hospital policy, but he hadn't expected that the rules would be applied to him. He was about to demand to speak to the young woman's supervisor when a familiar figure loomed on the horizon.
Dixie placed her hands on her hips and struck a menacing stance. "Is there a problem, Kel?"
"Uh, I, uh, can find my own way to my room," he pathetically explained.
"Kelly Brackett! You know the rules of this hospital as well as I do. All patients must be escorted to their room by wheelchair or gurney. No exceptions." She pulled at the plastic band wrapped around his arm. "In case you haven't noticed, you're officially a patient now, and the rules apply to you, too."
The doctor was not impressed. "It's a stupid rule. I'm ambulatory, and there's no reason I shouldn't be allowed to walk to my own room."
"Do the words 'potential legal liability' ring a bell?"
"Oh Dix, for crying out loud! I'm not going to fall and sue my own hospital! You're being absurd."
"No," she argued, "you're being bull-headed." Her expression softened. "What about a compromise? Would you allow me to take you to your room?"
Somewhat mollified, he grinned wickedly. "Slave! Fetch me my chariot!"
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
He stared at the sterile walls of his private room. The only splash of color was the large impressionist style print hanging directly across from his bed. Funny, he had worked at this hospital for years, but he never found the unique antiseptic smell unsettling until now. There was a constant cacophony of noise: doctors being paged over the intercom, patients contacting the nurses' desk, visitors shuffling throughout the corridors, voices murmuring, telephones ringing. How on earth did they expect patients to rest?
Dr. Brackett noted the time on his watch. It was eight o'clock. In ten and a half hours, he would be wheeled to the operating suite to begin the pre-operative procedures. He felt a peculiar tightness in his chest at the thought of his approaching doom.
The anesthesiologist performed his evaluation half an hour ago. Without a prior surgical history, Dr. Brackett had no idea if he was likely to experience any adverse reactions to anesthesia or not. That uncertainty unnerved him. Fortunately, Dr. Roberts was a cautious physician, and he decided to adjust his choice of medications accordingly. He was also a very perceptive man. Sensing his patient's growing agitation, he wrote orders for a mild sedative and a sleeping pill.
Feeling like he had a date with the executioner rather than his surgeon in the morning, Dr. Brackett tried to calm his breathing to quell the rising panic. He closed his eyes in concentration.
Dixie's soft whisper was heard at the door. "I think he's asleep."
He was startled into alertness. "I'm awake. Come on in."
Dr. Early seated himself in one of the notoriously uncomfortable visitor's chairs. "How are you doing, Kel?"
"You realize, of course, that I still have ample time to make a break for it."
"Oh, Kel. You make it sound like a prison sentence," Dixie scolded.
He indicated his accommodations. "I am in solitary."
She playfully slapped him on his leg. "When you can breathe decently in a few weeks, you're going to be glad you did this."
"Riiiiight."
"Kel, you owe it to the department to have this done. You behave like a real bear when you're sick," Dr. Early said.
"I do not!"
Dixie nodded. "I'm afraid I have to agree with Joe. When you're miserable, everyone’s miserable."
"I'm certainly going to be miserable tomorrow." The depression in his voice did not go unnoticed.
Dr. Early stood up and squeezed his friend's shoulder reassuringly. "Good luck. We'll see you after your surgery." Dixie didn't say anything. She simply leaned forward and gave him a kiss.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
The perky young nurse quietly entered Dr. Brackett's room. "Sir, I have your evening medications for you." She held out the small paper cup and glass of water and waited expectantly.
"What is this?" he barked.
"Dr. Roberts left orders for a sedative and a sleeping pill for tonight," she timidly answered. "Didn't he mention this?"
The memory of the conversation came rushing back. Yes, the anesthesiologist had discussed his plans at length. This was so embarrassing. He was going to be a complete basket case by tomorrow morning!
"Yes, yes he did. I'm sorry, I forgot." The doctor swallowed the pills and thanked the nurse profusely.
Hopefully the medication would take effect soon.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
"Dr. Brackett. Dr. Brackett. You need to wake up."
"What?"
The nurse firmly shook his shoulder. "Surgery will be up in fifteen minutes. You need to void your bladder and change into a gown," she instructed.
He fuzzily sat on the edge of the bed trying to clear the cobwebs from the drug-induced sleep. The moment of truth was finally here. He barely had time to complete the requested activities when the gurney arrived.
"Your ride is here," the nurse announced.
They helped him climb onto the gurney, and then covered him with a thin hospital sheet. Dang! Did they put these things in the refrigerator before they gave them to patients? Brrrr! The attendants rolled him down the corridor and into the elevator, bumping him against the doors in the process. Where did these people learn to drive? At drunken frat parties? He clenched his fists in irritation.
In a couple of moments, he was wheeled into the surgical holding area. A white curtain partitioned his cubicle. Predictably, a nurse holding a ream of papers approached him. She checked the name on his hospital bracelet. "Are you Kelly Brackett?"
"Yes, guilty as charged."
The woman beamed. She was entirely too enthusiastic for this early in the morning. "My name is Joan, and I'm your nurse this morning. I'm going to ask you a few questions and then I'm going to get your IV started. Okay?"
Dr. Brackett protectively held his arm. "What if I've changed my mind?"
