Hello, my dear readers. Thank you for your lovely reviews. I think I forgot to reply to every single one of them this time. I'm terribly sorry about that. Doesn't mean I wasn't happy to receive them. In fact, I enjoyed and appreciated every single one of them! You guys are awesome and I'm glad you all enjoy the story so much.
That said, according to Floopdeedoopdee, this one is a killer chapter. Keep tissues nearby, you might need them, and even if you don't, Jay might. Things aren't looking too good for him.
Happy reading.
"Call radiology. Put in a rush order for a CT. Now." The nurse wasted no time looking at the injuries, just scurried straight to the given task, wedging the receiver between her ear and shoulder as she dialed through to the department. Meanwhile, Dr. Arata grabbed a pair of scissors from the equipment cart beside the bed and started to cut through the thick material of the linen hoodie. As he pushed the severed fabric out of the way, he couldn't help but unleash a string of curses under his breath as he exposed the rest of the young man's back. "Make that an MRI, both if they have the capacities," he grumbled, his strained tone a clear indicator that he wasn't happy about whatever he discovered. "And get those meds in him stat."
Alerted by the urgency and irritation in the surgeon's voice, Isabel glanced over her shoulder to see what had him so disturbed. The sight that greeted her was truly shocking. Multiple bruises, varying in size, shape, and color, were scattered all over the detective's pale freckled skin, and while most of them didn't look too worrisome, one stood out like red ink. An angry dark purple contusion decorated the right flank, about three inches wide and ten inches long running parallel to his spine from just below his ribcage all the way down to the waistband of his jeans. The entire area was significantly swollen, the injury further aggravated by the frequently flexing bow-taut muscles. No wonder the kid was writhing with unimaginable debilitating pain.
"That's a pretty nasty bruise you have here, Detective," Dr. Arata noted parenthetically as he grabbed the small pillows the nurse had discarded near the headboard, stuffing one under Halstead's shoulder blades and the other against his backside to stabilize his position at a ninety-degree angle. "Not exactly the kind of damage a fist or a foot would cause, though," he added wryly as he regarded the almost rectangular outline of the discoloration. Jay remained silent but couldn't hold in a pained whimper when the doctor touched the bumpy skin. David could feel the tremors ripping through him under his fingertips, and the fact that the young man was desperately trying not to flinch didn't go unnoticed by him either. Neither did he miss how the kid clutched the cushion in front of his torso impossibly tight in his right hand. His patient truly needed that pain relief.
Dr. Arata turned around in search of the nurse, but just as he was about to ask Isabel what was taking her so long, she had already discarded the receiver on the counter, put the phone on speaker, and grabbed the tray with the equipment. She carried it over to the left side of the bed, placing it on the cart there, and wordlessly started prepping Jay for the intravenous line. Satisfied with that, the surgeon focused back on his patient, who warily watched the nurse as she disinfected the crook of his arm. "Detective, have you experienced any other symptoms besides the pain?" The officer's Maui blues shifted towards him, furrowing his brows in contemplation. "Any trouble passing urine?" The brunette closed his eyes in embarrassment and tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, nodding hesitantly. "Was there any blood?" Halstead thought about the question for a moment, then shook his head no. "That's a good sign, Detective," David reassured his patient.
Facing the nurse, he added a hushed, "we'll check for microscopic hematuria, anyway, so urinalysis and Hct once he's calm enough." Isabel nodded absentmindedly, simultaneously inserting the needle of the vein catheter into the crook of Jay's elbow, earning herself a tiny flinch and a soft glare from the young man. Knowing of his trypanophobia from his many previous stints at Lakeshore, she offered him a small apologetic smile and patted his sleeved forearm affectionately before pushing the long-overdue medications into the IV.
