Amnesia (2 page)

The ambulance rolled to a stop outside the St. Luke’s emergency department with no lights and siren as the person inside wasn’t considered critical. Almost lethargically
,
the driver pulled himself out of the cab, weary from the long winding drive down Highway 55 from Cascade to finally reach his destination in what was once downtown Boise. Heading toward the back of the rig, he tucked his blue shirt back into his EMT pants, and then turned to face the rear opening. Taking hold of the door handle he swung the doors open allowing his somewhat more responsive companion to hop out and start pulling the gurney toward the waiting emergency department entrance.

Before the first responders got to the entry way the door automatically rolled open revealing the medical team on duty, the nurses traveling back and forth between the several full bays and the doctor’s station across the hallway. The triage nurse turned to her left and stood to greet the incoming patient followed closely by the on call doc.

“We have a male drowning victim,” the female paramedic, who had ridden with the patient in the back of the rig, started. “Approximately 25 years of age, 180 pounds, no visible signs of trauma, pupils equal round and reactive to light. BP 122 over 70, pulse 65, respiration 17 and strong, temp 98.2. The victim is wearing a diabetic bracelet, Type 1, but the blood glucose level is good at 82. There is one wound, on the left check, which appears to be a knife cut, but in an odd shape. Kinda looks like an ‘M,’” she trailed off, completing the requisite spiel demanded of the profession.

Doctor Brandon peeled back the bandage revealing the glaring wound as they wheeled the stretcher into an open bay, the triage nurse pulling the green curtain closed. Pulling up next to the freshly made bed, the doctor counted to three, and the four medics transferred the supine form, both in body and responsibility, over to the hospital.

“What are all these marks around the arms and wrists?” the observant doctor asked, “Looks like ligature marks, possibly rope burns.”

The paramedic shrugged noncommittally. “Dunno. Maybe he’s into fetishes.”

“I’m getting something to eat,” grumbled the ambulance driver, pulling the litter toward the exit. “Three hours round trip for a guy in a coma. I can’t believe this is what they have us do with our training. Guy probably can’t even pay for the trip.”

“Getting cynical Freddy?” Doctor Brandon chided. “Be grateful you haven’t been in Boise tonight. Two knife fights, six car accidents, some guy got Life Flighted in with multiple fractures from a fall, and we’ve had one near decapitation from a couple of drunks having a sword fight. They were right out of the Middle Ages, both their swords and their maturity.”

She paused, looking back down at the still form the nurse was working on, setting up IV lines, heart monitor, and pulse ox clip intended for the fingertip. “What’s his name anyway?”

“No clue,” the female attendant answered. “All he had on him was some ragged clothes that we cut off, and that bracelet. Kinda cute though.”

The busy nurse giggled at the comment and took a closer look at the man lying under the covers. “I hadn’t noticed, but I guess you
’
r
e
right. I guess staring at him for a couple of hours wasn’t nearly as painful as it could have been Maggie.”

Three of the group chuckled at that, but Doctor Brandon just shook her head. “I thought you would have grown out of that by now Nancy, after all the patients you see in a day.”

“I hope not!” The nurse exclaimed, “The minute that happens is the day I leave medicine behind and get a job surfing the Internet.” They all chuckled again as the paramedics disappeared out the department doors, loaded up the vehicle, and pulled back onto the road, ostensibly headed to find someplace to fill their neglected stomachs.

Doctor Brandon went back to the patient, lifted the eyelids, and passed her miniature Maglite back and forth over the exposed pupils. They accommodated by shrinking obediently when the light passed over either one of them, magnifying the surrounding light blue iris.
They sure are pretty eyes
, she thought to herself.
I hope someday they will see again
.

“Yep, a nice little coma,” she remarked to the waiting attendant. “May as well leave him here until the day crew shows up. Give them something to do, trying to figure out what to do with him. I still have a huge pile of charts to sign and orders to write up. Let me know if anything changes.”

She tucked a renegade wisp of blond hair behind her right ear as she walked back over to the waiting stack of paperwork, a tottering tower of charts perched precariously on the station counter, heedless of the “Yes Doctor” the nurse called out affirming she knew what to do.

Grabbing the top folder, Lissa, short for Clarissa, started the laborious task of double-checking the charts for accuracy, penning any missing details or follow-up considerations, and finally adding her signature taking responsibility for the decisions. She no longer felt the near panic of signing her name to these papers as she had felt back in her residency, fearing that she might make some fatal mistake. She had grown past that through years of experience and a myriad of mistakes that only other, more experienced, doctors would ever know about.

She couldn’t believe how tired she was. She used to handle these 30 hour shifts without a blink, but right now, after only covering one shift, she was exhausted. Being a pediatrician had its advantages, one of them
being that she got to send her patients
to the ER in the middle of the night, allowing her to lead a fairly normal routine. She almost regretted accepting her old roommate’s plea to take her shift for her. As if getting married was all that important.

Too late she tried to stop herself from thinking about Cami’s wedding. She wasn’t upset at all that she hadn’t been invited; she wouldn’t have flown to Fort Collins anyhow. No, it was her present state of “unmarriedness” that pulled at her. Maybe she should just accept Darrion’s offer and be done with it. Her mother would be happy, her marrying such a successful and handsome young surgeon, even if it weren’t in the temple. But regardless of her mother’s attitude about the church, Lissa just didn’t feel that she would ever be happy as Dr. Stanton’s bride. She’d even tried to break off the relationship time and again, but he was an aspiring man who would not be deterred. Secretly she felt he only wanted her as a token wife that he could show off at community and hospital events as he climbed the social ladder.

“Doctor Brandon?” She heard her name through a shroud, the sound muffled yet shimmering like heat waves off the desert floor. “Doctor Brandon.” This time she started as she realized she had dozed off.