She seemed to find the remark amusing. "We have drugs to subjugate you to our will. Besides, according to your chart, it's not a matter of 'if' but 'when.' You're already here, so what do you say?"
Resigned to his plight, he replied, "Oh, okay."
"All right then. Let's see, you haven't had anything to eat or drink since midnight, right?"
He nervously shook his head. "No."
The nurse checked off an item on her list. "Did you void this morning?"
Geez, how humiliating! "Yes."
"Are you allergic to any medications?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Have you ever had surgery before?"
"No."
"Are you wearing anything under your gown?"
He was becoming annoyed at the intrusions. "No."
Joan set the chart aside. "Okay then. I'll get your IV started. Are you right or left handed?"
His mind went completely blank for a moment. "Uh...right."
She swabbed his left arm with an alcohol prep pad and then deftly started the IV. "Dr. Roberts ordered some pre-operative Valium, so you should be feeling pretty relaxed in a few minutes." Joan removed the syringe from the port and deposited it into the sharps container.
In spite of the sedative, Dr. Brackett still felt an overwhelming sense of anxiety. He prided himself on taking charge during crisis situations. That's why he thrived in the emergency room. Yet, now he felt anything but in control. He felt completely at the mercy of other people. Sure, he knew Frank Abrams was professionally qualified to perform this procedure, Pete Roberts was an extremely competent anesthesiologist and the staff of Rampart Hospital was the finest group of people he had the privilege of working with. But he hated admitting to himself that he wasn't the master of the universe. Crap. He wasn't even master over his own body.
A voice penetrated through the fog. "Kel, are you ready?"
Dr. Brackett looked up into the kind face of Dr. Roberts. "Yeah, let's get this over with."
"Now there's an eager patient!" the anesthesiologist joked as he rolled his patient toward the double doors of the operating room.
After transferring him to the operating table, Dr. Roberts began attaching him to various monitoring devices. "Your vital signs are a bit elevated. Are you okay?"
His mouth dry, Dr. Brackett struggled to moisten his lips. "Yeah, I'm fine."
The anesthesiologist wasn't deceived. "I'm going to give you a little bit more Valium. You should feel better in a couple of minutes."
Shortly afterward, a gowned and masked Frank Abrams entered the chilly OR. "I can't believe you're finally here. Dixie must be on the other side of the door barring your escape."
Dr. Brackett was too sleepy to respond. Dr. Abrams nodded to the anesthesiologist to begin.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
He was smothering. There was something obscuring his nose and mouth, and he desperately clawed at the source of his distress.
"Dr. Brackett, don't touch the mask! You need to breathe through your mouth."
The voice didn't make any sense. Didn't it understand he had to remove the obstruction that was suffocating him?
Joan kindly nudged his shoulder to heighten his level of awareness. "Dr. Brackett. You're in the recovery room. You've just had surgery on your sinuses. You can't breathe through your nose because of the cotton packing. You need to breathe through your mouth. The humidified oxygen should make you more comfortable."
Her message registered in some fuzzy part of his brain. Gradually his breathing eased.
"That's it," she encouraged. "You're doing fine. Go back to sleep."
He was too drugged to argue, and for once he complied with medical advice.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Dr. Brackett was returned to his private room a few hours ago, but sound sleep still eluded him. His sinus cavities were stuffed with cotton, which made him feel panicky. When he opened his mouth to breathe, it felt weird. The humidified oxygen did seem to help, though. It could be because the warm, moist air helped to keep his mucous membranes comfortable, or maybe psychologically the steady supply of oxygen reassured him he was getting enough air.
The angle of the bed was also proving problematic. Until the swelling subsided, it was being maintained at a constant forty-five degrees. Dr. Brackett was having difficulty adapting to his new position. He was a capricious sleeper by nature, and the additional challenges were proving more than he could bear.
The throbbing in his face intensified an hour ago. He gingerly touched the swollen area near the right side of his nose. The warm liquid on his hand alarmed him. Instinctively, he pulled it away and studied the thick blood dripping from his fingertips. He blindly groped along the railing for the nurse's call button.
"Yes, how may I help you?" the disembodied voice asked.
A dazed Dr. Brackett stared at his now bloodstained gown. "My nose is bleeding."
"I'll be right there," the voice promised.
Within a couple of minutes, a nurse magically appeared. "Dr. Brackett, when did this start?"
"A couple of minutes ago."
"Are you in any pain?"
"Yes," he confessed, "it started about an hour ago."
"Why didn't you ask for your pain medication then?" she asked in amazement.
Dr. Brackett held his bloody palm to his nose. "I thought I could handle it."
The nurse was aghast. "Sir, your medication will work more effectively if you take it at the earliest onset of symptoms." She carefully examined the source of the bleeding and placed a folded washcloth over the area.
"Here," she instructed, "place your hand over this and apply light pressure. I'll be right back." The nurse promptly returned with a syringe and an armload of supplies. "Okay, I'm going to give you an injection of Demerol for your pain, and then we'll get you cleaned up."
"Injection?" He eyed the needle with trepidation. "Why can't I take something orally?"
The middle-aged nurse smiled inwardly. Men were such babies, and this one was a physician. The worst kind of all! "I'm afraid your doctor wrote orders for your pain meds to be administered intramuscularly, at least for now. Besides, it should take effect faster, and you look like you can use all the help you can get."
