"Meet me on the battlefield. Even on the darkest night. I will be your sword and shield, your camouflage, and you will be mine." Meet Me On The Battlefield, Svrcina.
...
"You okay?" Deb inquires, stepping up to my side, and placing a hand upon my shoulder that causes me to flinch, and nearly drop the clipboard that I have clutched so tightly in my hand that the edges of it are digging into my palms. Of course, I know that she is only acting from concern. That she has likely come to the supposition that I know this woman personally, and might require a moment to collect myself before tending to her care. But the reality of the situation is far different, in spite of my desire to think of this woman as another ordinary patient, and although I would do anything to ignore it, I am powerless to stop the sensation of dread from stealing over me at the thought of what I know I will eventually have to do as a part of providing routine care—
I am going to have to call this woman's emergency contact, and I can only imagine how that will go down.
Still, no matter how badly I may wish to use my own misgivings as an excuse to simply shirk my duties and retreat into some semblance of safety once again, I have a duty to do—I swore an oath, and I cannot bring myself to break it now. And so, inasmuch as my heart is still pounding, and my nerves are every bit as edgy as if the emergency contact in question is standing right before me, I force myself to square my shoulders and rearrange my expression into something more befitting of the doctor I know I should be, my voice only cracking just a bit as I finally face Deb head-on and manage a belated reply.
"I'm good. I'm good, Deb, thank you," I begin, forcing a smile to my face, and hoping that it will seem at least somewhat sincere, before I am turning my attention back to my patient, and stepping closer for a cursory investigation, "You said she had pneumonia—has she been started on any antibiotics?"
"None indicated in the chart. Just your run of the mill maintenance antidepressants and antipsychotics."
"Any idea how long she's been sick?"
"Not a clue," Deb replies, her expression softening in response to the frown I throw her way, while she simultaneously moves closer toward the bed to help me in getting a better idea of our patient's vitals, "You know these state-run facilities, sweets. They barely provide care for their patients on a good day, and there ain't many of those sorts of days roaming around for the taking."
"Alright. Let's start her on broad-spectrum antibiotics, then, and get some labs drawn," I instruct, reaching on instinct for my new patient's hand once I realize she has started to stir a bit, with the occasional whimper punctuating her former run of silence, "You're going to be okay, Carla. We've got you, alright?"
"You have any leads on next of kin?" Deb asks me then, effectively startling me from my apparent fixation upon the way my patient's thin fingers have suddenly latched upon my wrist as though it is a life raft.
"I—yeah. Her son."
"Want me to make the call?"
"No. No, I think I should do it," I state, using my free hand to gently extricate the other from Carla's grasp, and managing another faint smile for her benefit, although I am not entirely certain she takes note of the gesture at all, "Can you cover me for a minute while I go do that?"
"Sure thing. Take all the time you need."
Nodding my thanks, I spend one more moment in simply observing Deb while she takes up the task of prepping an IV while another nurse joins her in hooking our patient up to the monitors that will keep track of her blood pressure and other vitals, before I am turning and heading down the hall towards a vacant conference room I know will likely be unoccupied at this time of the day. I would be lying if I were to pretend that a part of me was not hoping that my call would go straight to voicemail, the coil of dread that has taken up residence in the pit of my stomach seeming to suggest that it would be far easier to simply leave Billy a message regarding this latest development, instead of speaking with him directly. But inasmuch as I am not particularly looking forward to the prospect of broaching a subject that is sensitive, even in the best of times, I know that if I keep this to myself, I only risk damaging whatever sort of relationship Billy and I have to begin with…
I suppose I need to simply start treating this as the proverbial 'ripping off the band-aid' scenario, and get it over with before my nerves persuade me to delay the inevitable.
