Rites of Passage
Two
Otto believed that the woman and her child had defied all odds. Most people who tried to drive in this weather perished. They either crashed or their car broke down and there was no way for them to get to safety before they were washed away. By all means, the woman and her child should have been dead.
But there they had been, just as he began feeding Blondie his dinner. The girl lay limp in her mother's arms, pastel pink nightgown stained with blood which, to Otto's horror, seemed to have come from her mouth. Both were soaked with rain water and the woman began screaming for someone to let her in. One of the security guards stood before the sliding doors (which had since been locked to keep everyone at bay), ordering her to turn around and go home.
Which is when all hell broke loose.
A crowd of people from outside rushed forward, shouting and pleading with the guards to let the girl and woman in.
"Listen, I don't make the rules. We got enough people in here as it is. I advise you all to go home and ride out the storm," the moustached guard shouted. Otto watched with growing anxiety as the patients milling about nearby perked up, muttering amongst themselves. He had a feeling his help would soon be needed.
"Hey, come on, the kid'll die if you don't let 'em in!" a man shouted from inside. The guard glanced over his shoulder, regarding the patient with an air of misguided authority.
"Why don't you back off. I've got this under control."
Seeing the situation begin to escalate, Otto hopped off of his seat and hurried out of the security booth, sloshing his way to the door.
"Alright, Henry, vy don't ve just back away and let dis woman in," he began leading the slightly larger guard away from the door, glancing back worriedly at the desperate woman. Angrily, Henry pulled away, nearly throwing Otto to the ground.
"I was told to stand here and make sure no one gets in. I'm not about to break that because some kraut told me to," he shouted and Otto gaped, taken aback by the insult.
"Henry, let them in," a voice called from nearby. Otto turned to see Hook pushing his way through the crowd and relief washed over him. There was no way Henry would disobey the doctor.
"I was told by Dr. Jesse James to stay here and I'm staying here until he says otherwise," Henry crossed his arms across his chest, defiantly, reminding Otto more of his five-year-old nephew than a thirty-some-year-old hospital security guard.
"Goddammit, Henry, if you don't get the hell out of my way right now-" Dr. Hook made a move towards the security guard and Otto cringed. When sized up to Henry, the average-built doctor didn't stand a chance.
But before either man could make a move towards the other, a pair of men outside pried the doors open, ushering the woman in. It took a moment for Henry to realise what had happened and, by the time he got his bearings back, she had already hurried by him. He struggled to catch her, falling to the floor as a group of people rushed the now open doors. There were shouts from both sides and a group of patients from within the hospital sprang into action, tackling the intruders despite their ailments, age and sex. Otto pushed his way to the one of the doors, grasping one side and struggling to push it closed.
"Dr. Hook! Could I get some help?" he shouted. Hook stepped over the wrestling bodies, nearly tripping over a pair of men desperately fighting to subdue the other, holding the opposite door and beginning to push it closed. From behind them, a few of the intruders were pushed through the now-closing doors, grasping anything to stay inside including Otto and Hook's clothes, the doors and the arms of those pushing them outside. Finally, the doors finally touched, locking into place. Otto slumped back against them, turning to look at Hook. "I hate dis storm."
"That seems to be the sentiment of everyone, lately."
"And?" Chris peeked around the corner, watching Hook as he washed his hands, scrubs having been discarded only moments ago.
"Internal bleeding, probably a result of aspirin. Blood oxygen's been cut off from the brain too long, the only part still functioning looks to be the parietal lobe," he muttered, shutting off the water and tearing a handful of paper towels from the dispenser on the wall nearby. He sighed, turning to face his colleague with a somber expression. "She's brain dead."
"I'm sorry, Hook," Chris took a step towards him, crossing her arms across her chest. Hook shook his head, refusing to look up at her. "How much aspirin did she take?"
"Her mother said it was only half, but there must have been a hell of a lot o' halves in that little girl's seven years," he answered, tossing the used paper towels into the trash can and shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Now I have to go tell her that her daughter is a veritable vegetable and it's possible it's her fault."
"I could come with you, if you'd like," Chris announced, gently. Hook shook his head, brushing past her and making his way out.
"I don't want her to feel like we're ganging up on her," he turned to face Chris, briefly, giving her a small smile. "But thanks."
"Anytime," Chris smiled back, giving him a small wave.
