Chapter 10
The two detectives sat quietly waiting while the police surgeon rifled through the substantial pile of documents in front of him, making notes, underlining key phrases and making the usual doctor 'Hm' and 'ah' sounds as he read. Starsky fidgeted in his seat, hating the fact he was back with the medical brigade again, and knowing that this examination would spell the difference between going back to work or, God forbid, a disability discharge.
Hutch sat at his side, trying to be as calm as possible for his partner, but also feeling the stress and strain of the occasion. It wasn't just his partner who would be affected by the surgeon's decision. He too would have to consider his future if Starsky was deemed too incapacitated to continue in normal police work.
Finally, the middle aged doctor put down his pen and took off his black rimed glasses, taking a good look at the two veteran police officers in front of him for the first time.
'Detective Starsky, my name is Dr Szewczuk. No-one can ever pronounce it, so please, call me Mark,' he reached forward and shook the brunette's hand. 'Do you understand what this examination is about, detective?' he asked, looking directly at Starsky.
'Yes sir,' the Starsky nervously answered, wishing the process would start, so that it would be over all the quicker.
'Let me go over a few preliminaries with you, then we can go on to the examination and tests' the doctor continued.
'So, you're David Michael Starsky, aged 32?'
'Yeah'.
'Born in Brooklyn, New York. Are your parents still alive?'
'Ma is, Dad's dead. He was a cop. He had the same problem I had – he got shot'.
The doctor again made some notes. "Oh, I'm very sorry Detective Starsky," sympathised the doctor.
"Ah…thanks Doc…but it happened a long time ago," replied Starsky. "…and please just call me David or Dave," Starsky added as he fidgeted in his seat for the umpteenth time. "Please lets just get on with it, …Mark."
Childhood ailments?'
Starsky shrugged. 'Usual, chickenpox, measles, mumps. Glandular fever when I was a teenager. Nothing out of the ordinary'.
'It says in your file that you had pneumonia at aged 22 along with a prolonged stay in the hospital and some…..hm…..fairly devastating injuries'.
'I was a soldier in 'Nam. I was taken prisoner by the Viet Cong. They weren't exactly hospitable,' the brunette said impatiently. He had always hated talking about that part of his life and not even Hutch had known about it until recently.
Mark ignored the jibe and was busy turning the file's pages. 'Its been five months since this incident, I see'.
'Yeah, five months, two days and…' he checked his wristwatch, 'about five hours, but hey, who's counting!' Starsky tried to make light of the situation, but the doctor was astute and used to dealing with such cases.
'…and you were hit by three .33 calibre bullets at quite close range'.
'Yep, look can we just get on with this?'
'I understand, Detective. It definitely marked a turning point in your life. For anyone to survive what you have is remarkable, and to be in such good condition only five months later is truly amazing'.
'Hey, I'm a miracle, what can I say,' the detective said dryly. 'Now can we cut the crap? Yes, I know I'm lucky to be alive and please don't misunderstand me, I thank God every day that I am, but this did not "mark a turning point in my life". I'm not turning from anything. I'm a detective and a damned good one as my record shows. Whatever happens, whether it's now or in a month or a year, I will be back on the streets again, so can we please just cut the congratulations and get on with this?'
Hutch looked at his partner and for the first time in a long time he saw the old Starsky fire surfacing. He'd longed for so long to see the hot headed part of his partner come back to the surface, because then he would know that his friend was truly back with him in the real world. Over the past months he'd seen Starsky tired, depressed, dejected, in pain, spaced out on meds, smiling and even laughing, but he'd never seen that flash of temper, and it did the blond good to hear his partner's measured, careful and dangerous tones. He was back!
The doctor too was sitting up and taking notice. 'What medications are you on at the moment?' he asked evenly.
Starsky rattled off the drugs he took for infection control and for pain management. Those were the main ones thanks to Laurel and her herbs.
'Right, well I can see we'll need to cut to the chase then,' Mark said finally. 'Please remove your shirt,' he smiled reassuringly. 'Are you happy having your partner here while we do the examination?' he asked.
'Wouldn't have it any other way Doc' Starsky confirmed as he shrugged his shirt off for the doctor to start. As he sat bare chested, his eyes strayed over to Hutch's, locking onto the ice blues seeking a little reassurance and comfort before he broke contact and closed his eyes as Mark started probing the long fading scar.
There were times when the Doctor delved too deep, or hit a particularly painful area and Starsky bit his lip and hissed as he tried not to jerk away from the examination. By the end of Mark's preliminary exploration, he was sweating and panting as if he'd run a race. The doctor had examined not only the scar itself, but the various other wounds caused by the drainage tubes and the ribs which had had to be broken during the surgeries. He next went over the brunette's back and chest with his stethoscope, muttering and making notes on a piece of paper before asking the detective to follow him through to another examination room. With a final look at his partner, Starsky reluctantly followed and lay down on a black leather examination couch.
He watched half heartedly as Mark fastened small sticky pads across his chest, on his wrists and ankles and then fastened small alligator clips to them. He'd had the ECG before and knew it didn't hurt but he always felt disconcerted as he watched the small stylus jitter over the pages, tracing his life force on a sheet of graph paper. He lay still and studied the ceiling until the process had finished. Mark tore off the print out and studied it, making no comment, which made the curly haired detective feel all the more anxious and vulnerable.
'OK, that's fine David. Now, while you still have the leads attached I'd like you to do the stress test on the treadmill, then we'll be done'.
