CHAPTER 8 - LIFE'S LITTLE PROBLEMS

Whilst my physicians by their love are grown
Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie
Flat on this bed.
~ John Donne 1631

"His spine?" Scott asked with grave concern. His eyes met Johnny's and he saw uncertainty and then fear in them.

"How'd you know there was still a piece of lead in my back?"

Sam took off his spectacles and pointed to an area near the small round scar for Scott's benefit as he told Johnny, "There's some significant discoloration to the right of the entry, and a slight lump under the surface. My opinion is that it should be excised."

"Excised," Johnny repeated. His mind was spinning.

"I'd like to do this today. Now, in fact. For once, I have some time free, what with these young doctors and nurses your brother has imported."

"How long would I be outta commission? I can't afford to be laid up."

"I can clean out your hip wound and sew it up properly as well as remove this bullet in a very short amount of time. It'll all be over within the hour and you can leave in, say two days."

Johnny thought it over and asked, "And if I you don't cut it out? What then?"

"Then you walk out of here and go about your life as usual, Johnny. Only thing is there is no guarantee that that bit of lead will stay where it is. It could move a little every time you use your muscles. If you're feeling its effects now, in your back and leg, I would say it's moving."

Johnny swallowed hard. "Worst case scenario?"

"If that bit of lead moves any more, you could suffer a great deal of pain. You'd need strong medication most of the time, I expect, just to diminish the pain, and you could be unable to do most activities. You could possibly have some weakness in your lower extremities. If it shifts any more to the right, it may damage your spine and that could cripple you."

Johnny took a while to reply. Frankly, he was shocked at the doctor's diagnosis and was more than a little afraid. "Well, Doc, that sounds pretty grim." He searched out Scott to see what his reaction was, and saw his own fear mirrored in his brother's eyes. Johnny asked his brother, "What do you think?"

Scott stepped up to Johnny and said, "It's your choice, brother."

With a swallow, Johnny replied, "Not much of a choice."

Reluctant to make the decision for Johnny, Scott replied, "Dr. Jenkins believes it's necessary." Johnny's eyes were fixed on him, waiting for a proper reply, so Scott added, "If it was me, I'd go for it, but you're the only one who can make this decision, Johnny."

"Then you'd best do whatever it is you have to do, Doc," Johnny said with a bravado he didn't feel. "But, I have one condition."

Dr. Jenkins said guardedly, "That depends."

"This remains between us for now." Johnny looked straight at Scott. "You, too. I don't want Murdoch or anyone told about it until it's over. I don't want the fuss they all make."

Scott asked, "Should I sign you in under an assumed name? Maybe Señor Corona?"

That brought a slight smile to Johnny's face. "You can tell Murdoch I stayed in town. Or went to Green River to see Val. Sorry, I shouldn't ask you to lie for me."

The doctor rummaged around in a cabinet and found a large nightshirt, which he dumped in Johnny's lap. "No time like the present. That's what I say. You know, son, you really should tell your father what you're facing." When Johnny made a curt motion with his head, Sam sighed and said, "All right, this is between us. One last thing. If you prefer," the doctor said with a surreptitious glance at Scott, "Dr. Beauregard can perform the surgery."

Scott surprised them all when he said emphatically, "No, you're the best for the job, Dr. Jenkins. Johnny trusts you." He held out his hand to Sam. "And so do I."

Johnny was settled in a small back room, awaiting the surgeon. His stomach was rumbling from more than just hunger. He lay on top of the bed, which was little more than a cot, feeling as exposed as his bare legs. Somehow, even though he had an ingrained dislike for nightshirts, he ended up wearing them anyway.

Scott was seated on a small chair by the window, apparently finding something very interesting to read in an old medical journal. He glanced over the top of the magazine whenever Johnny shifted on the creaking mattress.

Looking sideways at his brother, Johnny grumbled, "I came in here to get a scratch fixed up and next thing I know, they're plannin' on cutting me open to look for old lead." His complaint fell on deaf ears. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why he'd agreed to the operation.

