Comfort and Joy (6 page)

But the face shocked him. Recognition came at once. Ford looked for the man's identificationbadge and saw it hangingfrom the pocket of his shirt. Mr. Crell noted the motion, and this discomfited Ford somewhat. He felt suddenly naked in the green scrubs. But he met the man's gaze again.

Dark curls framed features that seemed sharp and soft at once. The face broadcast innocence, as ifa child were entombed in it. The face as a whole shimmered from awkwardness to moments ofgrace. Or seemed to, untilthe youngmanmet Ford's gaze again.

"This is our floor,"said Crell's companion, a nurse whomFord had failed to notice.
"I guess I'mfallingasleep,"Crellsaid, "it's allthose late nights," easing away from the elevator door. Even in those few words Ford could hear the singer in Dan's voice, the rich soothing undertone that, for a moment, filled the elevator car. That was it, or so Ford thought. But as the elevator doors beganto close, the man looked back at Ford. They simply watched each other, and the door closed, and that was that.

December of that year brought more sick people to Grady than any previous December of record, with patients in every available bed and new admissions sometimes waiting for hours in the emergency clinics. Every morning, the faculty and staff of the the emergency clinics. Every morning, the faculty and staff of the various medical disciplines met to determine which patients, while not fully recovered, might be well enough to go home anyway, in order to make another bed available for someone even sicker. During the height of this crisis, a school bus turned over while rounding a curve on Johnson Ferry Road, and suddenly the Pediatric Emergency Clinic filled with injured children.

The hospitalimplemented its disaster plan, called inextra staff, and coordinated the distribution of the injured to other area hospitals. Ford saw the first of the injuries following the interruption of morning rounds, when word of the bus accident rippled through the nursing units. Dr. Milliken chose Ford for part of the team that was to assist the trauma surgeons. He helped the emergency medical technicians unload the first child and rushed the broken body into the makeshift trauma room. Skull crushed on one side, delicate, throbbing brain tissue naked to the air, a little girl already intubated and strung with intravenous lines. Ford heard himself asking crisp questions about what had already been done for the girl, his voice nearly disembodied, almost as if he floated above himself once again, detached as he had beenwhenHammond died.

That moment of disembodiment—seeing the child with her head opened like a blossoming flower—was the last he allowed himself for hours. He assisted with six of the twelve children, all pitifully bruised, cut, blood oozing onto starched sheets and dripping off the side-rails of stretchers. His mind felt white and clean in the midst of all this motion, his orders crisp. Once he corrected a third-year resident onthe proper dosage ofpainkiller for a nine-year-old with a body weight of eighty-seven pounds; once he started an intravenous line on a child when even the nurses could not find a vein. He felt himself elevated by all that motion into a state of grace, and while in it he moved through medicine as a dancer throughmusic.

Inevitable problems occurred. The emergency clinics ran out of stretchers, and hospital administrators ordered a search of everyfloor ofthe massive building, sendingunit managers to herd stretchers to the ambulance ramp. The telephone computer stretchers to the ambulance ramp. The telephone computer glitched, half the clinic phones went dead, and for the ten or fifteen minutes needed to restore service in the area, chaos reigned. At about this point, whena little girlwithmassive bruises had waited two hours for a bed, Dr. Milliken sent Ford to find a phone and get some word about beds.

He found the few workingtelephones inthe clinic area already occupied by administrators calling to complain about the tardiness oftelephone repair. However, a few days before, Ford had learned that the Admitting Office lay just around the corner from the emergency clinics, and since he wanted to get away from the clinic scene for a moment, he said to Dr. Milliken, "I can't find a phone working. I'm going around to the Admitting Office."

He passed through a crowded waiting room and stopped at the first desk he saw, at which a young woman was busily filling in a formas she conducted a telephone interview with a patient's next-of-kin. Ford hovered in her doorway for some moments, but she ignored him. Ford searched other offices and found nearly everyone occupied in similar work. But one of the desks, tucked into a smallroomat the back ofthe office suite, belonged to someone called an admitting officer, and because this title sounded promising, Ford waited in the doorway till the woman finished her phone call.

