Of Flesh and Blood (44 page)

Erin reached down and took hold of Kristen’s hand. She squeezed it gently but felt only the slightest flicker in response. “Yeah. We have.”

Erin stood at the bedside holding her patient’s hand for a few minutes, while Kristen panted as she tried to recover enough breath to speak again. “Dr. McGrath . . .,” she finally croaked. “Alex and Katie . . . you remember . . .”

Erin squeezed her hand tighter. “Of course, I remember. You don’t have to ever worry about that.” Her voice cracked. “They’re going to be okay. Better than okay. Those two are special.”

A weak smile crossed Kristen’s lips and then her eyes drifted shut and her hand went totally limp. Erin heard the rattling respirations and saw her chest moving, but she knew the end was near.

The nurse pulled up a rolling stool. Without releasing Kristen’s hand, Erin sat down beside her patient. The moisturized oxygen continued to fizzle around Kristen’s face, intermittently drowned out by her wet wheezes. With nothing left to say or do, Erin hummed the same Joni Mitchell tunes she used to sing to her toddlers at bedtime. Kristen’s eyes stayed shut, but she murmured incoherently every so often. Erin was relieved to see that her patient was not suffering.

After about fifteen minutes, Kristen’s breathing began to slow. Within five minutes, she stopped breathing altogether.

Fresh tears rolling under her mask, Erin released Kristen’s limp hand and
stood up. She reached for the valve on the wall and shut off the blowing oxygen. She leaned forward and ran her fingers over the young woman’s cool brow. “Good-bye,” she whispered, and then turned for the door.

Erin had seen other patients die. She had witnessed an entire surgical team massacred in Africa. But no death had touched her in quite the same ways as Kristen’s. She felt as though she had just lost a close friend.

As she walked toward the cardiac sciences building, Erin reflected on her promise to Kristen. She would stay as involved as the family would allow, but she had also decided to honor her word with a financial commitment. The day before, she had phoned her accountant to set the wheels in motion to create a trust fund for Katie and Alex.

Her cell phone rang. She reached down and dug it out of her pocket.

“Rin?” Steve said. “You still at the hospital, hon?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s Kristen?”

Normally, her husband maintained a deliberate and healthy distance from Erin’s professional life, but he had taken a deep interest in the single mother of twins from the moment Erin had mentioned the woman’s plight. Steve had followed Kristen’s progress closely and wanted to actively assist his wife in her promise to watch out for the two children.

“She just died,” Erin said hoarsely.

“Ah, Rin!” he groaned. “I’m so sorry.”

“I was with her at the end, Steve.”

“I bet that meant a lot to her.”

Erin ran a hand over her misting eyes. “I hope so.”

“Rin, you did more than most doctors—most people—would have. I’m proud of you.”

“I liked her. A lot. You would have, too, Steve.”

“What’s going to happen to the kids now?”

“They’re going to live with Kristen’s aunt for the short term,” Erin said. “But apparently, their dad is moving back to Oakdale so Katie and Alex don’t have to change schools and start over.”

“It’s the least the son of a bitch can do,” he grumbled.

“Kristen once told me that he’s an okay guy. Just very immature.” She sighed again, realizing that no matter how life with their father panned out,
Katie and Alex would have been so much better off with Kristen. “At least the kids will have one parent around. And I promised Kristen I would keep an eye on him and them.”

“I’m your muscle if you need it.” He chuckled quietly. “You coming home? I’ve got a bottle of wine chilled. And if that ain’t enough, there’s vodka in the freezer.”

“Soon.” She smiled to herself. “I just have to drop by my office.”

“Are you going to be okay, Rin?”

“Yeah.”

“No more of those . . . um—”

“No panic attacks, Steve. I swear.”

“Good. Someone’s got to be strong in this family.”

“I love you, hon.”

“Right back at you,” he said.

After Erin hung up, she was shocked to realize she had not even thought about the anxiety attacks before her husband mentioned them. She had not experienced another attack since the day before her hike up Opa’s Trail with Tyler. Erin knew what Tyler had told her was true. She did need professional help, and her brother was probably correct in suggesting that she suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. She had always associated that diagnosis with Vietnam War vets and others who had been through hell and back, but after reading up on PTSD, she recognized that her symptoms were classic for the disorder.