Eventually Scott looked up and said sympathetically, "You know that Sam will do everything within his power to heal you, Johnny."

"You said that you trust him," Johnny replied with a hint of accusation.

"I do trust him, or I would have insisted that Dr. Beauregard do the surgery."

"But you. . ." Wondering if this was the right time to bring it up, Johnny played with a button on the front of his borrowed nightshirt. Scott was waiting for him to continue, so he said slowly, "It's just that I was under the impression that you and Sam were at odds over something. It's none of my business."

"No, it isn't," Scott responded curtly. He went back to reading, but after a few minutes, dropped the journal on the bedside table. "All right, I'll tell you, but this is between us."

Johnny nodded, surprised his direct question was eliciting as direct an answer. "Sure."

Scott took a deep breath and said, "My quarrel with Sam was about Jenny. When she died, you see. . . I blamed it on Sam. Blamed him not being there when she needed him, for making a misdiagnosis, for being overworked, for not being able to do his job. I called him an old country doctor." He was silent for a while, then rose to peer out the window at the quiet side street.

Sam was an old country doctor, the kind who saw you from your birth through to your grave, if you didn't outlive him. Patients had always had the utmost trust in the man, and for a very good reason. The doctor had integrity, years of hard-earned experience and, above all, he was caring and compassionate.

Johnny asked, "Was he to blame?"

Scott turned and looked puzzled, as if he wondered why Johnny was there, but he recovered and said with difficulty, "No. He was not to blame."

Even if Scott said he didn't find any fault with the doctor's care of Jenny, he still seemed mighty prickly about him. Johnny said, "But you went out of your way to help bring in the new docs, and the nurses. Something must have prompted that."

"They were needed. There was no organization, no proper care in the entire county. Sam's practice was stretched to the breaking point, with too large a territory to cover and far too many people in need of his services."

"Scott, if Jenny died a year and a half ago, why did you have a fight with Sam last summer?"

Scott looked startled, then upset. "I can't. . . You can't possibly understand."

"Try me, brother." Johnny was a bit put out that his brother talked of trust yet felt he couldn't speak to him about whatever it was that was still bothering him. "If you don't let it out, it's just gonna eat away at you," Johnny encouraged. How many times had Murdoch or Scott said just that to him?

Scott sat down and held his head in his hands. For a moment Johnny was concerned that his brother was upset, but when Scott looked up his eyes were dry.

Once Scott started to speak, it was as if a flood had been released; his words poured out. "Jenny was sick for several days before she died. She said it was a woman's problem so I didn't press her about it. I slept in the other room, just as she asked, so I wouldn't disturb her, but I woke up that last night and heard her moaning. I could tell there was something very wrong with her."

Scott's voice dropped to a near whisper and he stared at his clasped hands. "I thought maybe it was her appendix, and we sent Cipriano for the doctor - for Sam. He didn't come for such a long time, but we did everything we could to make her comfortable." Scott's eyes rose to meet the blue ones of his brother, who had propped himself up on his elbow on the bed. "She was in so much pain." Scott was anguished over the memory of his sick wife. He swallowed and continued in a barely audible voice. "Sam wouldn't transport her to town, said she wouldn't make it. He shut himself in the bedroom with her and told us to stay out, everyone except for Maria. I wanted to be in there with her but Murdoch held me back. I thought Sam was going to operate on her, to fix whatever was wrong, but when he came out, a long time later, it was to tell us she wasn't going to live much longer and. . .to say our goodbyes. I went in and she was lying there, so pale, so small. . . and then she. . . she just died." He drew in a ragged breath and smiled sadly at Johnny. "She died and a part of me died with her."

"Oh, Scott," Johnny rose from the bed and reached out to embrace his older brother. Scott leaned into him, and Johnny did his best to comfort him, stroking and patting his back.

Then, after a couple of minutes, Scott pulled back and angrily wiped his face with his sleeve. "Sorry. I didn't want to. . . It's better not to remember it."