Grudgingly, he rolled onto his side. He grimaced as the nurse found her target and plunged the needle into the sensitive skin of his hip. How did he ever allow himself to be coerced into this? The nurse started unloosening the ties of his gown, and his back suddenly felt very cold.
"What are you doing?" Dr. Brackett gasped.
She disregarded the squirming man's outrage as she worked to divest him of his clothing and his dignity. "We need to change you into a clean gown. Did you forget why you rang the call bell in the first place?"
Oh yeah. He ventured to glance at the bright red blood that stained the front of his gown. For a few fleeting seconds, he felt strangely lightheaded. This was ludicrous! He was a trauma physician. Blood and guts were an essential part of his vocation. He had never been squeamish a day in his life. Of course, the blood was never his before.
Breathe, he reminded himself. Just breathe.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
The cliché "death warmed over" was making a lot more sense. Johnny felt absolutely dreadful. Over the past several days he became intimate with his toilet bowl, making generous contributions of ginger ale, Jell-O, chicken broth, and anything else he thought his queasy stomach could tolerate. Alas, his good intentions were for naught.
He reached on the shelf and retrieved a soft terrycloth hand towel. Hanging his head over the sink, he rinsed the foul taste from his mouth and splashed the cool water on his sweat-drenched face. Having blotted the excess moisture, Johnny's gaze drifted toward the mirror. The reflection startled him. Was he more delirious than he realized? Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Perhaps it was the lighting of the bathroom. Johnny rummaged though the drawers until he located the desired item. He ran to the kitchen with a mirror tightly clutched in his hand.
Johnny quickly examined his skin and eyes. They appeared to be yellow. Not trusting his judgment, he nervously dialed the familiar phone number.
"L.A. County Fire Department, Station 51, Mike Stoker speaking."
"Uh, Mike, this is Johnny. Is Roy there?"
"Sure," Mike responded, "hang on."
A moment later his partner's comforting voice answered. "What's wrong, Johnny?"
"Roy, this is kind of embarrassing, but I need a second opinion. I was in the bathroom barfing..."
"Still?"
"Yeah, but that's not the reason I'm calling," Johnny admitted. "I think I'm yellow."
Roy's eyebrow climbed toward his hairline. "Yellow? Do you mean your skin or your eyes?"
"Both."
Shifting into paramedic mode, the questions began, "When did this start?"
Johnny said, "I noticed it a few minutes ago."
"You mentioned you're still vomiting. Have you kept anything down?"
"Not in about a week."
Roy closed his eyes. "Okay Johnny. I'm going to call this in as a still alarm. Jim and I can be there in about ten minutes."
The whining began immediately. "Aw, Roy, you don't have to do that! Can't you stop by between runs or something?"
"Johnny, from what you're describing, you probably need to be treated for dehydration if nothing else. We'll see you in a bit."
Johnny finally acquiesced. "All right, all right!" Now he was probably going to be hospitalized for some stupid flu bug. Why did these things always happen to him?
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Not surprisingly, Roy's predictions proved correct. Rampart ordered an IV in view of Johnny's symptoms of severe dehydration, including a slight irregular heartbeat. Suffice it to say, they were also concerned about his jaundiced appearance. As a paramedic, Johnny knew what the outcome of the call was likely to be, but that knowledge didn't improve his mood. He was despondent during the entire ride to Rampart.
The ambulance soon came to a stop and the back doors snapped open. The attendant helped Roy to unload the gurney, and Dixie directed them to Treatment Room 3.
"Johnny, I guess no one can accuse you of being a red-skin now," she teased.
He groaned. "Not that being called yellow-bellied is any better."
They smoothly transferred him onto the exam table and changed him into a hospital gown. Dixie took a new set of vitals, and recorded her findings in Johnny's chart.
"Well, if it isn't Rampart's most colorful patient," Dr. Early said as he entered the treatment room. "You say you first noticed this today?"
"Yeah, I've had the worst case of the flu in my life for the past few days, but it wasn't until this morning that I noticed the jaundice."
"Hmm. Describe what you mean by 'worst case of the flu,'" encouraged the physician.
Johnny paused to organize his thoughts. "I've been having trouble keeping anything down. The mere thought of eating is enough to make me nauseated. I've been having really bad stomach pain, I guess from all the vomiting. I've been running a fever, and my muscles and joints really hurt so it's hard to get comfortable. I've even tried a heating pad and Ben-Gay and stuff. And I'm sooooo tired all the time! I don't seem to be able to catch up on my sleep.
"I see. Have you noticed any discoloration in your urine? Has it been darker than usual?"
"Now that you mention it, it has."
Dr. Early lifted Johnny's gown and palpated his abdomen. "Your liver is slightly enlarged," he commented. He continued his thorough exam. "You also have some adenopathy present."
"So what are you saying, Doc?"
The physician washed his hands. "I need to run some blood work, especially some liver function tests, but I'm positive you have hepatitis."
Johnny sank into his pillow. "But I haven't been exposed to anyone with hepatitis, and I don't use IV drugs or anything..."
A light bulb went off in Roy's head. "Johnny, remember that rescue we went on a couple of months ago where the victim overdosed on heroin?"
"So?"
"Something stuck you. Do you think it might have that junkie's needle?"
"Maybe. I don't know. I never saw what it was. The carpet was that thick, shag stuff you could probably lose a small animal in."