"Hi, what can I do for you?" she asked after hanging up the phone, pattingher hair.
"I need a pediatric bed for Connors. You have the paperwork. The phones are out across the hall, and I walked over to see what was happening."
"No beds," waving her hands, "I got beds empty, but the nurses tellme they're not cleanand the housekeepers tellme they have crews coming up to clean them. But when I talk to the nurses they tell me the. crews never get there and the beds are stilldirty."
Ford paused briefly to rearrange the information in his head, answering, "We've got a lot of kids needing those beds. Don't you think somebody can do something about getting them clean?"
"Doc, I've alreadycalled three times."
"Well, callagain."
The woman sighed, patted her hair again, reached for the phone and dialed. "This is Rollins, get me James. Yeah, I got another problem." On hold, the woman tapped on a pad of Post-it notes from a pharmaceutical company. "James. Hey, honey. Yeah, you knew I'd be calling you again, didn't you? Listen. Did you get those Peds beds cleaned yet? 9A and 9C, right. Honey, we don't care about adolescent beds right now, we're putting everybody up there we can fit." Pause. "Well, the nurses tell me nobody's cleaning." Pause. "Honey, I know you need more people, so do I, but we got to get beds clean from someplace and you're the only one I know." Pause. "The doctor's standing right here. Little girl been waiting two hours to get a bed. That's right, from the bus accident." Pause. "Well, James, girl, you better get after somebody. The nurses tell me nobody's cleaning anything on the ninth floor, and we have to do something about that. You call me. All right? You call somebody, and then you call me and let me know what's going on." Cradling the receiver, she looked at Ford and shrugged. "I'm working on it, doc. What else can I tell you? Call administration, maybe theycando something."
She gave hima phone number to call, Mr. Franken's assistant, she said, because Mr. Franken was in charge of admissions. Ford went into another office, asked to use the phone and dialed.
A voice said, "Administration, Mr. Crell." Soothing, even throughthe telephone cord.
"This is Dr. McKinney in Pediatrics," Ford said. "I have a problem, and I think youcanhelp me withit."
Amoment's silence. Dan said, "I'll be happy to do whatever I can."
"I'm in your Admitting Office and I can't find out why we're having to wait hours in an emergency situation to get beds cleaned for the kids we're holdinginthe emergencyroom."
"How longhave youbeenwaiting?"
"I've got a little girlwho's needed a bed for two hours."
"What did the AdmittingOffice tellyou?"
"That there are empty beds on the ninth floor but they can't find the housekeepingcrew to cleanthem."
"Well, it sounds like somebody ought to go to the ninth floor and find out whether anybody is cleaning beds," Dan said, "so whydon't I do that? Thenwhere canI callyou?"
"Youcan't,"Ford said, "the phones aren't workingdownhere. I had to come to Admittingand grab a phone to callyou."
"Wellthen, I'llcome downthere."
Returning to the Surgical Emergency Clinic, Ford passed Dr. Milliken and said, "I couldn't get an answer from the admitting officer, so I called Mr. Franken's office and spoke to Dan Crell. He says he'll find out what's going on with the beds and let us know as soonas he can."
Dr. Milliken's brows rose slightly. "Good work," he said, mildlysurprised. "I was planningto speak to Frankenmyself."
Word that ninth-floor beds had been cleaned and assigned came to them from Mr. Franken himself, however, with Ms. Rollins, the admittingofficer, intrain, and no DanCrellinsight. In the press ofevents Ford felt no disappointment. He shook hands with the associate administrator at Dr. Milliken’s behest, then busied himself with the transport teams who would escort the injured childrento the nursingunits.
Only later, in the first moment of stillness, a vague disappointment overlay the other fragments whirling in his brain. The guy might have found a reason to come in person, if he wanted. Not that it mattered to Ford. But he went on sitting at the tiny desk shoved against the corridor wall, unable to complete the order he had begun to write. He let himself drift, listening to the myriad voices, aware of motion but detached from it. Remembering the day in the elevator, the way the man had admired him. Remembering the easy voice on the telephone today,
Well, then, I'll come down there.
He had thought Dan Crell might be attracted to him. That hardly seemed such an odd thought, since so manypeople were.
In the midst of this reverie, a voice behind his shoulder said, "Dr. McKinney."
He could have sworn breath touched his neck. But when he turned, Dan Crell stood much too far away for the breath of that voice to have caused the tingling along Ford's skin. The single moment telescoped: Ford saw himself sitting there with the useless pencil, saw Dan hold a sheaf of disorganized papers like a shield between their bodies, noted the delicacy of the skin alongthe tops ofDan's hands. Eachdetailclear.
