A Friend in Need III: Crash and Burn
By Somogyi
Chapter 10
"Here're those labs you were waiting for, Dr. Foxx."
"Thanks, Paula." Taking the paper, she scanned down the columns of electrolytes. "Shit! The BUN, creat, and phosphorus are all through the roof. Goddammit."
"You want me to up his fluids?"
"Yeah, let's diurese the hell out of him. I have a bad feeling, though, that he's gonna need dialysis."
"Should I call upstairs to Nephrology?"
"Nah, that's okay, let's see what his 'lytes are after a few hours of fluids. I'll let the next shift make the call. Thanks, Paula."
"Sure thing, Dr. Foxx."
As the nurse walked away, Dr. Foxx slammed down the file in which she had been writing. "What a lovely end to my day," she muttered, searching for her pen. She looked on the counter top, under the table, in the file. Exacerbated, she ran her hand over her hair-and found her pen, sticking out from the bun at the back of her head. Frowning, she continued her paperwork.
"Hey, Ashley."
She looked up to see a tall, lanky medicine resident heading toward her.
"Hey Chris, what's up?"
"I've got a question for you," he said, perching on the counter beside her file folder and tucking a clipboard beneath his arm.
"Shoot."
"You know that MVA victim you transferred to me last night?"
"Be more specific, Chris. I had three last night."
"The young guy with the concussion, smoke inhalation, and fractured ribs. Robert-"
"Drake? Yeah, I remember him. How's he doing?" she asked, continuing to write in her file.
"He's doing fine. I kept him overnight and for the day for observation. My plan was to send him home this evening."
"Why do I sense a but coming on?"
"I just stopped by his room to have him sign his discharge papers, but he was gone."
"Gone? What do you mean, gone?"
"Just what I said: gone. Missing. We looked in the bathroom, the lounge, the cafeteria. Hell, even the chapel. There's no sign of him. The nurses have no idea where he is."
"And you're telling me this because. . . ?"
"Because I was hoping you might have some idea where he could have gotten to."
"How should I know?"
"I don't know, it just seemed like you had taken a . . . personal interest in him."
"Excuse me?" She arched an eyebrow.
"I don't mean like that, Ashley." His fair complexion blushed crimson. "What I meant was that you seemed pretty friendly with him when you briefed me on his case. You usually don't take more than a passing interest in your patients."
"He seemed like a nice enough guy. And he was chatty. Where's the harm in actually talking with your patient?"
"No argument there. I just thought that since you actually said more than two words to him yesterday afternoon, you might have an idea of where he wandered off to."
"Chris, I really don't-" She stopped in mid-sentence. "Well, I can think of one place he might be."
"Really? Where-?" Just then, his beeper went off. Unclipping it, he stared at the number. "Shit! One of my patients is coding. I gotta go. Do me a fave, Ash-have him sign these forms for me? We really need his bed." He shoved the clipboard at her as he got to his feet.
"But Chris, I'm off in twenty-"
"Thanks, Ash-I owe you one!" Chris shouted with a wave before sprinting out of the ER.
"No, this makes more like three," she muttered under her breath as she placed the clipboard aside and tried to finish her paperwork.
"Hey, Dr. Foxx," Paula said, grabbing a file from the bin on the desk beside her as she walked by, "weren't you off at four?"
"Yeah," she muttered. "Why, what time is it?"
"Almost a quarter after. Get out of here while you can. There's a GSW on the way."
"You have enough people?"
"Go!" Paula called over her shoulder.
Smiling, Dr. Foxx quickly scribbled a few more lines into the record she had started and then snapped the file folder closed before dropping it into the appropriate bin. With a stretch and a sigh, she headed to the locker room. She hung up her lab coat and stethoscope, grabbed her jacket and bag, and headed for the exit closest to the parking lot. She was halfway out the door when she turned back to the nurse's station. She stared down at the clipboard Chris had left with her, contemplating. She had nearly convinced herself that it was no longer any of her concern when her conscience won out. With a frown, she snagged the clipboard with its accompanying paperwork and headed for the elevator bank.
