CHAPTER NINE
GETTING TO KNOW YOU
May 1999
The University of Chicago's nurse practitioner program was intense. From the get go, Gracie worried about juggling everything — classes, shifts at County, life in general. She seemed to handle it well, all concerns aside. But it took some time for her to find her groove. That happened a few weeks after she started. She woke even earlier than normal now, running and showering before catching morning classes. She came back and checked on Oupa for a late breakfast, then it was off to County for an 11a.m.-10p.m. shift. When she came home, she studied and completed work for other classes before finally crashing. Every day, the same cycle. It was an easy rhythm to fall into.
She spent what little time she had with Oupa, and caught moments with John — typically during a shift, or a break, or some late night hour. The easiest way to explain it was exploring possibilities. There were some nights when she would stir, and he would be crawling into bed with her. And then there were some where she slept alone. Whenever someone like Jerry or Conni tried to pry, Carter would insist that he 'didn't date nurses, anyway.' But in the simple quietude of being alone, he was hard to resist. That was not to say that none of their friends, family or co-workers suspected that something more was stirring. Gracie just chose to ignore that.
It was a mild afternoon, but sweat stuck hairs to the nape of Gracie's neck as she worked. Weaver had brought in a drugged toddler she had found on the street, and much of Gracie's shift was spent helping Carol try to track down the boy's family. She was on a quest to fax the boy's photo to law enforcement agencies in the area when Carter cornered her.
He ducked his head down low, so only she could hear. "I heard Carol's pregnant."
Gracie straightened, eyes wide, index finger hovering over the keypad of the fax machine. "What?"
Carter nodded, pretending to be nonchalantly looking at a chart. "Little rumor going around."
"I take it she doesn't know you all are gossiping about her."
He shrugged, watching her punch a number into the keypad. "I also heard that our guy in Three gave a 10 on the pain scale."
Gracie wiggled her fingers mysteriously in front of her. "From this day forward, everybody is a 10."
"Really now?"
"This way, I won't want to kill people when they tell me they are 10 for elbow pain that they've had for ten years, and they've never seen a doctor about it."
Carter smirked, watching as Gracie fed her sheets through the fax. "I don't think it quite works that way." The machine spat out a transmission report while Carter started scribbling in his chart.
Gracie made a dismissive face. "Whatever. Pretty sure it's tennis elbow."
"Well, he claims loss of function, so let's get x-ray going; lateral and oblique." He set the chart back down in Gracie's pile while she nodded. "You wanna know what else I heard?"
Gracie quirked a brow, and Carter continued, "I heard it's pretty quiet up on the rooftop today."
She could not help herself. She looked around, as if looking for eavesdroppers, a small smile fighting at her lips. "Is that right?"
"Take your break with me."
"I've got to take over for Carol, she's been sitting with Baby John Doe for hours." Gracie clearly struggled with saying no, although Carter's attempt at a crestfallen face made her laugh. "You could join me. We're going to color."
"That's not what I meant."
Gracie laughed at his words and drew a look from Randi, which led her to speak more softly. "You're doing a hell of a job keeping this low-key."
"Well, maybe—"
Before he could speak any further, Gracie gathered up her pile of charts and papers. "We'll talk later, John."
She walked away with Carter's bemused eyes watching her go.
LAST RITES
October 1999
"I'm not a drug seeker," the man insisted from the bed of Curtain One, "I have a real problem that need medication!"
Gracie sighed. Her first patient of the shift, after three days off, and she was blessed with this guy. She would have simply gone with the motions; after all, she was used to this type of patient and knew the protocol well — but charting the bullshit complaint, keeping in the back of her mind that sometimes crackheads really are sick, only served as a means to an end: she noted the doctor's name signed to the chart.
Malucci.
She froze. Her crackhead was babbling away, but Gracie did not hear any of it. Her chest felt heavy, and she was uncertain whether she felt angry or afraid. "I'll see if the doctor will order some toradol," she said, a bit dazed, turning on one foot and beginning to walk away. She was completely unaware of her surroundings.
"I'm allergic to toradol!" Her crackhead yelled. He went ignored.
Gracie wandered to admit, where she found Carter. He looked up at her sudden appearance, and his happy reaction at seeing her did not go unnoticed. She wished she could just focus on that. "My drug seeker is allergic to toradol," she told him quietly, and Carter immediately noticed that something was off.