“Yes? What?” She stood and smoothed the conventional white smock covering her turquoise scrubs before facing the person behind the voice. “What is it?”

She heard the low chuckle as she turned, seeing the smiling broad face of Doctor Cliffe. “Been a few years since residency for me as well,” he confided, attempting to soothe the embarrassment. “Now what do you have for me?”

She sighed, grateful for the caring demeanor of the older man. She had always liked David Cliffe although there were several on the staff who snubbed his caring, open ways of doctoring. Instead she admired that quality, and many others, about the soft spoken physician. The man’s average height and full frame epitomized the quiet grace of the southern gentleman, from the soft lilt in his voice to the red suspenders and matching bow tie. She tried to emulate many of his attributes in her own practice, although working with kids was much easier than his work at the Mountain States Tumor Institute. She couldn’t quite understand how such a caring man could watch the suffering that cancer could wreak on its unsuspecting prey, yet not become inured to it, or burned out. She had only worked with MSTI with one of her patients and it took a terrible toll on her every time she met with the family, or even reviewed the charts.

Starting with the patients at the end of the antiseptic hall, she worked her way through to the front entry, describing the condition, prognosis and treatment for each of the patients still under her care. She ended with the curious man at the end of the row who had just arrived from Cascade.

“Nothing at all to tell us who he is?” Doctor Cliffe queried. “No tattoos, piercing, scars? What about dental records?”

“Nothing,” she rejoined. “Nor do we know where he is from, only that he was found by a fisherman on Lake Cascade out surprising some sleeping fish. He pulled him into his boat, by the light of his battery operated lantern and took him to shore while calling 911. Other than that, we have no idea.”

“Interesting. Have you tried to wake him at all?”

“Not really,” Lissa responded. “No point, not with him in a coma anyway.”

“You know, I always wonder what they must be thinking,” Doctor Cliffe continued. “Some say that coma patients hear everything that goes on, just barely out of reach, while others see it as simply dreaming. I had a coma patient once, when I was working down in Phoenix, you know.”

“No, I hadn’t heard that,” Doctor Brandon said, stifling a yawn. As much as she wanted to hear the story, the past thirty-six hours had taken its toll, and she still had a long drive ahead of her.

Doctor Cliffe didn’t miss the cue and kindly took her arm leading her to the door. “Another time, my lady,” he conceded. “You need to get some sleep. You may still be the proverbial spring chicken, but everyone needs rest. Will you be okay to drive home?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll roll down the window and turn on the music. I’m only headed out toward Parkcenter, a quick trip over the new connector, and I’ll be in bed.”

“Then good night, or good morning, or whatever it is,” the grandfatherly figure bid farewell. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite!”

“I won’t,” she giggled. “You know if I were just a little older….”

“Doctor Brandon, my wife would be turning over in her grave if she knew I had even considered it.” He mockingly scolded. Then with a twinkle in his eye he added, “Did you hear something spinning underground.” He laughed out loud then turned back through the emergency room doors, just as an ambulance siren was heard barreling down the street.

*
             
             
*
             
             
*

Lissa Brandon stretched her long arms, rolling her head to loosen her stiff neck, bouncing the brown locks framing her lightly freckled complexion. She squinted her light blue eyes against the glare of the harsh sunlight which seemed intent on blinding her with its reflection off the myriad parked cars surrounding her. Not bothering to hide the yawn showing her straight, even teeth she made her way through the parking lot to find her little Honda Accord. It was the same car that had seen her through college, medical school, and her residency, and now into her private practice. Of course Darrion had chided her about the small older vehicle, trying to get her to indulge in getting a fast new shiny “doctor car.” Seeing his brand new Pewter Metallic H2 Hummer sitting next to her vehicle reminded her, however, that it just wasn’t her style. She liked “Old Faithful,” as she was beginning to refer to the machine, and didn’t want to go into debt for a brand new car. Besides, she reminded herself, she still had enough student loans to cost her three or four new cars and she would rather put her money towards those.

Again she started thinking about what life with Darrion would be like. Flashy cars, big homes, perhaps even
with
maids and cooks. With Darrion Stanton the sky was the limit. Of course he didn’t have student loans to pay off, had never gone hungry and had never worried about finding a place to live. Lissa learned early in life how to be grateful for simple things, like a working car and nice apartment. True, if she were with him everything would be handed to her on a silver platter. Everything, that is, except her beliefs, self-worth, and the closeness that a marriage should promise.

She started the car, threw it into reverse out of habit, backed away from the glittering hulk beside her, and headed down Broadway towards Parkcenter Blvd. She opened her window wide to the early morning breeze, but it was already hot enough to promise another sweltering day. At least her apartment had air conditioning, she thought. She reached down to the old standard Kraco radio and turned up the volume determined to drive the drowsiness away for just a few more minutes. She tried one station after another, finding nothing but vulgar DJ’s trying to hook their listeners with crudity and humiliation. Disgusted she flipped over to AM, looking instead for news.

“…there are no survivors, and no telling why the plane went down. Authorities are swarming to Cascade to find some clue as to who was on the plane, and why it crashed. So far it appears to be a charter plane out of Boise, but we cannot verify that. Keep it tuned here to 610 AM KBID for any further developments.

“Other stories we are following here in the Treasure Valley include the disappearance two days ago of young Beverley Windham, the daughter of Senator Gregg Windham, who was last seen running the greenbelt opposite BSU campus. Apparently she often jogged after her cla
sses. Sources close the Windham
s have indicated that while they feel this to be a kidnapping, they have heard nothing as far as a ransom notice, or anything to indicate foul play. Boise Police have not ruled out the possibility that the teen simply took off for an early weekend with her boyfriend Peter Frindle, who is also missing.”