Starsky wearily got himself down from the examination table and padded over to the treadmill, holding on to the rails at either side as the walkway began to move faster and faster until he was walking at a fast pace, almost a jog. In the past, at the gym, he could run for a half an hour on one of these devices, but today, after five minutes at a steady walk, he was sweating profusely and panting with exertion. After what seemed an like an eternity, Mark flipped the switch and the treadmill started to slow and when it finally stopped completely, the exhausted detective hung over the rail, panting hard and trying to ignore the pains lancing through his chest. He felt demoralised and defeated. How on earth was he going to get permission to get back on the streets when he couldn't even walk fast for more than five minutes? He raised his head and looked at the doctor, expecting a look of sympathy or pity in Mark's eyes. Instead, the man was smiling at him.
'Well done Detective' he applauded. 'I'd never have believed you could have done that much so soon after the trauma you suffered!'
Starsky stared at him in disbelief. 'What, you're kidding me?' he panted, wiping the sweat that was threatening to trickle into his eyes. 'I could barely keep up an' you say well done?'
Mark chuckled. 'I can see why you've gotten as far as you have,' he said. 'I would expect a normal man to have managed perhaps a minute or so, you did seven. That's remarkable. With your sense of urgency and your obvious inability to accept defeat, I think you should make a very good recovery, in time'.
'What d'ya mean "in time" the panting man asked, not liking the direction this conversation had taken.
'Put your shirt on and come back into the other room and sit down. We have a lot to discuss, you and I'. Mark walked back through the door, leaving Starsky to struggle back into his tee shirt and follow him.
As he walked in and sat down he smiled bravely at Hutch as he eased himself down and waited for Mark to start.
The doctor took his time going over his notes, scribbling extra observations, checking readings and scores against a book open on his desk and then he sat back, steepling his fingers and looked at Starsky directly.
The dark blue eyes stared levelly back at the doctor. 'So, the suspense is killing me, what's the verdict?' he asked.
'Well the suspense'll do what the bullets couldn't' Mark chuckled before becoming more serious.
'OK Detective, I've read through all your notes and have made certain observations myself. I've noted that before the incident you were a normal healthy 32 year old male of Caucasian background with normal childhood ailments, and judging by the reports from the doctors in Vietnam an exceedingly high tolerance for pain. The incident happened just over five months ago and post operatively you spent two months in Memorial Hospital recovering, suffering two periods of pneumonia treated conservatively by strong IV antibiotics'.
'Today I've noted that the surgical incision is healing well and is tender in certain areas, although that is only to be expected. The ribs which were surgically broken have healed well. Your lung function is adequate although there should be more improvement over the coming months as you continue to exercise and build up your strength. Although your heart was damaged and shows some lateral ischemia, that should not unduly influence your day to day normal activities'.
'In all you have made a remarkable recovery to date and that should continue over the coming months. I would expect that by the first anniversary of the incident, you will be as good as you will get and although you will by no means be an invalid, there will be certain things that I believe you will be unable to do. Running at speed for prolonged periods will be one of them.'
At that, Starsky sat up straighter in his chair. He had a nasty feeling he knew where this was going and didn't want the doctor to speak the words out loud. Despite having recovered from his time on the treadmill, his heart started to hammer once again in his chest and his mouth went dry as he stared the doctor down, defying him to make the decision Starsky felt sure was coming.
'So, what ya saying Doc?' he asked both wanting and not wanting to know the answer.
Mark paused a moment, considering how exactly to tell this marvel of a man his conclusions. 'Detective, while I consider you to be something of a medical miracle, and am amazed at the progress you have made so far, at this moment in time, I am unable to pass you fit for action. If you continue to improve at the rate you have over the next month, I feel sure that I will be able to give the review board assurances that you will be able to carry out the tasks allocated to a desk bound job. I'm sorry, Detective Starsky, but I am unable to recommend at this time to the board that you are fit enough again to be a Detective First Class'.
The pronouncement hung in the air, like a sword that came to cut Starsky's life asunder as he stared open mouthed at the doctor.
Suddenly the fear that had had a grip on the dark haired detective moments before, lost its stranglehold on him. In its place, Starsky's temper flared and he stood up, bent over the desk and looked the doctor in the eyes. 'Let me get this straight. You're telling me that you think I'm a wash up and the only thing I'm fit for is riding a desk? That don't cut it, Doc. If I can't be a detective then I'm finished. I can't push paper for the rest of my life. I think you should re-evaluate that decision…Mark!" He brought his fist down on the desk, making the contents wobble.
The doctor had expected the outburst and was prepared. 'Detective…David. No-one's saying you're a 'wash-up', but I have to report my findings to the police review board concerning your status, and I find that to put you back out on the streets would set you up to fail. In my professional opinion, it would put you…as well as your partner here at extreme risk. That would be against my better judgement and against my ethics. I won't do it'.
Starsky wouldn't be placated. 'D'ya realise that by that decision, you are effectively RUINING my life?!" Starsky practically screamed.
"Please…Please Doc, just reconsider. You'll see…in a couple of months. I'll be so much better. You'll see!" The brunette pleaded.
Mark closed the file with a sorrowful glance at the man before him. 'I'm sorry David. I will be glad to see you in a couple of months, of course, but it is still my professional opinion that you will not be fit even then to resume your duties as a street cop," the doctor revealed as he gathered his files and rose from his chair. "The sooner you begin to realise that, the sooner you will be able to get on with your life and what the future holds for you."
With that, Doctor Szewczuk left the office, leaving the two men to stare after him.