A few minutes later, she stepped onto the fifth floor and made her way to the Burn Unit. Approaching the nurse's station, she found a familiar face typing at the computer.
"Hey Marisa."
The nurse looked up from the keyboard. "Hello, Doctor. May I help you?"
"I was wondering if you've happened to have seen a former patient of mine? Young man-mid-twenties, light brown hair-"
"Mr. Drake, you mean? The one you brought up to visit the woman in 513?"
"Yes. Have you seen him recently?"
"He's sitting in there with her now," Marisa said, resuming her typing. "Has been, since this morning. He won't leave her bedside-except when we need to change her bandages. He steps outside the room until we're done. Holding a silent vigil it seems." She sadly shook her head.
"Thanks, Marisa," Dr. Foxx said, already walking down the corridor toward the last room on the right. She stopped outside the door and peered inside. Sure enough, Bobby was sitting at the bedside, facing the bandaged form that lay sleeping.
Maybe I shouldn't bother him, she thought. But then she looked down at the clipboard she held. Chris said we need the bed. I'm doing this for the good of another patient. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped inside.
Bobby did not move from the bedside. He did not even bother to look in her direction. "It's too soon for a bandage change," he said. "Time for some more bloodletting?"
"What, that sample I sneaked you wasn't enough?"
"Huh?" Bobby turned in his seat. "Dr. Foxx? What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," she asked, approaching him. She looked down at him, and her brow furrowed when she saw his arm wrapped around his torso. "You okay?"
"Yeah, it's just my ribs. Dr. Rollings said I'm gonna be sore for several weeks yet."
"He give you anything for the pain?"
"Yup. Ibuprofen," Bobby replied, patting the pill bottle in the breast pocket of his button-down shirt.
"Well, let me know if it's not doing the trick, and I'll write you a script for something a little stronger."
He arched an eyebrow in her direction. "Why, Doc . . . I'm touched."
She pursed her lips. "I just don't like to see anyone suffer, that's all. Why do you think I became a doctor?"
"Oh, let's see . . . Respect the degree entails, gratitude of countless people for saving their or their loved ones' lives, a six-figure salary. . . ."
She laughed at that. "Yeah, I'll try to remember how glamorous my job is next time I'm getting puked on while I work the graveyard shift."
"Well, at least working in the ER is exciting."
"That one, I'll give you. When things go well, it's an incredible high. But when they go bad, it's actually quite depressing." With a sigh, she glanced over to the bed. "How's she doing?"
Bobby shook his head. "Not good. They said her blood work shows that her kidney values are up, that she's not producing enough urine."
"They worried about renal failure?"
He nodded. "Said we need to consider dialysis. And that her lungs are filling with fluid."
"Damn."
"Precisely."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Drake."
"You and me both, Doc."
She licked her lips before voicing her next question. "How . . . far is Scott willing to go?"
Bobby sighed as he slowly blinked. He did not meet her gaze as he spoke, instead focusing his glance on the woman who lay before him. "Well, Jeanie has a living will, with a DNR. But-"
"But you and Scott and your other friends don't believe this woman to be Jean Summers."
"Right."
"And you've no idea who she is?"
He seemed to hesitate a moment before shrugging his shoulders. "Just some Jane Doe."
Dr. Foxx let out a deep breath. "Drake, I don't mean to sound insensitive here, but to be perfectly honest, given the extent of her injuries. . . . unfortunately, I don't think there's much medical science can do for her anymore. A DNR is probably the most humane decision."
Slowly, he nodded. "I know. No one should have to go on suffering like this."
She hesitated before speaking again. "If you don't mind my asking . . . if this woman is just some stranger to you, and your friend is still missing somewhere-" she was not even going to pretend that she could get her mind around that one- "then why have you spent the day sitting here at her bedside?"
Bobby sighed as he slowly shook his head. He debated about telling the doctor the real reason he was sitting here. To reveal personal information, or to just make a flippant remark to deflect her inquisition? The latter would be much easier-and so much more his style. And yet, for some reason, he felt that he needed to tell her the truth.