Unexpectedly steeled by such a thought, I find that I am squaring my shoulders, and scrolling through the contacts on my cell until I come up with Billy's number, my hand only trembling just a bit as I press the button that will initiate a call, and bring the device up to my ear. For a moment, I find that I am content to simply listen to the ringing on the other end of the line, my breathing surprisingly even, in spite of how I still feel the slightest bit of apprehension regarding what it is I am about to do. But of course, as soon as I register the fact that the line has connected, all of that falls away, the slightly scratchy sound of Billy's voice as he answers the call causing my heart to seize within my throat for a moment, regardless of how hard I have tried to keep myself calm.
"Lex? That you?"
"I—yeah. Yeah, Billy, it's me," I confirm, silently cursing the way in which my voice seems to crack mid-sentence, no matter how hard I try to avoid it, "Can you—can you talk for a minute?"
"Always, when the person I'm talking to is you."
"Billy this is serious," I protest, suddenly frustrated with how his remark has caused one corner of my mouth to turn up in slight amusement, despite the fact that the timing is inappropriate, to say the least, "I—how far are you from coming home?"
"Why? Is—are you hurt?" Billy demands, all good-natured teasing rapidly evaporating from his tone, only to be replaced by a sudden harshness that has me half-tempted to back-pedal before I can do or say anything to make him more upset than he already is. But before I can fully commit to doing that, I register the sound of a faint sigh coming from the other end of the line, my brow furrowing a bit as I realize that my silence has obviously alerted Billy to my apparent discomfort, and prompted him to amend his words almost immediately thereafter, "Lex, if you're hurt I'll come right back. You know that. What I'm doing here can wait."
"It's not me. It's—"
"It's what?"
"It's your mom," I blurt, knowing that if I delay the confession, such as it is, for any longer, I will likely lose my nerve, "She came into the hospital today, and—"
"And what?"
"It's pneumonia, Billy. From the looks of things, the facility she was in did nothing at all to treat it, and my guess is the infection sparked an acute psychosis, as well."
The silence that lingers after my hurried admission only serves to increase my mounting uncertainty, my teeth coming out to worry at my lower lip while I scrabble around for something to say to ease the obvious tension that my words have provoked. In truth, I have absolutely no clue how Billy feels about his mother on the whole, our relative avoidance of the subject altogether leaving me remarkably ignorant in terms of how best to handle our current situation. But before I can come to terms with that lack of knowledge, and the vulnerability it leaves me with as a result, I find that I am spared the trouble of coming up with anything else to say, the sudden sound of Billy's voice causing my pulse to jump even as it rather effectively forces my attention back to the present in one fell swoop.
"I can make it back in a few hours," He says, his words surprisingly neutral now, in direct contrast to what they were mere moments before, "How—how bad is it?"
"Right now, I think we can afford to be optimistic. I've got her on antibiotics, and we'll manage any other problems as they arise."
"Okay. And you? You're okay?"
"Of course I am," I confirm, perching on the edge of the conference table, and running my free hand through my hair before exhaling in a rush, and hurrying to say what I have wanted to almost since our call began, "Billy, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I had to interrupt whatever it is that you're doing to tell you this."
"Don't, Lex. Don't apologize. You just did what you had to do."
"Then why the hell does it feel like I only made things worse?"
"Because you put yourself through guilt trips like it's a damned Olympic sport," Billy quips, the laugh we both share doing me some good, regardless of how short-lived it happens to be, "We'll talk more when I get back in town, okay? Keep your head up."
"Will do, boss."
The soft snort of amusement Billy gives in response to my instantaneous reply is the only manner of goodbye I am going to receive, it seems, the line going dead not long after the sound registers in my mind. For a moment, I simply remain where I am, my phone held tightly in my hand as though it is the only comfort I am capable of finding in the situation I currently face. But before I can allow myself to become too distracted by the implications behind my firm hold on the device, I find that I am once again startled back to the present by the sound of a sharp knock upon the conference room door, my eyes flicking to meet Deb's when she pokes her head inside, a look of something not that far off from pity upon her features as she glances at me for a moment in silence before she speaks.
"Sorry to bother you, sweets. Just got another patient rolling in, that could use your attention."
"I'll be right there."
I suppose those clever people who come up with slogans that are so popular they become a cliché were right. There really was no rest for the wicked.