With pain relief hopefully soon approaching, the surgeon continued his questioning, tackling the more generic symptoms the detective was likely to present, even if they might not be conclusive for his diagnosis. After all, they could just be related to his concussion. "Any nausea? Dizziness? Vomiting?" he asked, receiving two more confirmative nods and one shake of the head. "What about your back pain and cramps? Can you localize it? Is it just the right flank giving you trouble, or does it hurt anywhere else as well? Ribs? Spine?" Halstead tensed involuntarily and averted his gaze. Bewildered, Dr. Arata leaned over the bed as far as he could and searched his face. He was surprised to find Maui blue eyes misting with a myriad of emotions, pain, and anguish, sure, but the one that stood out most looked suspiciously like panic. "Detective?"
The muscles in the region of Jay's mouth were twitching minutely, his lips parting ever so slightly as he worked up the courage to speak. At last, he spoke, voice raspy with pain and exhaustion, "Everything… my entire back." The young man's admission didn't surprise Dr. Arata in the slightest; he had wondered since he'd first noticed the abnormal bend of his vertebrae. While it was rather unobtrusive, it had aroused suspicions that something was going on there. Ultimately, it was why he'd made the split decision to press for an MRI along with the CT; he needed to know what exactly that something was. "Got tackled into a fridge… hit the handle. Some–" he sucked in a shaky breath and wetted his lips nervously. "Something shifted… felt that way at least. I…" The detective paused momentarily, frown deepening and eyes watering, but he didn't have the strength to raise his hand and brush the brimming tears away. "I… It…"
Before he could say more, the phone crackled to life, startling Halstead into silence. "Sorry," the nurse apologized unnecessarily, then sprang into action and hurried to the crackling device, turning off the speaker and pressing the receiver against her ear. A short conversation followed, clipped requests and questions filled with acronyms that went straight over Jay's head, slightly longer replies that neither he nor the surgeon heard. Less than a minute later, the call was over. Isabel hung up and faced the bed, looking anything but pleased. "Radiology is backed up at the moment. It'll take at least a couple hours if not more before they have an open spot for us," she relayed in consternation. Shifting her gaze towards the officer, she tilted her head and added a sincere, "I'm sorry, Detective."
Jay merely nodded his understanding, buried his head deeper in the pillow, and stared into nothingness, resigning himself to yet more hours of waiting. At this point, he couldn't bring himself to care anymore. After all, it wasn't like anyone was dying to get an update on his condition. Intelligence were the only ones to even know of his current whereabouts and they'd made it abundantly clear they couldn't be bothered with him. So really, five hours or eight, it didn't make much of a difference.
It made a difference for Dr. Arata, though. Knowing of the gravity of the situation, he wasn't nearly as accepting of the unsatisfactory information but wisely kept his frustration to himself for the sake of his patient. No need to add to his distress and worry that he could see etched on the young man's features despite his attempts to cover them. He wondered why but knew there were more pressing issues to address first. "Okay, well in that case an ultrasound will have to do for the time being," he sighed, mostly to himself and the nurse. "Not ideal, but it'll give us some answers at least. Nurse Isabel…" He didn't have to finish the sentence for her to ransack the cupboards for medical drapes, a stack of paper tissues, and the tube of water-based gel, putting the latter beside the sonographic unit and unfolding the drapes on the bed.
Meanwhile, David grabbed a pair of gloves from the mounted dispenser by the door, donning them as he asked the brunette over his shoulder, "how are you doing pain-wise, Detective?" Turning around, he added, "because it's going to hurt when I put pressure on that area, with or without meds. So, I need to know they are doing their job before I get started on the procedure to minimize the pain you're going to be in." Halstead knitted his brows, a tortured look in his eyes, one that was practically screaming at him that the kid was still in excruciating agony. "Alright, we'll hold off for another ten minutes. The morphine should have kicked in by then," he pensively answered his own question, mildly worried that the opioid barely appeared to take the edge off. "In the meantime, let's pick up where we left off earlier. You got interrupted."
The officer met his eyes, a saddened expression briefly disrupted by a flicker of terror crossed his features before he shook his head in resignation, his moment of compliance seemingly having passed at this point. Heaving a sigh, Dr. Arata pulled a stool closer to the bed and sat down, facing the brunette. As soon as the doctor's sharp yet understanding eyes scrutinized him, Jay averted his own and stared at the ceiling instead, a vain attempt to escape the doctor's piercing gaze.
