ADRENALINE: New 2013 edition (9 page)

He looked at Dorothy’s face. Her color was good, the tube looked fine—no kinks, disconnects, or secretions. Then he saw something about her eyes, which he had taped shut at the beginning of the case. Wait—she’s tearing. That’s odd.

Tearing could be a sign of lightness, but he thought he had ruled that out early on when he had turned the Forane to the max.
He quickly pulled the tape off one eye and opened the lid. What he saw froze him and a sickly fear gripped him.

Holy shit!
Her right pupil was hugely dilated. Ken’s adrenals squeezed hard, and he felt the rush of adrenaline slam his tired brain into overdrive. He ripped the tape off the left eye. It’s blown, too! Damn it, she’s stroked!

Ken suddenly felt ill with crushing guilt; the gut-wrenching sensation spread like wildfire through his body before the analytical part of his mind had a chance to respond. His breathing became labored. No reason to stroke, though, he finally reasoned. He grabbed the flash-light out of his drawer and clicked it on. He opened Dorothy’s right eyelid and held the light about two inches from her eye. He moved it off to the side and quickly brought it back to shine in her eye.

The flood of light came crashing through Dorothy’s right eye and then left eye. She stopped sobbing for a minute.
That was Dr. Danowski I saw—why, he looked like he had just seen a ghost
. Darkness again.
Help me, Dr. Danowski! Help me, Dr. Danowski!

A bright light shone directly into her right eye. It was so intense, it hurt.
This must be the light they talk about. I’m dying. I’m heading for the light
.

“Oh, thank God,” Ken sighed with relief. Dorothy’s pupils had contracted briskly to the light, indicating her brain was still functioning. There was no stroke. The conclusion was inescapable.
She’s light! How did I miss it? She’s light, possibly even awake!

“Everything OK up there, Ken?” Watkins asked.

“Yeah, fine,” Ken lied, his voice a bit shaky. He didn’t want to upset Watkins, who had a nasty reputation for turning ugly if all didn’t suit him.

“Makes me nervous when I hear my gas-man praying,” Watkins said, breaking up again.

Ken injected large doses of Fentanyl, Versed and Diprivan into Dorothy’s intravenous line while he tried to figure out what had gone wrong. He whispered in Dorothy’s ear, “Everything’s OK, Dorothy. You’re all right.”

Dorothy sensed herself being carried away again into oblivion. The awful pain was finally going away.
God’s answering my prayers and taking me
. As she lost consciousness for the second time that morning, Dorothy thought she could hear the Almighty telling her: “Everything’s OK, Dorothy.”

Ken checked his infrared agent monitor again. It was reading -

Just what he had dialed in. That should have been plenty to keep her asleep. What went wrong? Computer glitch? Monitor malfunction? Broken vaporizer? Sudden instinct propelled him to action before he fully comprehended what he was doing.

Ken tore the rubber breathing bag from the circuit and sniffed the contents. Almost three percent Forane should be easy to smell.

What the—that’s not Forane! It’s Suprane!

In a flash, it all made sense. Two-point-nine percent Suprane isn’t enough to keep anyone asleep. Eight to ten percent Suprane were the typical concentrations used. Poor Dorothy had been light all along, probably even awake.

But, how could it’ve happened? he wondered sickly. And, how much would she remember?

CHAPTER SEVEN

Maybe now, I’ll get some answers, Rusty thought as he waited in the hallway for Dr. Landry to come out of the locker room. The two had hooked up this morning and done several cases in the outpatient surgery wing, a stand-alone unit separate from the main hospital OR. Rusty’s investigation of his past had amazingly led him to Mercy Hospital, but here the trail went cold. Ever since his days at the orphanage, he had wondered about his parents. Who were they? Why did they put him there? What had really happened to them?