She had already made an appointment to see Dr. Marie Genest, the psychiatrist who worked on the cardiac floor. Ever since opening up to Tyler, and allowing herself to relive that murderous afternoon in Nakuru, she had noticed her symptoms had begun to subside. She didn’t fear sleep, and the nightmares it was guaranteed to bring, as much as before. Erin didn’t know whether she had begun to heal or was simply too preoccupied with her patient’s terminal illness to experience anything else.

Erin looked up and noticed a woman in scrubs cross the lawn in front of her. Recognizing her as the nurse who had come to her aid the week before, Erin broke into a jog to catch up with the woman.

“Nikki?” she called out as she closed the gap.

Nikki stopped and looked over her shoulder—leaving Erin no doubt she had called to the right person—but then began walking again.

“Hold on a sec,” Erin said.

Nikki slowed, as though reluctant, and then turned to her. “Oh, hi, Erin,” she said. “Are your migraines gone? You feeling better?”

It took a moment for Erin to remember her white lie about the headache. “Yeah. I’m much better.”

The nurse looked flushed and beads of sweat ran from her hairline even though the temperature had cooled to a more usual fall range.
Has she been working out?
Erin wondered, but noticed that Nikki was still wearing purple Crocs along with her hospital scrubs.

“Good.” Nikki shifted from foot to foot. “Glad you feel better.”

“I wanted to thank you.”

Her shoulders rose and fell rapidly. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You did. And it meant a lot to me.”

Nikki smiled distantly. “You’re welcome then, I guess.”

A thought occurred to Erin. “You work on the sixth floor with Tyler, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you see that . . . um . . . article on him?”

“We all did.” Nikki shuffled on the spot. “Matter of fact, I was involved in that same case, too. The parents could just as easily have blamed me.”

“Doesn’t sound like anyone is to blame,” Erin said. “I tried to talk to Tyler, but he put on a brave face. Very macho. Said he’s all okay with it now.”

Nikki swept back her hair and laughed nervously. “There isn’t a rug too small for men to sweep their emotions under, huh?”

“Nikki, you’ve worked with my brother for a while, haven’t you?”

“Yeah. Tyler is a good doctor. A great doctor, actually. And I . . . um . . . consider him a friend, too.” Nikki ran the back of her wrist over her forehead and then glanced from side to side as though she were expecting someone else.

“Do you think he’s as okay with this as he’s making out?”

Nikki hesitated a moment. “No,” she said softly. “I don’t.”

“Me neither.”

Nikki’s shoulders twitched again, and she made a show of glancing at her watch. “How about I give you my number?” she asked. “Maybe we could talk about this over a coffee sometime soon?”

“I’d like that,” Erin said.

Nikki fumbled with the top pocket of her scrubs to find a pen and piece of paper. She scrawled her name and number on the narrow strip. She started to extend it to Erin with a shaky hand, but she fumbled and dropped the paper. In one frantic motion, she scooped it off the ground and handed it over.

Erin wondered why the nurse seemed so jumpy. “Are you feeling okay, Nikki?”

“I’m totally beat. Just finished a double shift.” Nikki giggled nervously. “It’s my Achilles’ heel. I just can’t say no to all that overtime dough.”

Nikki looked anything but tired. Her agitation reminded Erin of how she felt during one of her panic attacks. She considered saying something, but decided she had no right to. Instead, she said, “How about tomorrow or the day after for coffee?”

“Sounds a lot better rested to me. Give me a call in the morning?” Nikki smiled, nodded, and then rushed off.

Erin watched as Nikki darted off in the opposite direction from where she had been originally heading. She wondered what might have spooked Nikki.
An incident at work? Or possibly a personal matter?
She noticed Nikki hadn’t worn a wedding band. And the nurse had lit up, beyond professional admiration, at the mention of her brother’s name. Erin intended to gently probe a little more over coffee.

She realized she had no business prying into the life of someone she barely knew, but the distraction was good for her. Anything was preferable to remembering Kristen Hill and those two motherless kids.