Dr. Early listened to the conversation with interest. "The time frame coincides with your symptoms. Transmission by a contaminated needle is one mode of infection."
Johnny expectantly looked at the doctor. "So, how do you treat it?"
"There really is no specific treatment for hepatitis, aside from rest and avoidance of alcohol. However, since you're badly dehydrated from the vomiting, I'm going to admit you and keep you here until your electrolytes have stabilized and you're able to tolerate a soft diet."
"Aw, Doc!"
Dr. Early wrote the orders in Johnny's chart. "It may be a while before we have a room for you. The hospital has been swamped with elective surgeries and the flu. We'll get you upstairs as soon as possible. In the meantime, I'll send Dixie in to draw some blood and get an IV started."
"I can't believe this!" Johnny moaned. "This day gets worse by the minute."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Dixie was hesitant to deliver the news. Kel had not thoroughly enjoyed being roommates with John Gage during a previous hospital confinement. He jokingly complained about having to share a room with young Romeo, and said the experience was more tolerable when Johnny was unconscious. Now fate brought them together again. They would be sharing a room once more.
She softly knocked on the door. "Kel?"
"Come on in, Dix." The doctor was practically sitting upright in bed, propped up with several pillows. His face was bruised and swollen from the surgery and the cotton packing added to his misery. He seemed to be having difficulty remembering to breathe through his mouth.
"How are you feeling?"
He rolled his eyes. "Like hell. Frank said it would feel like the worst cold imaginable, but he has a serious talent for understatement."
She gently brushed his hair away from his face sympathetically. "How long is he going to leave the packing in place?"
"About a week. There's absolutely nothing in the world that could possibly make me feel worse than I do right now," he whined.
Dixie bit her lower lip as she remembered the reason for her errand. "Uh, Kel. There's something I need to tell you."
"Oh?"
"You're going to be getting a roommate in a few minutes," she calmly informed him.
"But this is supposed to be a private room," he grumbled.
"I know," Dixie soothed, "but the hospital is nearly filled to capacity, so they've had to convert some private rooms into semi-private ones."
"Great, this is just great."
"Kel, there's something else you ought to know."
"You mean there's more?" Dr. Brackett asked warily.
She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Johnny Gage is going to be your roommate."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Dr. Brackett was furious about his predicament. He specifically requested a private room. Not only was he relegated to sharing it now, but with an immature, very hormonal overgrown adolescent.
He glared at the sleeping form in the adjacent bed. Johnny was dozing fitfully, as his fever and aching joints prevented him from enjoying a restful slumber. He hadn't thrown up his toenails for at least an hour, which meant he should be christening the sheets again any minute.
The doctor assumed that attractive nurses would be fussing over Johnny once he was settled in, just like they did last time. Thus far, that scenario had yet to occur. Admittedly, Johnny wasn't feeling well, but that usually didn't deter him from pursuing willing young ladies. Even barely conscious, the man flirted shamelessly.
Unbelievably, Johnny had sought medical assistance voluntarily on this occasion. Dr. Brackett never could understand why the paramedic was so averse to admitting he was human. Everyone got sick once in a while, it was nothing to be embarrassed about. Considering his occupation, it was almost humorous to watch Johnny try to weasel out of medical attention. His training and experience should enable him to know better than to neglect his health. Poor Johnny, if only he'd realize doctors were there to help him. The process was really quite simple. Seek help at the first onset of symptoms, and follow the doctor's instructions. Any one with half a brain could do it.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
"Hey, Kel. How are you feeling?" Dixie cooed.
Dr. Brackett scowled. "I'm ready to leave. There's nothing they're doing for me here that I can't take care of at home. For crying out loud, I'm a doctor!"
"Yes, and you've made sure everyone knows that," she lightly rebuked. "Kel, Dr. Abrams wouldn't insist on keeping you here if he didn't feel it was necessary. I promise as soon as he thinks you're ready to be discharged, I'll personally drive you home and provide any nursing services you require."
"Any nursing services?"
She slyly winked. "Of course, we'll have to negotiate my fee."
"Hmm, let me guess. A candlelight dinner at Ernie's?"
"That's a good start, but I had something else in mind."
"Ooh, do tell," he replied enthusiastically.
Dixie placed her hands firmly on her hips. "Okay, these are my terms. Stop harassing the nurses and stop whining like a two-year-old. Your behavior is an insult to toddlers everywhere. Honestly, I'm not sure which is worse, having you deny you're sick or behaving like a baby."
As if to reiterate her point, the head of emergency services pouted. "I'm not that bad, am I?"
"Yes, you are," she chided. "Now do we have a deal?"
"That depends. I need clarification as to what the nursing services include," he playfully hinted.
Dixie laughed. "You're incorrigible!" She considered the sleeping figure in the other bed. "Speaking of overgrown children, how are you and Romeo getting along?"
"Actually, he's been relatively quiet, which was my first clue he hasn't been feeling well. Since he doesn't sleep well due to the joint and abdominal pain, he's exhausted most of the time. But you know Johnny. He won't admit he's suffering or ask for help, even when he plainly needs it."
"Sounds like someone else I know," she replied cryptically.
He ignored her remark. "I mean, Joe wrote orders for analgesics p.r.n., but Johnny refuses to ask for them. Medical care has to be practically be forced on him."