"Earlier you said you felt something shift. Can you tell me where?" Jay didn't reply. "Somewhere along the spine or the ribcage?" Spurred on by his silence, he probed further, hoping to stumble upon the answer that way. "Upper or lower back?" He observed the detective for even the slightest hint that he was getting closer but got nothing. "How about the shifting? What did it feel like?" Still nothing. "Grating, crackling, popping...?" David sighed internally, thinking there was a reason why he'd become a surgeon and not an ER doctor. Interrogations like these weren't exactly his strong suit. "Did you experience pain along with the sensation or did it come later?" Jay remained silent, his face twisting into a lopsided anguished grimace, his right shoulder lifting a quarter of an inch in a poor excuse of a shrug.
Frustrated by the lack of a verbal response, the doctor was near his wit's end. Nevertheless, he wasn't ready to give in yet. Leaning forward in his chair until he was eye level with his patient, he tried one last alternative approach. "Detective, I don't know what's got you so spooked," he studied the young man's twitching facial muscles for a moment. "But whatever it is, you need to be open and honest with me so I can figure out what's going on with your back. Anything you tell me will help," he urgently appealed to his patient. "The ER is no place for secrets. With every secret you keep, you're ultimately playing Russian roulette with your health. You realize that don't you?" The young man worried his lips and nodded, eyes glazing over but still didn't say anything, and this time Dr. Arata couldn't hold back a disgruntled groan. "Detective…"
"Spine. Ribs too but… mostly the spine, lower back… it felt like…" Halstead paused, his vocal cords refusing to cooperate. Swallowing past the boulder in his throat, he choked out, "It felt like before… in the Army… when…" Another pause and a shaky breath. "…after the accident, IED…" Dr. Arata frowned, both curious yet at the same time dreading whatever he was about to find out about his patient. "I don't remember much… just that… I was still walking after…" His eyes started to water, but he angrily blinked the brimming tears away. "Next thing I know… I woke up in a hospital… couldn't move… or walk…" he choked out shakily, then, barely louder than a strained whisper, "…didn't feel my legs…"
"You were paralyzed?" David inquired gently, his expression one of deep sympathy. Suddenly it made so much more sense why the young man seemed so hesitant and uncomfortable to speak up. Being in an explosives-related accident must have been scary enough, but waking up in a hospital, discovering that he could no longer move much less feel his lower extremities? No wonder the kid was terrified, hell, this would be terrifying for everyone. As he studied his patient, more tears gathered in Halstead's bottom lids, confirming the doctor's suggestion before he could bestow him with the tiniest of nods. Salty liquid spilled over, trailing its way down his bruised left cheek before seeping into the pillow, but the officer no longer cared to disguise them much less wipe them away. "What happened?"
Jay was silent for a minute, the only sound his labored breathing, shaky inhales and exhales, sporadic muffled hisses, and eventually a slight hitch in his breath pre-announcing that he was about to reply. "The doctors said something about…" he frowned in contemplation, "…slipped vertebrae?" He gazed questioningly at Dr. Arata, almost as if he expected him to verify. "…and shrapnel… pressing on the nerves… swelling… I don't remember." Another staggering breath, harsh and shallow followed. With his hands trembling, he curled his fingers deeper into the pillow and pulled it closer to his chest for comfort. The motion aggravated his bruised and battered torso which the surgeon had yet to examine but compared to everything else it was just a dull ache that he could easily ignore. "It wasn't permanent… five, six days… a week maybe, not sure… but…" Unable to continue, he broke off in a keening sob, the memories too much to handle.
"You're worried it might happen again," Arata finished for him, forehead wrinkled, and eyes darkening. Jay merely tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and nodded, anguished Maui blues daring to meet the doctor's grey orbs fleetingly, only to find the man's gaze full of empathy and concern. Not knowing how to deal with either emotion and afraid that the surgeon might recognize the raw fear and years of accumulated emotional pain, Halstead closed his eyes to block him out. Nevertheless, David had already seen both. "What makes you think that?" Tears forced their way past the detective's tightly squeezed eyelids face scrunching up. "Are you experiencing any neurological signs? Numbness, weakness, tingling sensation in the limbs?" he listed, keeping his tone low and even-keeled.