"Who's signed to the chart?"
She did not get a chance to respond. A familiar man circled into admit and stopped, stethoscope looped around his neck, a shocked look on his face. Gracie did not look so great either. She wanted to run away, but Malucci took a step forward before she could. "I knew they said Abrahams, but I didn't wanna believe it."
"Go away, Dave," Gracie managed to croak, and Carter finally straightened. He looked between the two of them with raised eyebrows. Suddenly, it was very concerning indeed that Gracie somehow knew the new resident.
"You two know each other?"
"You're living in Chicago?" Malucci spat, ignoring Carter.
"I said go away!"
"Is Oupa living with you, too?"
"Not like it matters to you, right?" Her response was vicious. Malucci shrank, looking like he did not know whether to punch something or cry. He shifted gears quickly, and the processing of emotions was plain on his face.
"You've got the guy in Curtain Area One?" Malucci asked, and this time he was nonchalant, immediately reaching out for the chart in her hands. He flipped through it.
Gracie could not bring herself to reply. Instead, she stared at him. Carter glanced to each of them with increasing concern, and supplied helpfully, "He's a drug seeker, he won't take toradol."
"Nubain?"
"These guys usually want one thing."
Malucci shook his head and made a few notes in the chart. "Tell him no dilaudid, Gracie, and if he flips out, I'm ordering droperidol."
"That's pretty ballsy, Dave," Carter remarked. Gracie still said nothing.
"I'm just a ballsy kind of guy," Malucci coolly replied, shoving the chart back into Gracie's hands. He stared her down and pointed, insisting, "We're going to talk about this later."
And then he left.
It took a few moments for Carter and Gracie to snap out of it. He watched her for a few moments, until finally asking the question that was dying to escape his lips. "How do you know Dr. Dave?"
She glanced up at Carter, as if just realizing he was still there. It seemed to take a moment for her brain to process his question, and when she actually answered it was almost difficult to believe. "He's my brother."
She left before Carter could pry further, leaving behind a surprised and bemused John. Gracie spent most of the day trying to avoid both of them, mostly babysitting her drug seeker after Malucci ordered a couple of tedious tests. She tried, twice, to place a number twenty-four IV in her patient's thumb — but failed — and when she obtained an IM order for toradol, her attempts were thwarted.
"I told you, I can't take that! What about dilaudid?" The drug seeker was plainly agitated.
"Dr. Malucci is aware of your request," Gracie sighed diplomatically, hardly believing her ears, "and he will not order dilaudid."
"What about demerol?"
"It's either this, or nubain."
"You've gotta be kidding me!"
"Look, you're lucky he's not holding meds until the tests come back!" She snapped, charting her patient's 'request.' But it did not help — Drug Seeker began flailing in bed, screaming for a new nurse.
She barely had enough time to jump back and call for security before Malucci came running over from admit. She was vaguely aware of the paramedics bringing in someone in the background, and Carter following the convoy to Trauma One, but all of her attention was focused on the fact that her estranged brother was pinning an agitated man to a hospital gurney in front of her. Security was running over to help, and Malucci commanded, "Gracie, five milligrams droperidol, IM."
"No! No! No!" Drug Seeker shouted endlessly, and Gracie operated on fury more than anything, rushing to fulfill Malucci's request. They were bundling the man into four-point restraints when she returned, syringe in hand. She injected the medication intramuscularly, and suddenly everyone relaxed and stepped aside. They would let him scream it out into sedation. Gracie inhaled deeply; it was almost difficult to breathe.
He was watching her. He asked point-blank, "Why didn't you tell me?"
At first, she did not reply. Catching her breath, she stared hard at him before retorting, "Why did you leave?"
Neither had a good answer for the other.
"Um, Gracie—"
They were interrupted by Lydia, who looked uncomfortable. "Carter's asking for you in Trauma One."
That was unusual. It was not in any way typical for a doc to be requesting another nurse, not when the trauma team was already complete. But Gracie just figured he needed help, so she went willingly, barely paying attention to the fact that Malucci was following her. What greeted her could only be described as her worst nightmare.