"Kel, as I recall, you weren't exactly the picture of cooperation when Joe suggested you see a specialist, or even worse, when you needed to schedule your own surgery."
An embarrassed Dr. Brackett stared at the painting. He hated it when she was right.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Dr. Brackett glanced at his roommate's untouched dinner tray. "Johnny, aren't you going to eat?"
"Nah, I'm not hungry."
"Are you nauseated?"
Johnny smiled. "Doc, you're off duty. You're supposed to be resting."
The doctor persisted. "I know, but are you nauseated?"
"Yeah."
Dr. Brackett quickly pressed the call button.
"Aw, Doc. Why did you have to do that?" the paramedic groaned.
"I was going to see if you're due for an injection of Phenergan. You need to eat."
"Doc..."
"Would you rather have a garden hose crammed up your nose?"
"No, but I don't want the nurses hacked off at me either. Believe it or not, I'm trying not to make a nuisance out of myself, unlike other people."
Dr. Brackett raised an eyebrow. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Johnny slumped against his pillows. "You're a great doctor, but you make a lousy patient. Unlike the ER, you're not in control here. Constantly barking orders at the nurses isn't going to get you out of here any faster. Chill, man!"
"Johnny, surely you understand the importance of insuring patients receive the proper medications in a timely manner."
"Yeah, but harassing the nurses isn't the answer. Aren't you familiar with the old saying 'honey attracts more flies than vinegar'?"
"What's your point?"
"I'm saying that people are more likely to want to do things for you when you're nice to them, even when it's their job."
A frazzled nurse appeared in the doorway. "Yes, what can I do for you?"
Johnny pasted a famous trademark crooked grin on his face. "Ma'am, I'm having a bit of trouble with some nausea. Could you please check my chart to see if I'm due for another shot?"
She smiled brightly. "Yes, of course! I'll be right back."
Dr. Brackett glowered at his roommate. "Honey and vinegar, indeed!"
A few minutes later, the nurse happily breezed back into the room bearing a syringe. "Good news! Your wish is my command." She quickly swabbed the IV port and injected the medication. Noticing the untouched meal, she looked dismayed. "Aren't you going to eat your dinner?"
He shrugged. "Maybe later when my stomach is settled."
She nodded as she removed his tray. "All right. Let us know when you're ready, and we'll scrounge up some Jell-O or juice for you."
The physician sulked. "I noticed she didn't offer to take my tray."
"You didn't threaten to puke on her or smile for that matter." As Johnny became groggy from the medication, he turned toward Dr. Brackett. "Doc, can I ask you a question?"
"What?"
"Why do doctors make such lousy patients?" Johnny earnestly inquired.
Dr. Brackett sighed. He was really clueless as to why this was the case, but he knew someone who had plenty of opinions on the matter. "I don't know, Johnny, but I'm sure Dixie has plenty of theories."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
The morning light danced across room 458. Unfortunately, it was the only form of sunshine making its warm presence known.
"I don't know why Dr. Abrams won't let me go home," Dr. Brackett continued to harp. "I feel fine. I could recuperate just as well at home as I could here."
His roommate's muffled giggles could be heard from across the room.
"What's so damned funny?" the frustrated doctor demanded.
"Listen to yourself, you sound like a patient! Now you know what it's like when the shoe is on the other foot."
"That's preposterous."
Johnny propped himself up on his elbow. "How many times have we had this conversation when the roles were reversed?"
Dr. Brackett appeared genuinely confused. "I'm not sure I follow you."
"Oh, come on Doc. I can't begin to count the number of times I've begged to be released from the hospital when I felt better, but you preferred to err on the side of caution to hold me prisoner against my will."
"That's an exaggeration, don't you think?"
Johnny sputtered, "Baloney! Every time I hear you say the words 'just to be on the safe side' I get goose bumps! That always means I'm stuck here for at least another day or so."
The physician/patient tried to explain, "But that's different. I have a responsibility for the people under my care. I'm simply doing my job."
"Maybe your doctor is simply doing his."
Technically, Johnny was correct, of course. But still, the stubborn Kelly Brackett couldn't accept his role as a patient.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
As Dr. Early intently studied the most recent lab results, Johnny prepared to present a performance worthy of an Academy Award. Summoning his courage, he began his charade. "Doc, I feel much better today. Can I go home?"
The sidelined emergency room physician interjected, "Don't let him fool you, Joe. Even with the antiemetics, he's still vomiting. I think he's only kept a couple of glasses of juice down since he's been here."
Johnny looked menacingly at his roommate. The disclosure of information was not appreciated.
Dr. Early peered over his glasses at his less than forthcoming patient. "Is that true?"
"Uh...well..."
"Is the Phenergan helping at all?"
"Yeah...but..."
His unsolicited advocate responded. "No, it isn't. He's throwing up less because he's significantly restricting his fluid intake."
Johnny wailed plaintively, "Traitor!"
Undeterred, Dr. Brackett proceeded. "I'll bet he's orthostatic and his potassium levels are in the basement."
Johnny's official physician bemusedly removed the blood pressure cuff from the wall. "Just for grins, I'd like to test that hypothesis. With his patient lying down, he obtained the first reading. To record the next, he moved him into a sitting position. Johnny soon became lightheaded and his vision misted over. When his level of consciousness improved, he noticed his hospital bed was tilted upside down slightly.