Halstead nodded timidly into the pillow, his trepidation rising. "All the above?" Another nod. Dr. Arata hummed, displeased by the new information yet secretly relieved that he'd precautionarily requested an MRI, its necessity affirmed by his patient's revelation. "This must be really terrifying for you, Detective," the doctor started, watching as the young man squeezed his eyes even tighter, the grimace pulling painfully at the swollen skin of his right cheek, "but let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay? We don't know yet what's causing the symptoms." David paused, taking in the young man's wretched appearance, his pleading eyes as he blinked them open once more, practically begging him for reassurance.
While the doctor would have loved to give him some hope, he knew he couldn't for the time being, not until after the radiological exam once he would see the results of those. Regardless of that, Halstead pegged him as the kind of guy who appreciated brutal honesty over whitewashing, notwithstanding how painful and bitter a pill the truth was to swallow. Quite frankly, so was Dr. Arata. He preferred to give it to his patients straight, seeing no gain in lulling anyone in a false sense of security.
"I'm not going to lie to you, Detective," he stated for that very same reason. "With the symptoms you're describing to me, the shifting, tingling, numbness, not to mention the great deal of pain you're in," a shiver rippled through the young man on cue, "there's a possibility that you have a slipped vertebra or a herniated disc." The officer dropped his gaze in feigned silent acceptance, even if he was anything but, a slight uptick in his breathing and rise and fall of his chest belying his increasing disquiet. Noticing the lurking red flags, David backpedaled just a tad, "if we're lucky, it's just swollen tissue impinging on your nerves." He didn't believe that one bit, and frankly, he doubted the brunette would buy it either, but the concern that he might work himself straight into a panic attack and aggravate his injuries even more won out. "Imaging will bring more clarity on what we're dealing with."
Jay's nod was subdued, barely perceptible, his features clouded with a contradicting carriage of gratitude and despair. Gratitude for the surgeon's candor, despair over the fact that Dr. Arata couldn't still his fears. "Try not to worry too much, Detective. It's a good thing you came here, to the hospital. Whatever is going on with your back, we're going to figure it out and we're going to take care of it, okay?" The young man offered another timid nod into his pillow, forcing himself to calm his breathing. "But first things first. I'd really like to get that ultrasound of your kidney. How's your pain right now?" By way of a reply, another tremor ran through the officer, rigid back muscles twitching sporadically. "You still seem pretty tense. Is the pain easing at all?" If he were to guess, he'd say the kid was still in excruciating pain, thus he wasn't too surprised when his patient confirmed his suspicions with an anguished shake of the head, a single tear trickling out the corner of his right eye.
Concerned about the implication of Halstead's willing admission to his pain, Dr. Arata frowned and swiveled around to the nurse standing right behind and with her back to him. "Nurse Isabel," he called softly to garner her attention. She glanced over her shoulder, and upon seeing the grave expression on the doctor's face leaned in a bit to listen to his hushed instructions. "Morphine's seems to be ineffective. Try 100 milligrams of tramadol instead." Nodding her agreement, she sprang into action immediately. "Let's hope this works," he sighed glumly, then murmured under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear, "if it doesn't, we'll have to resort to a sedative. Kid needs relief ASAP." The nurse halted her movements just long enough to meet his meaningful look, then returned to the task at hand, preparing the requested analgesic in record time.
Once Isabel drew up the syringe, David rolled aside a bit to make room for her. His eyes followed his pain-racked patient's line of sight to the crook of his arm where the nurse slowly pushed the clear liquid into the intravenous line. "We're giving you something else to help with the pain," he explained matter-of-factly. "It'll take a moment to take effect, so we'll wait for another ten minutes before doing the ultrasound." Jay nodded absentmindedly. "Do you want me to call someone for you? Send someone in to keep you company in the meantime?" A sad and harrowed look crossed over the detective's features. Tugging his upper lip between his teeth, the young man moved his head a fraction of an inch from side to side, an inkling of a shake of the head as his nails dug even deeper into the pillow. Dr. Arata knitted his brows at the expression of utter defeat and pressed, "are you sure?" Halstead nodded tersely.