Oupa was laying on the gurney, in the middle of all the action. He was flanked by nurses that Gracie knew well, machines and tubing she could put together in her sleep. Carter was running the trauma, and suddenly everything made sense. None of this should have been unexpected, but Gracie did not feel prepared. She sensed Malucci freeze in the doorway behind her, equally unprepared. Her inability to move her legs was obvious, and Carter flashed Gracie a look that was hard to read, looping his stethoscope around his neck and crossing the room in three large steps.
She recognized immediately the tone of his voice. It was soft and sympathetic, the kind she was used to using with families of patients. He spoke slowly, like it would help her to understand. "Carl found him on the porch," Carter said gently. "We just ran a blood gas, but he's cyanotic and confused. He's satting 78 on room air. He—"
Gracie knew what it meant. Oupa was going into respiratory failure.
Carter continued softly, "I need you to translate for him."
It took all the effort in the world for Gracie to step forward, to stand near Oupa's head and gently smooth back his grey hair. She whispered, "Shh, Oupa. Ek is hier. Alles is fyn," and quietly asked someone for the priest on call. Carter ran a hand through his hair, looking helpless, while Malucci watched the scene with palpable shock, catching drifts of the language he had nearly forgotten.
"Ons Vader wat in die hemel is," she murmured, gently stroking her grandfather's hair. She could see him struggling to mouth the words behind the confines of an oxygen mask, and it broke her heart. "Laat u Naam geheilig word; laat u koninkryk kom; laat u wil ook op die aarde geskied, net soos in die hemel."
He would pass shortly after the arrival of the priest, and after, Gracie would find herself on the floor of the trauma room in tears, only to be escorted out in the arms of an estranged brother. Malucci would sink to the floor of the hallway with her in reach, and say the only words he could possibly think of as she shamelessly cried into his shoulder:
"Ek is jammer. I love you. I'm so sorry."
GREENE WITH ENVY
October 1999
It was raining.
Fat, wet drops that hit the pavement with hearty splatters; a shower that Gracie found appropriate for the day. She stood in the middle of it unabashedly, hands shoved into the pocket of her dampened coat, face tilted towards the heavens. Malucci watched her from the stoop of the ambulance bay. He did not know how long he had been standing here watching her, but it felt like forever. He was feeling that older brother part of himself that he had suppressed for so long. Solicitous and watchful. The fact that he had been unable to curb her tears is what killed him the most.
Her awareness of his presence was not obvious until she called over the downpour, "I'm not generally thought of as insane…" A thoughtful pause, as she teetered slowly around in a circle. "But today, I woke up feeling a little crazy."
Malucci blinked and crossed his arms. He returned, not unkindly, "You've always been crazy."
She laughed with her face pointed to the sky, skin streaked with wetness. Malucci was concerned, finding himself amazed at how quickly he could feel this way after being separated from her for so long. This was a Gracie in mourning.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Gracie?" He called after a moment. His tone was reluctant. He did not know what to say.
Gracie paused, finally peering at him from eye level. She looked like a drowned rat, in his opinion. "I have to, Dave," she said dispassionately. And so it was.
She planned on using up some vacation time, heading home to South Africa for a while. Gracie swore that it was purely to take Oupa back home for burial, but Malucci knew better. She wanted to disappear. To think.
Malucci had learned quickly of Carter's displeasure at the idea. It was obvious even then, when Carter wandered through the doors and out onto the stoop, his discontent plain on his face. He stood on Malucci's left side, a closed umbrella in hand. He eyed Gracie, who looked back at him impetuously.
"You should go get something dry," Carter remarked to her.
"I'll change at the airport."
Malucci watched quietly at they stared each other down, until finally Carter replied with a stoic air, "You ready to go, then?"
Gracie said nothing, but her assent was clear. He opened his umbrella and stepped out into the rain, covered by the shield. He walked to her, holding the umbrella over her head. With one long, last look at her brother, Gracie walked away with Carter, side by side. They headed in the direction of the parking garage, where Carter's Jeep was waiting with her luggage in the backseat. As the left, Malucci swore he could see Carter's arm snake around the waist of his baby sister.
"Malucci! Trauma coming in!"
He stared after the pair for another moment before whipping around and yelling back as he ventured inside, "How many times do I have to tell you! It's Dr. Dave!"