Dr. Early's voice slowly penetrated through the fog. "How are you feeling?"
He opened his mouth to reply, but his stomach had other ideas. The acrid taste of bile forced its way through his throat, and he threw up into the emesis basin Dr. Early shoved in front of him. Johnny clenched his fists and pounded the bed in frustration.
"Definitely an NG tube," Dr. Brackett opined.
Dr. Early concurred. "Johnny, your digestive system needs a rest. The recurrent vomiting is wreaking havoc with your electrolytes, especially your potassium level. I know the tube isn't pleasant, but it should help stabilize you faster."
"Can't we try the meds a little while longer," Johnny whimpered.
"Absolutely not. It's imperative we do this as soon as possible," Dr. Early firmly stated. He gradually adjusted Johnny's bed so he was in a semi-reclining position again. "I'll be back shortly."
Johnny muttered, "Ooh, I can't wait."
Dr. Brackett tried to offer his support. "Under the circumstances, it's an appropriate course of action."
"Why don't you mind your own business?!"
"What?"
The paramedic fumed. "Just because you can't dictate your medical care doesn't give you the right to butt into mine. I don't rat you out to your doctor when you lower the angle of your bed, or when you refuse your medications."
"That's different," Dr. Brackett reasoned. "I'm a doctor, and I'm capable of making informed decisions regarding my care."
"Doc, that's pathetic. You hide behind that excuse to do exactly what you darned well please. When you're sick, poof! No problem. You choose to ignore your symptoms, hoping they'll go away."
"Well, I know of another obstinate person who tends to downplay symptoms," the physician retorted.
"Why you..."
The escalating verbal barrage was temporarily halted by the reappearance of Dr. Early. In his hands, he carried the dreaded tubing. "Okay, Johnny. You know the routine. Do you have any questions?"
"No, let's get this over with."
Dr. Brackett couldn't help himself. "Do you need a hand, Joe?"
Johnny reached his breaking point. "Doc, don't you think you've done enough already? Why don't you leave me alone!" Unbidden tears threatened to spill onto his face, and he turned toward the window.
Dr. Early excused himself, and returned brandishing a handful of syringes. "Johnny, I'm going to give you some meds before we start. You should feel relaxed in a few minutes." True to his word, Johnny began to feel warm and cozy. Heck, he was starting to feel so good he would probably let Dr. Early shave him bald. Therefore, he offered no resistance when the thin plastic tubing was threaded through his nose. The task accomplished, Johnny burrowed into his covers and drifted into the land of Nod.
"Is he asleep?" asked Dr. Brackett.
"Yeah, he should be out for a few hours. He's exhausted."
"What did you give him?"
"Perhaps the same thing I ought to give you," Dr. Early warned.
The dark-haired man was mystified. "I have no earthly idea what you're talking about."
"I'm talking about interfering in such an abrasive manner."
"Oh, come on. We all know what an uncooperative patient he can be. You saw how he was trying to manipulate you into releasing him, even though he's not medically stable. I was only trying to help."
His colleague crossed his arms. "Do you think any of this is news to me? I've known Johnny Gage as long as you have, and I'm equally immune to his charms. I don't care how great an actor he is, I wouldn't dare have considered releasing him based on his vital signs and lab work values. You complain about Johnny being immature, but it's you who's acting like a spoiled brat. You can't get your way with Dr. Abrams, so you're trying to take control of Johnny's care. Well, it's not going to work. Get it through your thick skull, I'm in charge of his case, not you. Have I made myself unclear in any way?"
A chastised Kelly Brackett meticulous studied his bedcovers. "No."
"Fine. I'll see you later."
Watching the doctor close the door behind him, Dr. Brackett pondered the morning's events. There was an element of truth in their words. He did suffer from an overwhelming need to control people and things. Being a patient horrified him because he couldn't manipulate the circumstances to suit him. But damn it, if Dr. Brackett couldn't dictate his own care, he was going to offer someone else the benefit of his superior expertise, whether they wanted it or not! Alas, his intended victim was equally renown for his disdain of being on the receiving end of medical attention, and his heavy-handed efforts went unappreciated.
He watched his roommate sleep peacefully for the first time since his admission. Dr. Brackett realized he owed John Gage a huge apology when he woke up.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
The afternoon dragged on interminably. There was nothing on television but game shows and soap operas. A chagrined Dr. Brackett dreaded the apology he needed to make when his roommate rejoined the land of the living. Humility was not his greatest virtue.
He tried to immerse himself in a back issue of JAMA. Even though he had scanned the same page four times, he didn't have the foggiest idea what he had read. His mind was a million miles away.
Dixie bustled into the room balancing several gifts in her arms. "Sorry I'm late. Ron decided to convene an impromptu meeting after the shift change to go over changes in the vacation requisition form."
"You're kidding."
She was extremely annoyed. "Do I look like I'm laughing?" Dixie's expression brightened as she unloaded her burdens on his bedside table. "Your doctor said you couldn't have any flowers, so I decided to improvise."
Like a small child at Christmas, Dr. Brackett eagerly inspected his gifts. There was a coffee cup filled with jelly beans, a box of playing cards, a jig-saw puzzle, a paperback detective novel, two books of crossword puzzles...and a bottle of massage oil?