He cleared his throat. "While we were driving home, Jeanie and I were talking. She was ribbing me in this big sister way of hers. She's always been a bit of a mother hen type, y'know?"
He glanced at Dr. Foxx, and sensing his hesitation, she offered an encouraging nod of understanding.
"So," he continued, "she made a comment about the way I was driving, which somehow ultimately turned into a conversation about relationships. . . ." He managed a small smile and gently shook his head. "Anyway, she wasn't completely ragging on me-Jeanie being Jeanie, she always finds a tactful if not completely offhanded way to get her point across without truly offending."
Dr. Foxx smiled. "From the brief time I met her last spring, and the way you describe her, she sounds like such a warm, caring person."
Nodding, Bobby met the doctor's gaze. "They don't come better than Jeanie."
He looked away suddenly-almost self-consciously, she thought. Then his gaze became distant, as though he were straining to see something far away.
"Anyway, even if she didn't come right out and say it as such, I know she was getting on my case to act my age."
He sighed then, the action causing his shoulders to slump almost imperceptibly.
"I've been thinking about that a lot, actually-mulling over in my brain the idea of taking responsibility for one's actions. 'Cause the truth is, actions have consequences. Ones we have to live with for the rest of our lives."
Dr. Foxx nodded knowingly. She had seen that truth brought to light countless times in the ER. Car accidents caused by someone DUI. Drug-user mothers giving birth to addicted babies. Kids playing with handguns. The list went on and on.
"Well," Bobby continued, "even if it wasn't intentional, I was driving the car when it crashed. When we were hurt. Purposely or not, when it comes down to it, I'm partially responsible for this woman lying here like this . . . dying." His voice caught on the last word, and he took a moment to regain his composure.
As he focused on the bandaged figure lying in the bed in front of him, she was struck at that moment by the dichotomy of this man. On the one hand, he exuded a vulnerability that came with youth as well as the emotional subtext of the words he was expressing. At the same time, there was a maturity evident through the self-deprecation that could only come from one who was aware of his strengths and weaknesses-someone who had taken the time to ponder his place in the world.
For a person whom she thought she had pegged during the first minute of their conversation, Dr. Foxx now realized how much more complicated he was. And as a woman who prided herself on her ability to reason, she wanted nothing more than the opportunity to discover and fit together the pieces of the puzzle that comprised Bobby Drake. She had to wonder, though, if that was a desire to satisfy an intellectual craving, or if it was instead being driven by emotion.
He took a deep breath, as though steeling himself for what was to come next. "I have no idea who she is, or how she ended up at the scene of the accident. And somehow I doubt I ever will know."
His voice had grown soft, and she found herself taking an unconscious step closer to better hear him.
"What I do know is that she is a living, breathing person. A woman who had her own likes and dislikes, her own hopes and dreams. An act of fate took that all away from her. And right now, she's alone in the world. If our positions were reversed, and it was me lying in that hospital bed, I wouldn't want to be alone . . . in the end. I don't think she should be, either."
She stared back at him, dumbfounded. When she first met him in the ER, she thought him a flip, obstinate bastard. When he revealed his concern for his injured friend, she quickly realized that he was a decent human being. Her opinion then changed to that of a man with perhaps a few screws loose when he tried to convince her that the wounded woman was not really his friend. Then, after meeting his other friends and having him try to convince her to obtain a blood sample, she came to the conclusion that recent developments were not the ravings of a madman but rather were steeped in rational-albeit bizarre-circumstances. Now, though, hearing his heartfelt words, listening to him practically confess his feelings of guilt for causing the grave injuries to the patient lying before them, made her chest tighten and her throat ache.
Blinking back sudden wetness in her eyes, she sought the appropriate reply. Nothing-absolutely nothing-came to mind. So instead, she slowly nodded her head.
The room was quiet then, save for the sounds of the ventilator and heart monitor. After a few minutes, Bobby finally spoke.
"You never did answer my question, Doc."
"What question was that?"
"What brings you here?"
"I was looking for you, actually."
"Be still my heart," he replied dramatically, clutching his chest. A moment after he said it, though, he flushed and bowed his head.
