Title At the End of Chaos
Rating PG-13…just because
Spoilers YES
Summary Carter is working, and trying not to face his pain
Disclaimer I always forget to do this…I don't own anything, especially not these characters, I just like to play with them from time to time.
CARTER
There aren't many places I've been able to call home over the years. Sure, when I lived with my parents and Bobby, and then just my parents, that was "home", because that's what you called it. But since I started med school and then became a doctor, I've just moved around constantly. Nothing has really felt like home. That's probably because I spend 75% of my time in the ER, but still…I guess you could call the hospital a home of sorts. I have a family here, friends, a place to sleep, food, and a purpose. And since I became a head of the ER, I've felt even more at home here.
But since…what happened…I've felt displaced again. Like even here is not home. And today I'm feeling that more than ever. It doesn't help that I see them all look at me like I'm going to break, like at any minute I'm going to pick up a syringe full of Valium and inject it into myself.
Not that the thought hasn't occurred to me. But I figure, since everything else has gone wrong, and probably because of me, I should try to get at least one thing right. And not doing drugs is one thing I can do.
That, and treat patients, something that comes as naturally to me now as my own heart beating.
My focus today is on a VA named Skinner who was injured in Iraq, and has been left disfigured. It has, obviously, made him depressed.
"Your mom tells me your engaged," I say as I roll a stool up to the bed.
"She won't give up," he says, laughing slightly.
"You're not?"
"I was. Her name's Karen." He pauses, a small, sad smile playing across his face. "Right before I shipped out, I spent everything I had at Zales and took her to the Olive Garden. Popped the question over the tiramisu."
"What happened?"
"She tried to come and see me at Bethesda—I wouldn't let her. I knew where that would end up, anyway, saved us both the pain." He looks up at me, to show that he is certain of his decision.
"You think she'd give up on you that easy?" Even as I say this, I wonder about its significance in my own life.
"Karen's a good girl, she's the best--but some things happen that even the best people can't get past." He pauses, and I consider this statement. "Maybe in a few years I won't think about her anymore. Find myself a nice blind girl."
I don't know how to respond to this. Right now, in my own life, I can't imagine finding anyone at all. I've destroyed two relationships in a row, with women I couldn't imagine living without. Here sits before me a kid who didn't do anything wrong, but he's so scared of what she might think of him now that he can't bring himself to see her.
"You never know what life might bring your way," I tell him, hoping that in one way or another this helps. I walk away, called to the phone. Jerry tells me it's someone in Africa, and I suddenly can't see straight, I must get to the phone, it must be her.
But it's not. It's just Alan, calling about the donation I made from the foundation. The disappointment of not hearing from her is almost too much, I almost have to leave, but then I am called to another patient and once again work saves me.
The patient I have now is a kid who put his hand through a wall during a fight with a girlfriend because he didn't want her to leave. All I can think is, 'I know how he feels'.
"So you guys were fighting?" I ask as I carefully inspect the wound. I have an intern in here with me, Howard, who is observing me.
"Yeah, we were. She sa—ouch!" The patient winces as I am looking more closely at the laceration on his hand. I look up quickly at him.
"Sorry." I turn to Howard, explaining to him what I'm doing. "You have to extend the wound to see it better." Howard nods nervously, wanting so badly to soak in everything I have to impart to him. Ah, interns. So eager. I turn back to my patient. "We're going to need to stitch this bad boy up, buddy."
"I figured," he responds. And then, continuing his explanation of how he incurred this injury, "I was trying to prove to her how much I love her. She told me she was leaving, and I got pissed." I nod at him as I pull out the suture kit. I sit quietly there as I sew the 8 stitches it takes to close up his hand, not knowing what to say, once again speechless. When I'm finished I smile at my patient, nod at Howard, and begin to leave. At the door I turn around, something occurring to me.
"Did your girlfriend leave?"
"I'll find out when I get home, I guess," he responds, nonchalantly.
"Huh," I say, and walk out. Kids.
I'm approaching the admit desk when I hear an altercation near triage. There is a small woman yelling at Sam, who is by herself, no on apparently around to help her. The woman is not calming down, and it seems she might hurt someone soon if she isn't appeased. I hurry over and intercede on Sam's behalf.
"Ma'am, can I get you to calm down?" At the sound of my voice she turns around on her heels and begins yelling at me.
"I am not a victim! I am not the problem! I am part of the solution!" And suddenly she smacks me on the head. It is now that security approaches and hauls the abominable woman away while I put my hand to my skull. Sam looks worriedly at me, asks if I'm all right, but I just nod and walk towards the lounge for coffee. I hear Luka approach her as I walk away.
I'm pouring a cup of coffee in the lounge when the door opens and I look up to see Luka walk in. He approaches me carefully, the same way everyone does lately (except, of course, crazed patients). I smile briefly, bringing my cup to my lips.
"Carter, are you feeling all right?"
"Yeah, Luka, I'm fine," I lie.
"People have been noticing you seem…tired. Do you think you should be here?" He puts his hands in his pockets. I open my mouth to answer, and he stops me, lowering his voice. "Seriously, Carter. If you need to go home, everyone will understand."
I consider this for a moment. My pride tells me to stay, prove that I'm fine, that I can handle all this. Everything else, however, tells me to listen to my friend and colleague and take the rest of my shift off. He really does care, and he's not trying to make me feel bad. He knows what true loss is, and he understands how I feel.
"Okay, Luka. I'll leave. Maybe get some sleep, whatever that is," I joke. God, even pretending to be happy is painful. Luka puts his hand on my arm reassuringly, smiling sympathetically.
"Good." He begins walking towards the door, and speaks to me over his shoulder. "If you need an extra day or two, just say so." And then he's gone.
I dump my coffee in the trash, put my coat in my locker, grab my things, and leave.
As I step outside the ER doors, I breathe in the air of Indian summer in Chicago. Definitely not refreshing, but still better than the recycled air of the hospital. I look around at the abnormally quiet ambulance bay, and over at the bench I notice something. It's…a father with a stroller. He's cooing into it, laughing and clapping at, presumably, the baby inside. And life has once again kicked me in the stomach.
I stare at them for a few moments, bile rising in my throat and tears threatening to break free from their ducts. I consider my options. Go home, with this image in my head, to the apartment where I was supposed to be caring for my own child? No, I don't think so. Suddenly, I realize exactly what I want to do. I realize that there is only one way to ease this agony right now.
I need a drink. Or five.