The head nurse impishly grinned. "Strictly for therapeutic use."
"Hmm. And what if I require assistance in applying this prescribed substance?"
"I'm sure arrangements can be made for a duly licensed health care professional to make a house call," she purred.
"Dix," he fawned, "you're the best." He leaned over to kiss her.
"Kel! ,You have a roommate, remember?"
"You mean Rip Van Winkle? He's been asleep for hours. Joe drugged him to the gills."
"Why?"
She was going to hear the story from someone else sooner or later. He might as well come clean. "Uh, as you know Johnny hasn't been responding to the antiemetics, so it was determined he required an NG tube."
Her soft doe-eyes looked into his. "So why does he resemble a zombie?"
"I, uh, got a little frustrated with my doctor this morning, so I took it out on Johnny."
"I don't understand."
Dr. Brackett nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Since I wasn't too successful in taking charge of my own care..."
The picture was becoming abundantly clear. "You took it upon yourself to try to take over Johnny's treatment."
"Something like that."
Dixie threw up her hands in disgust. "Kel, when are you going to learn? I don't care if you are a brilliant physician, people don't appreciate being humiliated. That was a tactless thing to do!"
"I know," Dr. Brackett admitted somewhat contritely.
"Did Joe have to sedate him?"
"Yes."
The disappointed nurse cocked her head. "You know, he should have sedated the daylights out of you, too."
Dr. Brackett's mouth twitched into a small smile. "Actually, he did make that threat."
"Good. You deserved it."
He picked up the bottle of massage oil. "Perhaps a neck rub would eliminate any lingering kinks in my foul disposition today."
She poured a few drops of the aromatic oil onto her hands. "Okay, but as soon as Mr. Van Winkle wakes up you have to promise me you'll make amends."
"It's a deal."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
On the third morning of the roommates' mutual incarceration, Dr. Brackett's surgeon still refused to release him.
"But Frank, there's no reason I shouldn't be allowed to go home. I'm not having any problems, and I'm on oral pain meds..."
Dr. Abrams steadfastly held his ground. "No, the nurses report you're still experiencing frequent panic attacks, causing you to breathe ineffectually. Your blood gasses show you've been hyperventilating." He scrawled in his patient's chart. "I want to put you back on humidified oxygen until tomorrow. That should help make you more comfortable. I also need to readjust the angle of your bed; it's flatter than it should be. That may account for the pronounced swelling you have this morning. I'll write orders for something to help with that."
The proud head of emergency services was reduced to a withering mass. "Can I go home tomorrow?"
"Let's take it one day at a time. I'll see you in the morning." Dr. Abrams congenially patted him on the leg.
Dr. Brackett was inconsolable. Would he ever be released from this prison? Worst of all, he did this to himself. Sure, Dixie and Joe practically placed the gun to his temple, but he's the one who signed his rights away. Hey, there's a thought! He could sign himself out AMA! He was infused with a renewed feeling of energy and purpose. Humming to himself, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
A well-rested Johnny stared at him in disbelief. "You're sure in a good mood for someone who's stuck here for another day."
"That's because I'm not," he informed the paramedic matter-of-factly. "I'm going home."
"But I distinctly heard..."
"I know, but I've decided to sign myself out AMA."
Johnny's mouth gaped open. "I don't believe what I'm hearing. Did I hallucinate our conversation last night? After you apologized for nosing around in my business, didn't the great Dr. Kelly Brackett finally admit he's human, and promise to follow the advice of his own doctor?"
Strung by the truth of the words, Dr. Brackett's shoulders slumped forward. "But I don't want to stay."
"Do you think I want to be here? I've been a patient in this fine institution more days than I care to count. You have to give me credit in the originality department for some of the schemes I've tried in order to bargain for an early release."
The doctor laughed. "You have presented a few challenges."
"Doc, don't sign yourself out. And stop acting like you're indestructible like Superman. Even he got sick when he was exposed to kryptonite."
Dr. Brackett seemed thoughtful. "Does this mean I have to get rid of my pajamas with the big red 'S' on them?"
Johnny giggled. "No, but you do need to ditch Lois Lane. I don't think Dix would be willing to share."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Dr. Early was pleased with Johnny's progress. "So, have you had any more episodes of vomiting since yesterday?"
"No, not a one."
The white-haired physician looked to his colleague for confirmation. Dr. Brackett raised his hands helplessly. "Don't ask me. I'm merely a convalescing roommate. I have no opinion on this issue."
Johnny smiled appreciatively.
"Well, your vital signs have improved, but your electrolytes are still a source of concern."
"Can I go home?" he asked hopefully.
"I'm afraid not," Dr. Early replied. "We need to monitor you until your potassium level has stabilized. If we add too much potassium too quickly, it can potentially result in life-threatening cardiac arrhythmias. We'll keep you here another day or two, just to be on the safe side."
The doctor's last phrase inadvertently provoked a fit of laughter from the room's recumbent occupants.
"What's so funny?" he inquired.
"Nothing, Doc. It's an inside joke," Johnny explained.
"Do you think you could manage a liquid diet if I pulled the tube out today?"
"Will it get me out of here any faster?"
Dr. Early rubbed his chin. "It might."
Johnny gestured toward his nose. "C'mon, Doc. There's a warm, slimy bowl of Jell-O with my name on it somewhere."