...
An hour or two later I find myself suppressing a yawn while standing on one of the covered walkways that overlooks the main vestibule of the hospital below, my fingers curled around a warm Styrofoam cup of coffee while I lean against the railing, and attempt to exhale as slowly as possible. It was an old trick of my brother's, whenever things got too tense either in the field, or with the memories he encountered once he returned home, focusing on each little bit of air that left his body, and trying to connect that to whatever anxieties were plaguing him so that they could depart along with the air exhaled from his lungs. And in spite of my own initial doubts when he had first mentioned it to me, I find the technique surprisingly effective now, my shoulders relaxing for what feels like the first time in ages as I manage a sip of the coffee in my hand, and suppress a grin at how counter-intuitive downing caffeine might seem when one is trying to relax.
While allowing the liquid to gradually warm my body from the inside out, I find myself once again permitting my mind to stray back to the upcoming face-to-face with Billy, while the fingers of one hand shift to pick at the sticker the barista placed on my coffee cup in evidence of my lingering distress. I would be lying if I tried to pretend that I was prepared for seeing him again, particularly in light of our current circumstances. But no matter my own misgivings, I know that I owe it to him to be as honest and forthcoming as I can be…
After how he stood by me when my brother died, I can't possibly do anything less than the same for him, now, no matter what comes down the road from here on out.
Steeled, at least a little bit, by the thought, I find myself capable of downing the rest of my coffee in one go, my throat only burning in protest for a moment before the rejuvenating liquid begins its work, and I turn to head towards the trash can stowed nearby, beneath the railing. I know that even this small bit of a break might have been too much, with how busy our emergency department seems to be today. And although a small part of me feels more than a little guilty for even taking five minutes to gather my thoughts, I am not entirely willing to regret it, the fact that I feel even a little bit refreshed in spite of everything that is going on serving as enough to move me past that guilt, and persuade me to head back towards the emergency room with more confidence than I feel I really deserve.
Of course, such a feeling only lasts about as long as it takes for me to get back to the emergency room proper, my steps faltering as I begin to head towards the room in which I can check on Carla Russo, only to find that Andrew is standing beside her door, an unreadable expression plastered on his face as he watches my approach.
"I leave you alone for two seconds, and you get yourself involved in another mess, huh?"
"A mess? I don't know—I don't know what you're talking about," I reply, coming to a stop a few steps away from where Andrew stands, and noting how he glances at the writing on the erasable placard outside the patient's room as though the name is something distasteful he found on the bottom of his shoe before he speaks.
"I think you do, Lex. The last name on that placard is a little too coincidental."
"What does it matter? A patient is a patient, Andrew. The minute we stop believing that is the minute we shouldn't be doctors anymore."
"Yeah. A patient is a patient. But that doesn't mean you have to throw yourself into a case that walks you right back into his arms."
"Is that what you think this is?"
"It's what I know it is!" Andrew exclaims, the vehemence in his tone causing me to jump in spite of my desire to avoid it, while he simultaneously moves forward despite the fact that I almost immediately take a step back of my own in response, "I think it would be in your best interests if you got yourself assigned to another case."
"Seriously?"
"Yes. Seriously."
"Well I'm not going to do that," I retort, once again taking another step back as Andrew moves towards me, and squaring my shoulders in hopes that it will make me seem far more likely to be an obstacle than Andrew seems to believe I will be, if the expression on his face is any indication, "I started her plan of care. I'm going to see it finished."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"I don't really give a damn whether you do, or not!"
"Maybe you should."
"Oh? And why is that?"
"Because Doctor Rawlins already spoke to me about your interest in Miss Russo's case, and we came to the conclusion you may not be operating objectively at the present time."
