled out on a Jerry Bates, had been misfiled. It
should have been filed on the Thursday, March 10 stack. Picking up the short form,
she started to restack it in its proper place but a name on the top of the file stopped
her cold as a flood of unwanted emotions flooded her mind while they weakened her
knees. The name at the top was her husband’s.
For a few minutes, she had thankfully been so involved in doing her job she had almost
forgotten she had lost him. Now all the horror flooded back and she had to work to
restrain the tears. “DOA” had been scribbled across the middle of the form. This was
the last thing she needed to see. She knew she should set the report to one side,
but instead she slowly picked it up and scanned what had been scribbled there. It
was very cut-and-dried indicating that there had been no treatment necessary or taken.
And that was pretty much all there was to it. He was simply dead on arrival.