Stabbed

Paul Sobricki, the name still sends shivers down my spine. The man came in complaining of a bad headache, nausea and photophobia. Lucy worked him up and presented to me. I should have gone in to check him out, but I didn't. At the time, I felt I needed to give my attention to the new med student, Abby Lockhart, who was working with an elderly woman that had specifically asked for me.

Lucy was bright and well on her way to being able to handle patients with minimal supervision. She was in her fourth year, literally just three months away from graduation. I had complete confidence she could handle the textbook case on her own. As typical, she perceived my confidence in her as disinterest and became short with me. I hated when that happened because that attitude was always contagious. I made a mental note to be mindful of my own disposition.

I went with Abby. I spent just a few minutes with her and her patient. Coming back into the hall, Dr. Greene stopped and asked me if I was following Lucy's patient. I told him I was. He instructed me that if I was going to supervise, I needed to do it more closely. That's never good to hear. I hurried into the exam room to find that the patient was altered. It had only been about 10 minutes since she presented to me, so this happened pretty quickly. I knew I needed to stay on top of the case. I told her what labs to order and gave Malik instruction what on drugs to push before leaving to get an LP kit.

When I returned, Malik said the Ativan put him right out. Given his altered state, I should have checked the patient to make sure, but I didn't. Lucy started the tap. As soon as she inserted the needle, the patient roused from sedation and reacted violently. He shook his body forcefully and begged us to stop. Lucy was apprehensive about continuing the procedure. I should have listened to her, but I told her to keep going. She cautiously proceeded. I was proud of the job she did. Despite the fact that it was a traumatic tap, she got clear fluid. I told her she did a good job and that I would be back.

I got a little distracted and soon found Dr. Greene breaking up a fight in the hall. It was Lucy's patient arguing with another man. Again Mark came down on me about not monitoring Lucy closely enough. I went into the exam room and asked her to step out. In the hall, I was short with her. I didn't mean to be, but I was getting tired of the dance we seemed to be doing.

She returned my attitude as she informed me that he met DSM4 criteria for schizophrenia. I asked her if she requested a psych a consult. She said she was waiting to present to me. I told her to page them, do whatever she needed to do to get them down and hand him off. I was anxious for her to get rid of the guy. Once she handed him off, she could get back to medical patients. Things would settle down and we could both get rid of our ill attitudes. As I walked away, I heard her slam open the exam door. I had to smile. Only Lucy can slam a door open, I thought.

Hours had passed and I noticed the patient was still on the board. I went to the exam room to find Lucy. I tried hard to be even tempered and not have any kind of attitude when I asked her why the guy was still in the ER. I think at that point, she was annoyed with psych. She had already called twice trying to get them down. Apparently they were backed up. I knew I had to get her out of there and seeing other patients. I snapped at her "Listen, I don't want to be on your case, but you've got to pick up some more patients." She told me she found the guy in the lounge and was getting him back into bed. She had the chart for the leg lac and would get to him next. "Good! Let Malik stay with this guy" I barked. I wanted her to move on to other patients. As I walked away, she was clearly frustrated. She yelled "Just forget it Carter!" and again slammed open the door.

That conversation is burned into my memory. The harsh way we both spoke to each other still rings in my ears. I carry that conversation with me always. The last words I heard her speak to me, were spoken in anger. The last thing she heard in her life, were the hostile words I hurled at her. I would do anything to take it all back.

The Valentine's Day party was in full swing at the front desk, the music was blaring. I looked at the board and saw Lucy still had not sutured the leg lac. I looked at my watch and noticed the psych case was now unforgivably old. I turned to Lily who was standing beside me and asked what was going on. She said Lucy was still waiting on the psych hold and they were in Curtain 3.

I went down the hall to Curtain 3. The room appeared to be empty and the lights were off, which was strange. I noticed a Valentine's Day card on the floor. I picked it up and read it in the dim light. It was from Yosh to Lucy. The sentiment read "For a friend that's everything beautiful, a wish for everything that's wonderful." It made me smile. It was perfect for her.

All of a sudden, I felt a deep, sharply pulsating pain as he jabbed the eight inch knife into my lower back and yanked it out with a twist. I felt a warm gush, and the wet of my shirt. I reached back with my hand to where the waves of excruciating pain were coming from. I felt warm liquid. Not comprehending it was my own blood, I brought my soaked and dripping hand in front of my face and stared at it. The throbbing burned more deeply with each breath and I found it difficult to remain upright. I started to fall forward, but momentarily caught myself on a bedside tray. I mustered enough breath to call for help, but the cost was searing pain. Unable to lean against the tray any longer, I went crashing to the floor. I rolled in total agony as my nerves registered the limits of endurable pain. I tried to lift myself up, get help, but the throbbing was too great. I would remain prostrate on the floor.