"No no, I'm glad you told me. It was a terrible time for you and I feel real bad I wasn't there. Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

Scott shook his head. "I don't know. I haven't even talked about it to anyone before this. That wasn't the worst of it, though. It wasn't until later, a whole year afterwards, that I found out that she. . ." Shaking his head, at a loss for words, Scott turned away and leaned against the window, his eyes closing.

Johnny placed a hand on Scott's shoulder, but when he started to question him further, there was a sharp knock on the door. It opened and the nurse who had let them in a couple of hours earlier said briskly, "Doctor will be right in." She turned on her heel without waiting for a reply. Before the brothers could say anything to each other, Dr. Jenkins entered. "Time to begin. Johnny, step this way please. Scott, you can come in for a short while, until we're ready."

Johnny looked to his brother for the go-ahead, and Scott, who quickly collected himself, said, "I shouldn't have spoken of this. Not now, Johnny. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. We'll talk more, later, when I'm recuperating." He gave Scott an encouraging smile. "It'll be fine." If he wasn't so worried about himself, Johnny would have found it amusing that, just as he was about to go in for an operation that could possibly change his whole life for the worse, he was comforting his brother instead of the other way around.

The surgery was a new addition to the old building. It was clean and bright and looked nothing like most of the unsavory places in which Johnny had various bits of lead extracted or wounds sewn up. This should have been encouraging, but for some reason the cleanliness of the operating room and briskness of the staff sent a feeling of dread up his spine.

Scott sensed his brother's apprehension and tried to alleviate his fears by acting calmly and helping him climb up on the raised metal table in the center of the room. Johnny removed the nightshirt and pulled a sheet up to his waist.

Sam instructed, "Lie down on your back, please, young man." The doctor had changed into shirtsleeves and wore a long apron to protect his street clothes.

The blond nurse, who told them her name was Nurse O'Bannon, moved about doing last minute preparations, including putting a pillow under the patient's head. She checked the watch pinned to the front of her dress. "It's nearly eleven, Doctor."

It wasn't long before Sam was standing next to the table and looking down at his very nervous patient. "Let's not waste any more time." He indicated to the nurse to move a tray of medical instruments closer and he picked up a white conical device that Johnny recognized as a chloroform mask.

Johnny's gut clenched. "Wait!" He turned his head, seeking his brother. "Scott? Scott!"

Suddenly his hand was being grasped and his brother was by his side. "I'm here, Johnny. This is no time for you to back out."

Johnny wished he could back out but instead he said, "Just remember you're gonna tell me the rest of your story. . .about Jenny."

"All right," Scott replied. He glanced up at Dr. Jenkins. "Now's a good time to proceed, Doc, don't you think?" He retained his brother's hand but stood a little to one side to be out of Nurse O'Bannon's way.

The nurse opened a pot and spread a white ointment around the patient's nostrils. Some of it ended up on his mustache as well. She explained, "This is to protect you from chloroform burn. Nothing to worry about."

Johnny thought that was easy for her to say. He raised his head and looked straight at Sam. "Doc, you gotta promise me something."

"Johnny," warned Scott, concerned that his brother was seeking any reason to delay the operation.

"No, no, it's all right. What is it, Johnny?" the doctor asked patiently.

Johnny licked his lips. "Don't let anyone shave off my mustache, okay?"

Sam chuckled, then proceeded to lower the chloroform mask. "Everything will be fine, son. This will all be over in a very short while."

Despite his good intentions, at the last second Johnny struggled against the pungent chloroform. Scott and the nurse held him down, and as he lost consciousness Johnny heard the doctor saying, from very far away, "Turn him over and pass me that scalpel."

The whole room glowed with sunshine. So much so that the light hurt Johnny's eyes. He turned his head slightly on the pillow and a wave of nausea hit him. He moaned and raised his right hand to his head.

"Johnny? He's awake," someone said.