Dan said, "I came down to tell you about the mess with the beds a couple of times, but you were so busy I thought I ought not to disturb you. But myboss talked to Dr. Milliken."
"I know,"Ford said.
"Is everythingtakencare of, then?"
"Yes, I think so."
Dan watched himintently, then averted his gaze. "I guess that takes care ofthe problem."Smiling, but not raisinghis eyes.
He was afraid, and Ford knew it. He was hungry too, and Ford felt the hunger. Ford said, "Thanks for your help."To draw those eyes up again.
"The cleaning crews were actually already there cleaning the beds. Everything was happening the way it was supposed to happen, it's just that nobody knew about it. So I told the nurses the beds were actually being cleaned and then I called Ms. Rollins."
"Thanks."
The moment ended when an arriving nurse asked for orders on one of Ford's patients. Dan withdrew. Later Ford wondered why he had found no opportunity to shake the young man's hand why he had found no opportunity to shake the young man's hand at least. At home, later, he savored the look in Dan's eyes and the open admiration with which Dan approached him, the warmth of Dan's remembered voice, and the gentleness of his presence.
A few days later, after twelve hours of a twenty-four-hour shift, he went to the hospital cafeteria for breakfast. Seated with Curt Robbins, RussellCohen, AllisonRoe, and a couple ofother residents, he rubbed his night's growth of beard and listened to the discussion of a juvenile who had just been admitted to the ninth floor with acute diabetic ketoacidosis. Robbins described the fruity smellthat accompanies the onset ofthis state, and Ford settled back for another ritualmealofdiagnosis and discussion.
But across the cafeteria, framed by louvered windows and yellow blinds, Dan Crell carried a breakfast tray to a seat by the window wall.
Something in his demeanor alerted Ford to the likelihood that Dan had already seen him. Dan set his tray lightly onto the table and arranged himself behind it, unlidding hot coffee and releasing steam from the Styrofoam cup. When Dan finally looked up, he saw Ford watching himand immediately returned his attention to his tray.
Ford found himself staring at Allison Roe's emerald and diamond ring. He lost all contact with Curt's explanation of disease process and felt his breath come short. He told himself this was not the time, meals at Grady being as much a part of teaching as grand rounds, but when he glanced at Dan again, he felt a tightening in his chest. He pictured himself sitting here through the whole meal, watching that odd face across the room, then turning his back on Dan and leaving. Consciously he believed this could not make anydifference, while to walk across the room to speak to the young man now would be to declare himselfpublicly, infront ofhis peers.
In that light he tried to focus on Curt—or was it Russell now? —discussing critical lab values and the immediate need to replenish body fluids, electrolytes. But the thought of Dan across the room made it impossible for him to concentrate. Russell tapped him on the shoulder and grinned. "You look like you've seena ghost."
"I'm tired, that's all." Ford shoved his chair back from the table.
When he stood, Dan watched him. Ford took a deep breath. "I'llbe back ina few minutes,"he said to Curt.
He studied all the changes in Dan's face as he crossed the room—frozen unbelief, recognition, the whiteness of terror. At the table he loomed over Dan's traywatchingDan's cerealspoon suspended in midair. "Good morning," he said. "Can I join you for a minute?"
"Please."
Ford sat, folding his hands in front of him, careful to place his back to the table of doctors he had abandoned. He spoke at once, in order to forestallparalysis. "I wanted to thank you again for what youdid the other day. Duringthe accident."
Danstillwatched his cereal. "I reallydidn't do verymuch."
A line of red crept up Dan's neck into his face. At once, understanding Dan's fear, Ford lost sight of his own. He said, "I think you did enough."He wanted to make Dan look at him, and continued, "But that isn't whyI sat downhere."
Dan nodded. "I figured that." His voice almost vanished. "I've beenstaringat youever since I sat down. I'msorry."
The statement stunned Ford. An ache welled up in him, and he said, "I came over here to ask you to go to dinner with me. Sometime soon."Speaking now to keep his own breath even. "I was lookingat you, too, youknow."
Ford could detect each change in the man's lowered face, initial disbelief giving way to comprehension. Dan's grip on the cereal spoon tightened till his knuckles were white. He took a longbreathand looked at Ford.
They watched each other in silence. Not since McKenzie had Ford read so much in another face. He felt himself opening and relaxing, drawn to the body across the table as if they were falling toward each other. Ford laughed. "Well. Answer my question."
"Yes, I want to have dinner with you."Shock stillregistered in Dan's expression. "Have youbeenplanningthis for a while?"