"Alright then. We'll give you a few minutes, okay?" Another nod. The surgeon studied his patient a moment longer, a feeling of unease that he couldn't quite place settling in his chest. "Just hang in there, Detective. We'll be right back." With that, he departed the room, the nurse on his heels. As they walked down the hall in uncomfortable mutual silence, Isabel cast the occasional sidelong glance at David, taking in the deep worry and anger lines adorning his forehead and the fury that radiated off and followed him like a dark gloomy shadow. She had a pretty good idea what that was about, but remained silent, figuring he would speak his mind sooner or later.
Lo and behold, Dr. Arata vented his frustration sooner rather than later by slamming the chart onto the admission desk with a little more force than necessary. "Kid shouldn't have been so low on the priority list," he growled dangerously low, disgruntled. It was no reflection on the head nurse or anyone for that matter, just the statement of a fact, an incontrovertible fact at that, a universal reminder that even ingenious systems such as the hospital's triage was flawed and sometimes allowed patients to slip through the cracks. Detective Halstead happened to be one of them. Knowing that, Isabel didn't take the doctor's little outburst personally, merely nodded along.
David took a few long inhales and even longer exhales to quench his discontent over the unfortunate circumstances before addressing the nurse once more. "Do me a favor and get me access to his medical file. I need to know what we're dealing with regarding his back," he ordered, a barely concealed edge of weariness and urgency in his voice. "I'll inform his team in the meantime, allow one of them to keep him company. He could use a distraction. I assume they're in the waiting room?" When the woman didn't answer, he looked at her, catching her sorrowful grimace and tilted head. Not one to beat around the bush, he called her out on it right away. "What is it?"
The nurse heaved a prolonged sigh, then soberly informed him, "they're not here." Uneasiness returning, Dr. Arata frowned and narrowed his eyes to slits in bewilderment. Spurred on by his confusion, Isabel elaborated. "A dark-haired female brought him in, another detective. She made sure he was admitted and taken care of but left right after I settled him in six." She paused, gaging the doctor's reaction, his features darkening. "I haven't seen a single officer since that woman left, uniformed or plain-clothes, and I know most of the ones working in the nearby districts." With every word she said, David's irritation grew and the wrinkles on his forehead more and more resembled the Grand Canyon. Flaring his nostrils, he parted his lips to say something, but the nurse presaged the answer to his question by adding, "I checked his emergency contacts but…" the head nurse interrupted herself momentarily, searching the surgeon's eyes, "…he doesn't have one listed."
Humming sullenly, Dr. Arata pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head in sadness as he recalled the dejected expression on the young man's face right before they left the room. The uneasiness from moments ago flared up full force with the realization of what that look, that radiant undercurrent of emotional pain he'd seen from the second he'd stepped into the cubicle earlier, had really been about. It wasn't just the fear of what the examinations would bring to light, it was just as much fear of having to face potentially devastating results all by himself with no one there to support him.
Detective Halstead deserved better than that. Anyone did, really, but a war veteran who'd been wounded in the service of his country and was now once again injured in the line of duty, this time while serving and protecting the city of Chicago, shouldn't get left in the lurch by his fellow officers. Woefully, it seemed like that's exactly what was happening here, and it made David beyond angry on behalf of his patient. In any other case, he'd be vigilant against getting in his patients' businesses unless it was pertinent to getting a diagnosis, but something about this young man awoke his protective instincts. He wanted to help the kid, wanted to make sure he wasn't alone with his sorrow and anguish. So, against his better judgment, he asked the nurse, "which district is he from?" determined to give them a call and an unflattering piece of his mind.
And we're still miles away from a diagnosis, so if you want to find out what's wrong with Jay, stay tuned.