Part 20

Dr. Casler sat on a small, wheeled stool near Jesse's prone head, flipping through the pages of his meager medical chart. He touched his fingertips to his glasses, flicked at the itchy nose grips, massaged the little indents underneath them as he read. Though busy with his morning rounds, he didn't seem in a particular hurry when it came to this young, John Doe's case. His manner was never brusque with his patients anyway, but this unusual one, the scarred young man with razor blue eyes that held too many painful secrets, caught his attention. He called over the 20-something, new nurse, pointed to the chart, underscored some words with his index finger. Selena shook her head.

The doctor turned his attention away from the pages to his patient, smiling gently, nonchalantly curious. "May I ask you your name, young man? I need to call you something?" He scratched at his ear with the chart. "Or do you just want me to call you young sir?" He exuded such a mild, likable persona that it was hard for Jesse not to trust him. The doc put the ends of his stethoscope into his ears, put the scope on Jesse's chest in between the slight opening of his gown, and listened. Dr. Casler was an old fashioned doctor, he didn't fit in with the current doctor's trend of brashness and attitude. He was here to help, and spent long years learning in both med school and more importantly in his career so he could do that very thing. He'd seen more than his fair share of the human condition, of what people did to each other out of sheer cussedness, and he did not grow a thickened skin over his ill luck at being involved in their complicated lives, i.e., he still felt for each one of his patients. That was something you weren't supposed to do in the medical profession, in fact, he was often scolded, it would impede sound, impartial diagnosis and judgment, hurting those he saw. He expounded to his younger fellows that that was all bull crap sponsored by imperialistic practitioners, and institutions, with a blown up image of themselves. Maybe if he was a veterinarian cutting off livestock scrotums they could say that to him, and even then he'd question their judgement. This was why he never made it far up the hospital system ladder of success, but he was perfectly happy just seeing patients in need. Everyone recognized, though grudgingly, that he was an exceptional doctor. New Mexico's older, tanner, deeply wrinkling Patch Adams.

"Good, strong heartbeat, though maybe a bit anxious, er…?" Doc Casler looked at Jesse, expectantly.

"Andrew. Andrew Margolis," Jesse managed to croak out after a moment's hesitation. His throat was so dry, and his tongue felt too wide and clumsy in a foreign mouth that seemed detached from his face. The nurse came over with a folded, paper water cup that she carefully let him sip slowly from. The doctor noted the name on his chart.

"Ok, Andrew, I'm going to look into your eyes, tell me if the light causes any headache or pain, or if you start to feel dizzy." Jesse's already contracted pupils closed down to pinpricks under the doctor's bright flashlight. It was an extreme response, but there seemed no signs of brain bleed. "When did you give him his last shot, Selena?"

"5 hours ago, doctor," she replied.

"Do you have anyone to take care of you, Andrew, that you could stay with?" Jesse didn't answer. "The reason I ask, Andrew, is because it's going to be hard for you to take care of yourself with your hands bandaged the way they are. They're not in good shape right now. I'm going to have to watch their progression, but, well… we'll just have to see." Casler flashed a quick, faint smile.

Jesse couldn't see the doctor well. His arms were hanging slightly above him, in slings that had his hands and forearms about an inch above his chest level. He wasn't uncomfortable, in fact, he couldn't really feel them. They were in strange, enlarged casts that went all the way to his elbow and nothing was exposed, not even his fingertips.

"I can't move them," Jesse said.

The doctor frowned slightly, then replied, "You shouldn't try to right now. We have to see how the circulation goes in them. Maybe if we had access to a really good, hand micro-surgeon…," he muttered, trailing off, forgetting, "… but they are specialists and very expensive. A good number of bones, nerves and tendons in your hands and wrists were broken. The ER doctor spent a lot of time stabilizing what he could, but there was a lot of blood loss…"

A stricken look crossed Jesse's face. Casler could see he was overwhelming his patient. He tried another tactic to tell him what he had to.

"We just have to monitor the blood flow, make sure all parts of your hands are receiving blood. That's what is important now."

"How are you going to do that if I can't stay here?" Jesse understood what kind of patient he was in that hospital, already on borrowed time. They would want to get rid of him as soon as possible, he was sure his walking papers were already sitting at the desk out front. He stared off into the ceiling above him, trying not to let his fears overtake him, or at least, not to let them show.

"I'll talk to the administrators again. Maybe we can arrange something, or find another place that might take you."

"I've seen junkies lose their legs, saw them fucking rot off as they lay in their shit day after day in the streets, in the hot and cold and moldy wet." Jesse turned his head to face Dr. Casler. "Is that what you're telling me? You are all going to throw me in the streets like this?"

"No, Andrew. We… we're going to arrange something for you."

"Arrange? You can't do shit for someone like me."

The physician saw that panicked, growing, wild eyed agitation the nurse told him about. It came on so uncontrollably quickly, like she said it would. He tried to reassure him. "Things are changing, we'll get you some help. Sometimes it just takes a few clicks on the computer. It doesn't matter what your status is. You deserve some aid, I'll see to it." The doc smiled warmly. "Try not to worry about that, okay?"

Jesse thought about those few clicks on the computer archives. "Okay, doctor," Jesse lied softly. He had already started making his fast, irrational plans.

[A/N: Yes, I'm trying. Soon. Certainly sooner rather than later. ;)]