The locker room door opened and Dr. Landry stepped out, interrupting further thoughts. “C’mon, Rusty,” Dr. Landry said. “I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Sure, you’re on!” Rusty replied. He was always eager to humor his attendings—they were, of course, responsible for his all-important evaluations. Rusty knew he was quite adept at adapting himself to please people. In fact, he had dubbed himself, “Plastic-man,” not really having a shape of his own but able to take any form
the other person wanted to see. A true shape-shifter, just like on
Star Trek
. He had gotten along very well with Dr. Danowski yesterday and figured it would be even easier with Dr. Landry. This skill had served him well through college and the rigors of medical school. He viewed life as an endless series of cranky attendings to be hoodwinked in order to achieve his goals.

But he had to admit that Mercy felt very different from the Med Center. There was a feeling of freedom here to be away from the Med Center’s stiff professors, endless rounds, boring case presentations and countless students. He was getting a taste of medicine on the front lines with real-life doctors. Plus, he was getting one-on-one training, something that just didn’t happen at the Med Center.

“OK, follow me,” Dr. Landry said. “We’ll head down to the coffee shop. The cafeteria will be too crowded this time of day.” He led Rusty back down the OR hallway and out through the imposing automatic doors guarding the entrance. Outside of the OR, they went to the elevator and Dr. Landry pushed the down button. He turned to Rusty and said, “You did a nice job with that intubation.”

Rusty was puzzled because he knew he had struggled to put the breathing tube in. He glanced at Dr. Landry’s face to see if he was putting him on, but saw only sincerity. One of the benefits of being Plastic-man ironically enough, was that Rusty was a rather good judge of honesty. “Thanks for being patient with me, Doctor Landry. That’s the first one I ever got in.”

“Good for you,” Dr. Landry said, smiling broadly. He patted Rusty on the back and said, “We’ll make an anesthesiologist out of you yet.”

Rusty laughed and returned the smile, although he was still locked in his kiss-ass med student/attending mode. The bell sounded and the door slid open revealing a crowded elevator. Dr. Landry and Rusty squeezed on and conversation halted while the elevator descended one floor to the lobby level. Rusty stole several glances at Dr. Landry and reflected that he held the key to an
extremely valuable learning experience; a good mentor was hard to find. There was no telling how many procedures Dr. Landry might let him try.

Rusty exited the elevator and came face-to-face with a huge wooden crucifix, handcarved and beautifully painted, mounted on the marble wall facing the elevators. Dr. Landry steered them through the busy hospital lobby toward the little coffee shop. Rusty hadn’t been on the first floor much and took in his surroundings, trying to get his bearings.

The lobby was an interesting cross between a Roman Catholic chapel and a greenhouse. Numerous large potted plants, hanging ferns, and tasteful flower arrangements were crammed into every nook and cranny, competing for space with religious statues. Large portraits of the Virgin Mary, Baby Jesus, and the Pope adorned the walls. There was also a dignified looking nun Rusty didn’t recognize. He paused to look at her picture.

“That’s the hospital administrator. The coffee shop’s right down here,” Dr. Landry said gesturing forward.

“I’m not used to working in a hospital that seems like it’s half church. Doesn’t it, uh, bother you?” Rusty instantly regretted his choice of words.

“No, Rusty,” Dr. Landry said and chuckled. “I’ve been here so long, I barely notice it.”

Rusty felt relieved; he certainly didn’t want to offend Dr. Landry.

“Actually,” Dr. Landry continued, “come to think of it, I like working here. The sisters do a nice job running the hospital. They have a reputation for being, uh, thrifty, but in today’s competitive market this works well. Also, I think the patients appreciate the religious atmosphere.”

“It just seems funny to have a nun for a CEO,” Rusty observed, fixated on the business end of things. “Can she really hold her own with the HMO corporate sharks?”

“Yes, I believe she can.” Dr. Landry turned and opened the heavy glass door to the coffeeshop. The sound of conversation and laughter flowed out mixed with the aromas of frying bacon and coffee. Rusty realized he was very hungry.