I looked to see if there was a phone cord or a reachable call button. That's when I saw her. Across from me, on the other side of the bed, Lucy was lying on the floor in a pool or her own blood. She was conscious, her eyes were open, but she lay there in silence. She was in shock and I was powerless do anything about it. I called to her and I think she wanted to respond, but her breathing became more labored as she tried to get enough breath to speak. I saw her eyes close. She lost consciousness. I laid on the cold hard floor wondering if that was her last moment on earth, wondering if that was my fate as well.

I knew I needed to stay alert. I tried to breathe through the pain, but breaths only intensified it. I was bleeding out, like Lucy I would lose consciousness. I tried one last time to muster enough strength and breath to call out for help, but I couldn't. My world was going black.

I remember coming to and finding myself looking up at the ceiling, not sure of where I was or what I was doing there. I heard Deb's voice. I asked what happened. She told me I was stabbed. The way she spoke, I knew my condition was critical. The intense pain I felt was at the threshold of losing consciousness, so I tried to stay focused on her voice. Ever the doctor, I knew it was better to stay awake and alert as they worked to stabilize me.

I remember looking over into the other room and seeing Lucy on the table. She wasn't moving at all. Her skin color was ashen. I could tell she was losing blood faster than they could infuse her. I was glad to see Peter was working on her. If anyone was capable of saving her, it was him. It was the last time I saw her. The image of Lucy lying on the table motionless, her hair tossled and blood streaked, with a flurry of activity around her, has stayed with me all these years.

The first person I saw after I came out of surgery was Peter Benton. He was a welcome sight. I couldn't have had a better surgeon or one I trusted more than him. As he performed his post-op tests, I asked about Lucy. I had this really awful feeling she was gone and I wanted in the worst way to know that I was wrong. He evaded the question and kept running through his checks. His refusal to answer my question was an answer in itself.

I turned my face away and silently pondered my loss. Lucy meant more to me that I was ever able to tell her. Now she was gone and I'd never have the chance. I should have seized the moment when it was there for the taking instead of being so concerned about the rules. Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you got until it's gone? Overcome with grief and unable to bear the burden of guilt, I broke down and cried.

Because of necessary follow-up procedures and physical therapy, I remained a patient at County for over four weeks. Everyone I knew at the hospital found time to pop in for a minute or two and the people I worked closely with, would stop in any time they had a shift. Gamma came to see me a couple of times, even brought Gampa once. Deb was the only person that visited daily, whether or not she had a shift.

Her visits meant a lot to me. She did her best to cheer me up and keep me informed. She did my charting and follow ups, as well as Lucy's. She took care of my rent, mail and bills; the mundane stuff of life that goes on even when you're in a hospital. She encouraged me to move back into the house. It would be better to not be alone, she insisted. I wasn't ready to go crawling back to Gamma. Even though my rented little townhouse was tiny by anyone's standards, it was affordable on my resident's pay. It allowed me to maintain my financial independence, something that was still important to me.

Nearly three weeks after I was stabbed, my parents came to see me in the hospital. They'd been gone for so much of my life, I really wasn't up for their pity and I damn sure didn't want to have to explain my relationship with Lucy and why this whole tragic thing was my fault . Instead, I told them some of the same things I told Lucy's mother a few days earlier. It happened really fast, I didn't really know what was happening, I didn't really feel any pain, the surgery went well, I'm healing fine. It was just easier that way, less questions. The next day, my Dad came to see me without my Mom and we talked a bit more candidly, but it was still a long way from being honest about what happened and how I was actually feeling. A few days later, having dutifully checked on their son, they were back to their jet set life.

When I was finally discharged, Deb drove me home and helped me get settled. On arrival, I found that she had cleaned out my refrigerator and made sure it was stocked with fresh milk and fruit. She brought me dinner for a couple of weeks. She said there wasn't room enough for both me and my crutches in that kitchen and she didn't want me tripping over myself trying to cook in there. It was tiny and she was a better cook than me, so I was happy to accept the meals. I did appreciate the company since I couldn't go back to work yet and it was nice to have someone who cared enough to do all that for me.