Hook turned, beginning to walk down the corridor and towards the room little Norma had been put in temporarily.
"Hook! Hook!" Dr. Hook, may I have a word?"
Hook groaned, inwardly at the sound of Dr. Jesse James' voice coming up fast behind him. Instead, he turned back, forcing a smile onto his face.
"Dr. James. Actually, I was just about to inform the mother of one of my patients about her condition," he answered, folding his hands in front of him. Jesse James frowned as he stopped before the younger doctor.
"What is her condition?"
"Brain dead."
"Would that be the same patient who caused that scuffle downstairs earlier?" he questioned.
"It would."
"Damn shame. All that trouble for nothing," James shook his head, slowly, looking surprisingly somber. Almost immediately, his entire demeanor changed and he grinned, slapping Hook on the back. "I wandered if I could run a new idea by you for the hospital."
"Could you make it quick, sir? I really should get going," Hook answered, sounding as anxious as possible. James nodded, waving a hand to dismiss his hurry.
"A mourning room," James held out both hands, grinning ear-to-ear. Hook raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to respond and finding no words. "Now, now, before you say anything, just hear me out. We already have the morgue for people to mourn, I realise, but what if we created a room specifically for this. The morgue is…too cold, too impersonal. We need a room where people can sit comfortably and mourn for their lost loved ones."
"You know, Dr. James, I really need to speak with the mother," Hook announced, unable to find words for the older doctor's newest absurd idea.
"Think about it and get back to me, would you, Hook?" James called after him and Hook waved to him over his shoulder, hurrying down the corridor to Norma's room.
"I know someone's there, I heard you walking down the hall," a dull voice announced from inside the room. Hook scratched the back of his head, stepping into the room a bit sheepishly. Norma lay in her bed, machines monitoring her condition, her mother seat beside her, eyes bloodshot, the small girl's hand held in hers. "Are you the doctor who worked on my daughter?"
"Yes. My name's Dr. Hook," he held a hand out over the bed towards the woman, who refused to take it, opting instead to stare right back at the doctor. "We, um…we found some internal bleeding in Norma when we operated. It had been going on for quite awhile but only just began to worsen. It seems she had some reactions to aspirin which caused her stomach to bleed into itself. Now-"
"What are you trying to tell me, Dr. Hook? Is she dying?" the mother questioned, sharply, looking up at him, warily.
"No. No, not exactly. But…" he pulled up an extra chair, sitting at the foot of Norma's bed and facing her mother. "Her blood oxygen was cut off too long. There are…four main lobes in the brain: the temporal, the frontal, the parietal and occipital. Three portions of your daughter's brain are not functioning. The only one still functioning properly is the parietal. Now, the parietal controls the perception of stimuli related to touch, pressure, temperature and pain."
"What the hell are you talking about? Is she brain dead?" the woman's voice sounded strained and Hook saw fresh tears building in her eyes. He took a deep breath, nodding, slowly. Norma's mother made a small whining sound, turning back to her daughter and laying her head against the bed. He waited a long moment, allowing her some sort of mourning.
"You have two choices now, Ms. Trujillo: You can either leave her on these machines and give her five more years at the most like this or…or we can take her off of the machines and allow her a dignified death," he announced, softly. Norma's mother's sobbing quieted and she lifted her head, wiping her eyes and sniffing.
"How long will she live if she's taken off of the machines?" she whispered, eyes glued to the small girl in the bed.
"It's hard to tell. She could live a day, a week. She might drift off half an hour afterwards. There's really no way to predict how long she'll be able to survive like this without machines," he answered and she nodded, slowly, rubbing her nose with the palm of one hand.
"Can I have some time…" she trailed off, her throat tightening. Hook nodded, slowly, giving her a gentle smile.
"Of course. Take all the time you need. When you're ready, just press that call button right there and someone will be down here to help you with whatever you need," he informed her, standing up and making his way out of the room.
"I hate this storm."
"Is it still raining?" Jakob murmured from his hospital bed, not bothering to open his eyes. Across the room, his younger sister turned away from the window, leaning back against the cill.
"Even if it wasn't, they wouldn't transfer you," she answered, warily. Jakob chuckled, bitterly, rolling his head to the side and opening his eyes to stare at her.
"Dear, sweet, naïve Elisabeth. The minute this rain lets up, I'll be able to get my money from the bank and these doctors will have no choice but to let me out," he answered, his voice breaking as a fierce coughing fit ripped through his body. He pressed a hand to his mouth, closing his eyes as his body lurched up from the bed with the force of it.