Soon Johnny was blissfully unfettered. He entertained himself by scooping the green, slightly congealed liquid into various configurations. After taking a sip of his apple juice, he resumed his artistic endeavors.
Dr. Brackett scolded, "Aren't you going to eat that?"
"It's green, and besides, it's melted."
"It doesn't matter what color it is, just drink the damn stuff! Do you want to stay here forever? I swear, you're the worst patient I've ever seen in my life!"
Johnny smugly unleashed his arsenal. "Oh yeah? You're not exactly the model patient either. You've been fighting your doctor and the nurses tooth and nail since you've been here, behaving like a world-class jerk. Rumor has it the only reason you're here is because a certain ER nurse threatened to perform ad hoc surgery using power tools."
"Where did you hear that?"
"I have my sources." Johnny took another sip of his juice. "Do you want to know what I think?"
"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me anyway."
The paramedic's expression grew serious. "I think you and I are a lot alike. We both have jobs where we help other people, and we face life and death every day. Sometimes, it can get pretty overwhelming and scary. But if I really thought about all the things that could go wrong on a rescue, I'd be too paralyzed with fear to do my job. And if you only thought about the patients you couldn't save instead of the ones you did, you'd go nuts. So we pretend we have these imaginary suits of armor, and tell ourselves nothing can hurt us. Not injury, sickness, feelings, bad luck, nothing. Once in a while though, we get a crack in our armor, and that spooks us. We don't like to be reminded of reality, and that we're mere mortals. That's why we make such terrible patients, because we don't want anyone to see us for what we really are."
The physician was awed by the young man's insight. Imagine, John Gage, a philosopher! Perhaps he had misjudged this hose jockey. Beneath the long hair and the carefree attitude was a kindred spirit. Watching his roommate twirl the green slime around his spoon, Dr. Brackett growled, "Are you going to eat that, or do I have to shove it up your nose?"
Lifting his spoon in a mock toast, Johnny smiled.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Dr. Abrams made his rounds surprising early the next morning, and his patient was ecstatic to learn he was finally being released today. The specialist was barely out the door when Dr. Brackett began packing his suitcase. He didn't understand the source of the mirth emanating from the opposite side of the room.
"What?"
The worldly Johnny advised, "You have plenty of time to do that. You probably won't be out of here until noon."
"But my doctor just released me," Dr. Brackett argued.
"Yeah, and the paperwork will have to go through a million levels of bureaucracy, and get bogged down in at least a dozen. You'll need prescriptions filled, a nurse will have to go over the same post-op instructions you already know about, a volunteer will probably be by to ask you how you enjoyed your stay, oh, and don't forget, you'll have to wait for someone to bring a wheelchair up here..."
The physician cringed. "Oh no, not that again!"
Johnny shrugged apologetically. "Sorry. Didn't you have to jump through these crazy hoops to be discharged after we had that virus?"
"I guess. I don't remember. Dixie took care of most of the details."
"Well, take my advice. Give her a call and have her reserve a wheelchair for you. That way, you're not at the mercy of transportation services when you're ready to go. Besides, she's much better looking!"
Dr. Brackett agreed. "Any other pearls of wisdom?"
"Don't remind the nurses you're leaving today or they'll pull your dietary card. If your discharge paperwork gets delayed and you're stuck here during lunch, they won't send anything up and you'll starve to death. This way, if you're gone by then, they'll simply give your tray to a new admit so everybody's happy," Johnny said.
The departing roommate attempted to stifle a giggle.
"Oh, and have Dixie pick up your prescriptions and deliver them to your room. If you wait for the pharmacy to bring them up here, you could be stuck for another hour or two. Call and make your own follow up appointment with Dr. Abrams. The nurses' station will schedule it whenever there's an open appointment. If you do it yourself, you can arrange a time that's convenient for you."
No longer able to contain himself, Dr. Brackett erupted into uncontrollable laughter.
Johnny frowned. "I don't understand."
"You've definitely been a patient here too many times to be this familiar with the routine!"
"Hey, for the record, I never came here of my own free will."
Dr. Brackett grinned conspiratorially at Johnny. "You know what? Neither did I!"
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
A month later, Squad 51's paramedics chatted with Dixie as she handed the supply box to the younger partner. "Johnny, you've had a busy morning for your first day back. This is what, your fourth call?"
"Yeah. I guess L.A. missed me."
Roy wistfully reminisced, "It sure was quiet. No ranting or raving."
"I guess when your temporary partner spends most of his time alphabetizing the drug box, you can get pretty lonely."
Dixie tapped her temple in recollection. "Oh, I almost forgot. Kel wants to see you. She made a quick phone call, and the doctor arrived at the nurses' station carrying a shoebox-sized package.
"Good morning guys. I'm glad Dixie caught you. I have a belated get-well present for Johnny. I saw this in San Francisco last week, and immediately thought of you."
"Gee, Doc. I hope they're my size!" Johnny teased. He excitedly unwrapped the bright red paper.
"What is it?" Roy asked.
"It's a miniature suit of armor. Cool. Thanks Doc."
"Oh dear," cried Dixie as she spotted an obvious flaw. "It's broken. See? There's a crack in the breastplate."
The former roommates smiled at each other knowingly. It made perfect sense. The flawed suit of armor was intended as a gift from one mere mortal to another.
finis
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