"It seems you went AWOL on Dr. Rollings," she continued, trying to lighten the mood. "He wanted to discharge you, but couldn't since you were MIA. Apparently, he had them searching the hospital top to bottom for you."
"Good thing he's a doctor and not a detective, eh?"
"Don't be too hard on him. The residents around here are entirely over-worked. So, anyway, it seems they need your bed. If you'd be so kind as to sign here on the dotted line-" she held out the clipboard- "you're free to go."
"Peachy. You got a pen?" he asked, taking the clipboard from her.
"Yep." She handed him one from her scrub pocket.
"Just this one spot?" he asked, scribbling his signature.
"No, actually, there are several." She walked over to the chair, leaned down beside him to point to the paperwork. "Also here," she said, reaching across him to flip to a second page. Her finger brushed his hand, and she was startled by how cool his skin felt. After he signed, she flipped to a third and final page. "And here."
"Geez, you'd think I was signing away my first born or something."
"Actually, just your soul," she deadpanned.
All that got out of him was a cocked eyebrow.
"Okay, okay, so Jerry Seinfeld I'm not. I'll leave the humor to you, Drake," she said, taking back the pen and clipboard.
Sensing her discomfort, he sought to quickly put her at ease. "Hey, I barely know my ass from my elbow when it comes to anatomy and science. So you just stick to the medicine you know best, and I'll keep cracking the jokes."
She graced him with a smile. "Okay."
Grinning back, he rubbed at the back of his neck.
"Stiff?" she asked.
"Just a little."
She glanced at her watch. "Just how long have you been sitting here, Drake? Marisa said you'd been here since this morning."
"Yep."
"You've been here all day?" she asked incredulously.
"Uh huh."
"Without a break?"
"Yeah. Well, I did get up to pee once."
"Have you at least eaten?"
He shook his head. "Not hungry."
"C'mon, Drake, this isn't healthy. How do you expect your body to heal if you don't take proper care of yourself?"
"I'll eat later."
She folded her arms across her chest. "Forgive me if I don't believe you." She sighed. "How about I buy you dinner? I can have Marisa page me if there's any change in her condition," she said, gesturing toward the patient.
"Thanks, Doc, but I'm really not hungry."
"Drake, you've gotta eat. Besides, visiting hours are almost over."
He shook his head. "Actually, I talked Marisa into letting me stay. So long as I leave when they have to do bandage changes or exams, I can sit here as long as I want."
"You are gonna at least go home to get some sleep, right?"
He shrugged noncommittally.
"Christ!" She threw up her arms in exacerbation. "There's not any reasoning with you, is there?"
"Nope."
"Can I at least bring you some food? A cup of coffee even?"
He looked up at her. Though he managed for his expression to remain determined, he was fighting a grin. Nonetheless, she could tell from the way the smile reached his eyes that he was appreciative of her concern. "Thanks for the kind offer and everything, Doc, but I'm fine. You look like you could use a hot meal and a soft bed, though."
She met his eyes, understood the true meaning of his words: 'Thanks, but I really want to be alone right now. So get the hell out.' Slowly, she nodded. "All right." Gathering her things, she started to leave. As she passed his chair, she felt his hand on her arm. As she turned toward him, his cool fingers slid down her forearm until they wrapped around her hand.
She looked down at him, captured suddenly by his dark gaze. "I really appreciate the kindness you've shown me, Doc," he whispered, even as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "It's really meant a lot to me. I- I just thought you should know that."
Throat suddenly dry, she found herself unable to move, barely able to muster a coherent thought. Finally, she managed a smile. "It's been my pleasure," she replied softly. "I only wish I could have done more." Her eyes flicked over to the bedside.
He nodded knowingly. "You and me both. Thanks again." He brushed his thumb across the back of her hand before releasing it and turning back to the bed.
That one small gesture sent a rush of excitement through her. But she quickly tried to fight it. With a deep breath, she managed to calm her racing heart, to focus her thoughts. Steeling herself, she headed for the door. "Good night, Drake," she called.
"'Night, Doc."
And without looking back, she walked out of the room.
End Chapter 10