Johnny's Ruminations
What am I thinking? Why am I going down the side of this building? I am so dizzy. I hope it will pass quickly. Only it keeps getting worse. By the time I reach the victim, the world is spinning so fast. I try to concentrate, willing the spinning to stop, willing my stomach to stay put, willing the guy on the scaffold to have a pulse so Roy can just pull him up and take care of him. I lean over to secure my harness, the world takes violent tilt, I feel myself falling and then everything goes dark…
~~~~~~EMERGENCY!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~EMERGENCY!~~~~~~~~~~~~EMERGENCY!~~~~~~~~~
Ever since we responded to Jenny's house, everything, everyone has been tense. You can feel it just walking into the Emergency Room. Everyone is distracted. Dixie looks like she is a million miles away. Dr. Early always seems to be running somewhere. And Dr. Brackett. His brow looks to be permanently knitted, concentrated and distracted at the same time. I know he is distracted-on a call, he asked if our patient could be pregnant and we were calling in for a guy. Any other time that would have been funny. Right now it is not. Then Tim Duntley is brought in, suffering the same symptoms as Jenny. In that moment, the tension rises to a whole new level. Maddy becomes a permanent fixture in the waiting room, joining Jenny's father in the pace race. Joining them are Tim's shift and station mates and various firefighters' wives. Even Joanne has a neighbor watch the kids so she can sit with Maddy.
It is no wonder that 5 days into this nightmare I wake up with a headache. Ever since this "thing" has been tied to the monkey, I haven't been sleeping well. The good news is we don't have to worry about an epidemic (and Roy is breathing a small sign of relief-his family is safe). The bad news is that monkey crawled all over me. Aspirin seems to push the headache away, at least for a little while. It is a slow day and the chores get done quickly. As I sprawl across the chairs, weariness starts to set in. Then Cap tells me I have to lead a school tour. Ah Man! I try to appeal, but am overruled. The Klaxons go off. Saved by the bell, I think. Only, as I get up and run to the squad, I realize I am almost stumbling because I am so tired, my head is pounding and now I feel dizzy.
What is more disorienting than passing out and falling over the edge of scaffolding hanging off a building? How about waking up as you are being hauled, unceremoniously I might add, back over the edge of said building. I am dizzy, hot and now I am not sure which way is "up". The guys lay me down as I try to catch my breath and figure stuff out. I am sick, that much I know…likely with the same illness as Jenny and Tim. I am scared. Roy is busy trying to run a code on the victim. I hear him tell the guys to get my temperature and have a bucket ready. GREAT. I forgot about the vomiting. A thermometer is slipped under my tongue and we wait. I try to get comfortable, but everything aches and I feel like I am on fire. Cap pulls the thermometer out and announces 102.1. Not too bad. Maybe I have some other bug and not the dreaded Kokie Virus. Roy says check it again. This time, when the thermometer comes out, my lunch follows. I am retching so hard I barely hear that my fever is now 103.4.
Poor Roy is fighting a losing battle. The victim is not responding to any of his treatments, and I am tossing my cookies, burning with a fever that is climbing fast. With each bout of vomiting, I feel my strength fade. I am half aware of what is going on, and half lost in a fevered world. He turns the victim over to another team and holds my head as I heave into the bucket. I don't think there is anything left in me so I try to lay back and rest. The thermometer again (I am beginning to hate that thing) is shoved under my tongue…104. We all pause, look to the heavens and wonder—Can this get any worse?
The ambulance ride is an adventure. I am hot, I am cold. My stomach aches from vomiting and now my chest is tight. Maybe it is the virus causing the tightness or maybe it is fear. It is too hard to tell and requires too much energy to try and figure it out. When we arrive, I am whisked right to isolation. I expect to see Tim in the other bed. To my surprise, it is Dr. Brackett. Masked figures move around us, trying to cool us, comfort us. Roy comes in and I am relieved. He can worry for me, and I can rest. That is until he answers that dang phone. Tim has died. No question about it now—the tightness is fear.
I lose all sense of time. It moves fast, it moves slow. Figures move around me, the lights are bright, the monitors are loud. I hear voices. Some I recognize, most I don't. I am not sure what is real and what is fever induced. I throw my arm over my eyes. I am afraid to sleep but maybe blocking everything out will help me focus on what is real. Dixie moves it back. I try again. This time she intercepts my arm in midair. I don't have the energy to move it again. Roy is in and out. I always know when he is here—a calmness comes over me. When he is here I breathe better, I can relax. He senses my fear and somehow knows what I need. He moves my arm over my eyes.
There is a lot of commotion over near Dr. Brackett's bed. I am seized with fear. Is he meeting the same fate as Tim? Will I be left to fight this alone? But the voices sound excited, not sad. I hear something about "rodger". Roy is sitting next to me and tries to explain. I am not following what he is saying. I mumble "10-4" and slip onto oblivion.
When my senses return, I am aware that things are different. I am no longer sandwiched between the cooling blankets, my head is throbbing not pounding, and I see faces. Full, unmasked, smiling faces. The worst must be over. I drift into the first restful sleep I have had in over a week.
Man, I hate hospitals. They want me to rest, but are always waking me. Even Dr. Brackett is grumbling about the constant interruptions. Of course I don't mind when the nurses hang around and I regale them in rescue stories, each new story better than the last. I can almost hear Dr. Brackett's eyes rolling. But there are moments when there is an eerie quietness that comes over the place, a quietness that is almost deafening. It is so quiet I can't sleep. I notice Dr. Brackett is having trouble sleeping too. So we talk. Before this week, I thought he was slightly arrogant and he thought I was impetuous and reckless. We break down those barriers and find out how much we actually have in common. It is our secret.
I want OUT. Dr. Early discharges Dr. Brackett today. Dr. Morton says I have to stay 3 or 4 more days- something about too much weight loss. He says I have to stay till I gain some of it back. He can't be serious. Who can gain weight is a hospital—the food is inedible. Roy tries to help by bringing me a burger. Man, it tastes so good going down. Not so much coming back up. All that earns me is an "I told you so" and threat of an IV from Morton. Dixie takes pity on me and brings me a vanilla milkshake. Much easier on the stomach and it stays down. Time is dragging and I am driving everyone, including myself, crazy. Roy comes up with a plan for me to recover at his house. He reasons that I would not be alone and would be sure to be fed good food to help me gain back the weight. I'm not so sure. Joanne does not need me hanging around. They bring the kids to visit me tonight. All they can talk about is what they have planned for me—books, movies, playing Barbies…Barbies. How can I turn down those little faces? I agree to a few days at the DeSoto's. Morton says a week. It is a battle of wills. I concede because I need to get out of this place. I never want to be a patient here again!