Squinting through bleary eyes, Johnny tried to discern who was in the room. A large shape loomed over his bed and he knew from the smell of tobacco and peppermints it was Sam Jenkins. He wondered why the doc was there, in his bedroom, but a moment later he realized he wasn't at Lancer after all. "Mmm," Johnny murmured and closed his eyes.

Scott asked, "Are you really awake this time? You sure gave us a scare."

"Us?" Johnny blinked to clear his eyes. He was in the small room he'd been in earlier, at the medical clinic. It was late afternoon, judging by the light. Sam came strolling in, carrying a tray covered with a cloth. Somehow, Johnny doubted that it was food. "I'm hungry," he said hopefully.

Scott was sitting at the bedside, a worried look on his face. "You sure took your time waking up."

Johnny asked, "A scare?" His brain seemed to have a time lag and wasn't functioning properly. "Wha' happened?" He looked up at the doctor. "You get the bullet out?" Of course he did, Johnny thought. Sam always did everything he said he would. A man of his word. All of a sudden, Johnny's eyes flew open. "You didn't tell Murdoch?"

Sam's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yes, I got the bullet out. It was in three fragments, but they're all out." He uncovered the tray to expose some medical supplies then held the end of his stethoscope to Johnny's chest. He appeared satisfied after listening at several locations on Johnny's chest. "Experiencing much pain?"

As soon as the word pain was mentioned, Johnny realized that he did, indeed, have considerable pain. His hip was on fire, but that was nothing compared to his back. It felt just like a hot poker was being screwed into the flesh in the small of his back. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "Back here." He moved his left hand to indicate where it hurt but that set off a whole other set of pains, all up his back and right through his shoulder. Flinching, he closed his eyes and waited for it to recede. It didn't. He felt ill and weak and confused and he had a bad feeling that something was not as it should be.

When Dr. Jenkins instructed the nurse to apply a tourniquet to his patient's arm, Johnny peered up at her. It was the same nurse, the blond girl, O'Bannon. Johnny saw the doctor approach with a syringe and he tried to get up and out of his way, which was a mistake. Immediately, the nurse and Scott held him down and told him to lie still. Maddened that he was weak and incapable of resisting, Johnny gritted his teeth against the sharp jab of the needle as it entered the flesh of his right arm.

Still angry, even as they released him, and as whatever was in the injection started to work, he glared at the nurse. It wasn't her fault but she was the closest to him and was the person most in focus. His eyelids grew too heavy to keep open and Johnny slipped into darkness.

When he next awoke, it was dark and his father was hovering over his bedside.

Damn, damn, damn. Scott went and told him. Can't trust my own brother.

"Johnny," Murdoch said, relieved. He pulled a chair close to the bed and held onto Johnny's left hand. His smile, although a bravura attempt at showing that all was well, did not fool Johnny. Not one bit. Johnny swallowed and tried to speak but his mouth was too dry. Murdoch found a tin cup and raised the patient's head just enough for him to sip some water. Johnny was terribly thirsty and wanted more, but the cup was removed. "Only a little at first," his father said.

Licking his lips, Johnny whispered, "Where's Scott?"

"He's gone out for something to eat. I insisted. He's thin as a rail." Murdoch managed a thin smile that didn't reach his eyes. "He'll be back soon."

"Good, 'cause when he gets back I'm gonna kill him. He swore he wouldn't tell you."

Murdoch gave an understanding nod. "Scott didn't break his promise to you, son. The doctor did. Sam called me in. And good thing he did, too."

"Why? It wasn't anything. That's what Sam said and I'll be back at Lancer tomorrow." Johnny saw a look pass across his father's face and knew, just knew something wasn't right. Hell. Alarmed, he blurted, "Just tell me what's goin' on!"

"You're doing fine, son. The doctor will be in any minute and he'll tell you all about it." Murdoch put a hand on Johnny's chest to ensure he didn't attempt to rise, but Johnny was so weak his bones felt as though they were made of jelly. He wasn't going anywhere and they both knew it.

***–***TBC