"Since last week.Whenever the accident was."
Dan shook his head in wonder. "I've been watching you for a longtime. Since youwere a medicalstudent. I can't believe it."
Ford blushed himself, as if no one had ever admired him before. He glanced back at the table ofphysicians stillengrossed intheir medicaldiscussion. Turningto Danagain, he said, "I need to get back to my ongoing learning experience before my senior resident comes after me. Whencanwe do this?"
They negotiated the date, shy of watching each other but drawing out the process in spite of Ford's need to return to his duties across the cafeteria. Ford was on call for several nights running, and Dan was busy with rehearsals for a musical at a local community theater. They settled on a Friday evening in a week, and Ford noted the engagement in his pocket calendar. This business finished, theysat.
"I don't particularlywant to go right now,"Ford said.
"I don't either,"Dan replied. "I haven't eaten very much of my breakfast. But if I don't get back to my office, I'll never dig myselfout fromunder the morningmail."
They rose from the table together. Standing, Ford could feel the intense charge between his body and Dan's, acute now that the gates had opened. He could find no words delicate enough for the moment, but Dan said, "Thank you for doing this. May I callyouFord?"
"Yes. Please."
"Thank youfor doingthis, Ford. I've wanted to talk to you for a longtime, but I've never had the guts to do anythingabout it."
"I never would have either,"Ford said, "before now. So listen, I'll call you next week about arrangements, right? You'll be here?"
here?"
Allison Roe greeted Ford coolly as he adjusted his chair. "Getting acquainted with hospital administrators, Dr. McKinney?"
"I was just thanking him for his help with the beds last week when we had the bus accident."Ford made a business of getting his napkininplace.
This exchange seemed small enough at the time but took on more significance as days passed. The short walk across the cafeteria divided his life by apprehension, beginning withAllison Roe's silken remarks. What would she say ifshe knew Ford had asked the administrator to dinner? Worse, if she knew the reasonfor the asking? Ifhis other friends found out?
In his pleasant kitchen on a morning when he was free of hospital duties, he understood his courage to be failing. He poured a second cup of coffee and drank it in the early quiet on his side porch, wrapped in a thick sweater against the slight December chill. Holly in the yard gleamed deeply green. Loneliness poured into himwiththe stirringofwinter breezes, but even in the cold he sat on the porch for a long time in his pajamas and sweater, bare ankles in bedroomslippers, numbed fingers onthe warmcoffee mug.
He tried to remember the feeling that had led him to cross space, to sit down at the table of a stranger and ask the stranger to take a meal with him. He pictured the stranger's face but the image formed only as a blur in his consciousness. What expectations did Dan harbor?
I've been watching you for a lon
g
time. Since you were a medical student.
By the time he left the porch, he had resolved to break the date; but even that act would be public, would require courage. He must either telephone Dan or else, worse, walk into his office. BrieflyFord considered callingDanat home but found the idea too personal, worse than any public scene. Would he tell the truth, or would it be better to pretend that his on-call schedule had changed? Dan might not get the message right away, but soon enough, when Ford refused any attempt at rescheduling, the picture would become clear. Dan was, after all, rescheduling, the picture would become clear. Dan was, after all, far from the kind of person Ford wanted in his life; surely even he understood that.
This left only the question of timing. On this issue, Ford's thinking failed him. He meant to call at once. Each silent telephone reminded him. But Ford lacked the certainty that he could carryoffthe conversationwithgood grace.
Finally he wrote a note to the young man, mailing it to his hospital address. Ford simply wrote that the dinner they had planned was proving impossible for him to schedule. He signed himself"F. McKinney"and attempted to make the scrawlas little like his usual signature as possible, in case Dan Crell attempted to make some sinister use ofthe note.
He placed a callto Shaun Gould, canceling his weekly session and wishingher the merriest ofholidays.
On the Friday of the impossible dinner, with Christmas loomingthe next week, Ford headed throughfirst-floor corridors toward the Pediatric Appointment Clinic where he was scheduled to see patients under Dr. Milliken's supervision. Though the clinic occupied a large area on the second floor of the hospital, Ford went to the trouble of descending one floor and crossing to the clinic on that level. Out of fear. Dan Crell's office lay on the second floor in a suite of offices between the two clinics.