Whirling in response to the unexpected new voice, I find my jaw dropping open in shock before I can stop it, as I look from the newcomer's impassive features, and back to Andrew's for a moment in open surprise that he has gone so far to get his way. Vaguely, I find myself wondering if my rather poor reaction to his advances are the reason behind this entire affair, something about the idea of him only behaving this way to protect me not sitting right even in spite of my hope that my initial suspicion is wrong. But regardless of what I may or may not believe his reasons are, at this point, I am all but determined to attempt to rectify the situation as best I can, a slow breath escaping my lungs as I attempt to force as much calm into my words as I can while I turn to face Andrew once again.
"You called the chief?"
"I'm only trying to help you, Alexis—"
"Right. It definitely does not look that way, from where I'm sitting," I hiss, my aggravation only seeming to spike as I take note of Andrew's obviously non-plussed expression, and force myself to turn from him, towards the chief so that I might attempt to amend this situation however possible, "Sir, I am more than capable of taking care of this patient on my own. There's no need for you to go to the trouble of finding another physician—"
"I already have," The chief interrupts, his features taking on a look that is remarkably pitying, though he does not seem moved enough to let that sway him from his decision in any way, "Doctor Rawlins will take over Miss Russo's case for the time-being. I'm sure there are more than enough other patients to keep you occupied, instead, Doctor Hanson."
"But sir—"
"No, Doctor. My decision is final. See to your other patients, or I'll recommend you take the rest of the day to recollect your thoughts."
Stunned into silence by the unexpected firmness in my superior's tone, I find I am powerless to do anything other than nod in agreement while simultaneously taking a step back until my back bumps against the wall beside Carla Russo's room, and the chief passes by without another word. In truth, I am not entirely certain I could pinpoint the exact magnitude of my emotions in this particular moment, even if I tried. But in spite of that, I am at least cognoscente enough to recognize the anger that rises to the forefront as Andrew finishes his hushed conversation with our boss, and the older man meanders off not very long thereafter.
Whether I want to or not, it seems I am all but determined to confront him for his meddling, even if that very act might just prove that I am not as objective as I would like to think…
"That was way over the line, Andrew," I begin, watching as the man who has so clearly decided to make himself my adversary absorbs my words without so much as a flinch, and pursing my lips while the fingers of one hand curl into a fist so that my fingernails dig into the skin of my palm, "You can question my judgment all you want, but getting our boss to second-guess my ability to do my job? It's too much."
"Too much? I prefer to think of it as exactly enough," Andrew retorts, the coldness inherent in his tone causing a shiver to roll through me, though I do what I can to avoid letting any evidence of that minute movement show in my expression, "You're not doing yourself any favors if you risk your career on a case that hits too close to home."
"The way I see it, the only one who's risking my career is you."
"Well I'm sorry you feel that way, Alexis. I'm only trying to help you."
"You'll forgive me if I don't believe you," I quip, once again pulling away from Andrew's outstretched hand, and turning on a heel to walk away from him before he can make any more excuses for his actions thus far. Of course, I know, on some level, that my protests will be futile, despite how every instinct I possess all but demands that I refuse to back down without a fight. But even that realization is not entirely enough to dissuade me from deciding on a whim to turn back towards Andrew just as he is preparing to enter Carla Russo's room, my voice startlingly even, in spite of the fact that my emotions are more jangled now than they were when she first arrived.
"If anything happens to her under your care, Andrew, I swear to God I will never forgive you."
Whether Andrew takes any note of my words, or not, I am all but determined to continue to follow up on my former patient's case, and I'll be damned if I do not make sure he knows it every step of the way…
…
Well hello there, my angels! And welcome to a very delayed new chapter! My sincerest apologies go out to all of you for that delay, especially as I really have no sufficient excuse that will make it any more acceptable. But regardless of that, I truly do hope that you all can find it within your hearts to forgive me, and that you're still reading, because I can promise you I am nowhere near to being done with Alexis and her story!
As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite and review this story so far (and special thanks to last chapter's reviewers: Carlie Blessed, and July, this means you)! I truly do appreciate the support, and although this chapter is a bit shorter than my usual, I hope you enjoy it every bit as much as you have enjoyed the ones that came before! Like usual, I cannot wait to hear your thoughts!
Until next time, my angels…
MOMM