Nikki didn’t stop until she reached the stall in the staff washroom and clicked the lock behind her. She sat down hard on the closed toilet lid, hugged her knees to her chest, and rocked back and forth on the seat. She could feel the little packet in her breast pocket almost burning into her skin. She’d nearly spilled its contents—those four precious pills—when she reached into the same pocket to find the pen and paper to scribble Erin’s number down.

I used to be a dancer, now I’m all thumbs, she thought miserably. What is wrong with me?

But Nikki knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what was wrong. She had lived through the same clamminess, nausea, clumsiness, and irritability too many times before not to recognize it now—narcotic withdrawal, or “junk sick” as it was better known by addicts.

Despite her attempts to ration her supply, Nikki had polished off the last of her hydromorphone tablets the night before. It was the second bottle she had emptied in under a week. She knew that the walk-in clinic physician who had prescribed it to her would not refill it so soon. Having pushed her stubborn denial beyond the breaking point, she no longer even bothered to tell herself that she was seeking relief from the chronic back pain. What she craved was the warm woolly calm the hydromorphone had brought back into her life.

Now she ached all over. And it would only get worse. The vomiting and diarrhea would follow if she didn’t find another source of pills. She wasn’t certain she could suffer through another five minutes of the withdrawal, let alone the day or two the symptoms would take to pass without more narcotics.

Opportunity had presented itself unexpectedly right before lunch when her fifteen-year-old patient, Kerry Novak, refused his afternoon dose of painkillers. The two-hundred-pound teen was on massive doses of narcotics for his incapacitating hip pain ever since the steroids he had been prescribed had destroyed both his hip joints. The orthopedic surgeons would have implanted artificial hips, but Kerry was still too immunocompromised from his leukemia treatment to have his hips replaced. Instead, he relied on numerous painkillers. He hardly ever refused his “breakthrough” dose—those extra hydromorphone tablets he took when the long-acting pills weren’t enough to control his pain. No one would expect Kerry to skip the lunchtime dose, so when he did, Nikki slipped the packet in her pocket and signed out the pills as administered.

The guilt hit her before the pills even reached her pocket. It was Arizona all over again, except there would be no second chances if she were caught this time. Her career would be ruined. Even worse, she was betraying the manager, Janice Halverson, who had gambled on her sobriety.

Desperately concerned about being spotted with the stolen pills, Nikki had been rushing out to her car to take them home when Erin intercepted her. After she managed to finally brush off Tyler’s sister, Nikki panicked. Overexposed and not thinking clearly, she dashed toward the nearest private haven that came to mind: the staff washroom on her floor.

Nikki wiped the steady stream of sweat from her brow. She dipped her trembling fingers into her breast pocket, clasped the unmarked packet (a tiny envelope for loose pills) between her index and middle finger, and slid it out of her pocket. She dried her other palm against the sleeve of her scrubs and then emptied the contents into the same hand. Four pills rolled out and came to rest on their sides.

Nikki could almost taste the sweet release the pills would surely bring from the awful withdrawal, and she fought off the urge to swallow the whole handful.

An image of her dead fiancé popped into her head. As usual, Glen was smiling in the memory. She had no doubt that he would have understood her addiction. He would have seen her through it, regardless of the slips and setbacks. Of course, if not for that senseless head-on crash—caused by an overworked driver who had fallen asleep at the wheel of his van—her
addiction would never have even been an issue. Glen would still be here for her. Life would be so very different, and so much better.

A ripple of shame racked Nikki. She understood that if she gave in now, it would only be that much harder the next time. Despite the craving and her nauseous restlessness, she decided to try to hold out another hour.

Just make it home and then see
.

Nikki carefully poured the pills back into the open packet and stuffed it back into her pocket before leaving the stall. At the sink, she ran a paper towel over her damp hair and then washed her face and hands.

She had just stepped out of the bathroom and turned for the staircase when Tyler called to her. “Nikki!”

Oh God, why now?
Nikki screamed inside her head as she turned to face him.

“Do you have a moment?” he asked.

“I—I’m just racing out. I have to meet someone at home.”

“I just need five minutes, Nikki. One cup of coffee, that’s all.”

“How about tomorrow?”