"Want me to get the nurse?" Elisabeth made her way to the bed, sitting in the chair beside him. Jakob shook his head, frowning and waving her off.
"I told you before, I don't need a fucking nurse," he shot, angrily, struggling to turn onto his side. She stood up, easing him over, jumping back when he pushed her away with strength she hadn't known he possessed.
"Would you get the hell off of me?" he shouted, angrily. She stared down at him, dumbfounded, for a long moment. "Why don't you just…go wander around? Maybe we'll both get lucky and you'll drown."
"Go to hell, Jakob," she shot, angrily, before storming out of his room, slamming the door behind her. It was ridiculous, their relationship. He hated her, despised her, wished she was dead, while she stayed with him and cared for him. The doctor had said the brain injury Jakob suffered would greatly alter his personality. Even with medication, he would most likely never be the same again.
She hadn't expected him to be this bad.
Elisabeth sighed, making her way down the hospital corridors, peeking into the other rooms from time to time. She couldn't help but feel that, if her parents were still alive, things might be better now. Maybe they could have straightened Jakob up before the car accident. And even if they hadn't been able to stop him, at least she wouldn't be stuck caring for him on her own.
Or at all.
"Elisa-Ms. Salis!" a voice called from somewhere behind her. Elisabeth turned to see Jakob's Droctor, Dr. Elmer Traff making his way towards her. "How's your brother doing?"
"Same," she shrugged, crossing her arms across her chest, eyes focusing on anything but the young doctor.
"Listen, I know it'll be hard for awhile. You'll both need time to adjust," he set a hand on her arm, reassuringly. "But once he starts on his medication, things will get better. I promise."
"Thank you, Dr. Traff," she gave him a thin, forced smile before brushing past him and making her way further down the corridor.
You shouldn't have to adjust.
The thought came unbidden and Elisabeth furrowed her brow, slowing her pace.
You shouldn't have to adjust. You're the one taking care of him
Shaking her head at the seemingly random thought, hurrying towards the staircase.
Beside her, unseen by both patients and doctors, walked a young man, empty eyes watching her intently.
Paul grinned, black lips stretching over yellowed teeth. He had a feeling this would be easier than he had anticipated.
"What an asshole."
Lona Massingale rolled her eyes as the younger doctor perched himself on the edge of her desk. "You'd better not be talking about a patient, Elmer."
"You haven't met this guy. He actually told me to stick the clipboard up my ass sideways. You know what I was doing in his room, Lona?"
"Elmer, please, I-"
"Ask me what I was doing in his room," he leant forward, eyes widening. Lona cocked her head to the side, sitting back in her seat and watching him, warily.
"What were you doing in his room?"
"Checking his vitals. I mean, all I did was check his pulse, the whole spiel and while I'm trying to write it down, he shoots up in bed-" Elmer demonstrated with his hand, causing his colleague to jump, "-screaming at me to get out or he'll-"
"Yes. I remember," she interrupted, struggling to finish working. "I still don't understand how you became a doctor."
"I know, isn't it awesome?" Elmer grinned, leaning forward on the desk towards Lona. "You know, an orderly mentioned a fling we had in this world. Maybe we should…go along with it?"
"Don't make me sick," Lona muttered, pushing him away and nearly causing him to fall over. "Don't you have work to do?"
"Nope. Not 'till someone calls me. I am free to do as I please," Elmer struggled to sound smooth despite the fact that he just shoved almost a handful of peanuts from his own personal stash in his coat pocket into his mouth.
"Some of your patients might be allergic to that, you know," Lona announced, pointing towards the bag. Elmer shrugged, shoving it back into his coat pocket.
"I guy like me should wear a warning," he gave her a mock-seductive look and she couldn't help but laugh, even if she thought he was being more childish than usual.
"I really need to work now, Elmer, please," she pushed him away again, this time succeeding in throwing him off balance. He fell over sideways, his hip connecting with the tile floor next to her desk.
And she almost felt guilty about it.
He frowned as he grasped the edge of her desk, pulling himself up and wincing at the pain. "I think I bruised my hip."
"Did you diagnose yourself, Dr. Traff?" she questioned, unable to hide the small smile.
"I love it when you talk doctor to me, Massingale."