Authors: Gilbert Morris
Crossing (38 page)
“But—” Dr. Hayden gestured toward the moaning soldier on his table.
Dr. McCaw shook his head. “I insist, Jesse. I’ll take this table myself. You go rest, get something to eat, have some coffee, and don’t come back for an hour.”
“Very well,” Hayden said. “I must admit that sounds very inviting. Thank you, Dr. McCaw.”
“Of course.” He turned to Matthews and started giving instructions for anesthesia.
Dr. Hayden went outside, stopped just outside the double entry doors, closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths. Inside, the emergency ward smelled like blood and sweat and fear, and over it all hung the distinct acrid fumes of chloroform. Outside it was warm and humid, but high up on “Hospital Hill” no stench of battle drifted on the heavy night air. He opened his eyes and sighed when he saw the ambulances coming from the east, lined up along Thirty-fourth Street.
The attendants returned to the ambulance that sat in front of the building. The driver snapped the traces, and the horses started trotting to the west, returning to the field of battle to reap another grim harvest.
Behind it another ambulance pulled up. The orderlies jumped down, climbed in the back, and brought the first man out on a stretcher. He was unconscious, mercifully, Dr. Hayden thought, for his right side and the right side of his head and face were blood-soaked. Bandages had been wrapped around the man’s right arm and forehead, but if they had once been the standard white bandages, they were now the deep crimson of blood. Dr. Hayden glanced at his face as the orderlies hustled to the doors then did a sharp double-take. “Wait!” he ordered, striding quickly to the stretcher. Surprised, the orderlies halted at this unmistakable authoritative command.
Lanterns were lit outside but the light was uncertain. Dr. Hayden bent over the unconscious man and smoothed his dark hair back from his forehead. Quickly he straightened and said, “Follow me.”
He hurried inside, followed by the medics. Dr. McCaw was still at the table that Dr. Hayden had occupied, but the one right next to it was empty, and it still had an anesthetist and assistant standing by. Dr. Hayden directed the men to put the stretcher there. Dr. McCaw was right in the middle of amputating his patient’s right arm, but these surgeons had so much experience with that type of surgery lately that now they could do amputations with hardly a second thought. Dr. Hayden stepped close to him and said, “Elijah, this young man is a friend of my family’s. He saved my son’s life. I want to treat him.”
Dr. McCaw nodded without looking up. “All right then, go ahead, Jesse.”
Dr. Hayden turned back to the assistants. “Get those bandages off, and get his clothes off. I’ll be right back.”
He hurried back outside. There were always boys loitering around the hospital, begging for errands to run for a penny. He collared a promising-looking boy of about twelve that was fairly clean and neat, took a pencil and notepaper out of his pocket, and talked as he wrote. “I want you to run to the Richmond Episcopal Church on Myrtle Street. Do you know it? Excellent. Next to it is a two-story house with two big walnut trees in front. Give this note to them, and a man named Elijah is going to be coming back to the hospital with a wagon. You may ride back with him, and when you return I’ll give you two pennies. A nickel if you hurry as fast as you can.”
“Yes, sir,” he said over his shoulder, already taking off at a dead run.
Dr. Hayden hurried back inside to his patient.
Almost a year before, Elijah had picked up a pale and limp Leslie Hayden from Yancy’s wagon and carried him upstairs as if he were a young child. Now Elijah picked up Yancy Tremayne from the wagon and gently carried him upstairs to the guest room. Yancy was wrapped in a sheet from the waist down. His face and right side were still covered in dried blood, and his thick hair was caked with it. With his dark complexion, Yancy could not be said to be pale, but his face was a rather sickly tan. His right eye was swollen and blue beneath the thick bandage on his forehead. His upper right arm was bandaged from shoulder to elbow, and it was secured in a sling.
Her face as pale as the moon, her eyes as wide and dark as drowning pools, Lorena followed.
Elijah laid him down on Leslie’s bed.
Lily appeared at the door, almost as pale as Lorena. “How is he? Is he badly hurt?” she asked anxiously.
Lorena went to her and took her arm. “I’m sure he isn’t critical, or Father would have come home with him. Please, Mother, try not to worry. Go on to bed. I’ll bring you a cup of chamomile tea.”
Lily said, “I think I will sit up in bed and try to read my Bible. And thank you, my dear, but Missy has already made chamomile tea for me. Please come let me know how he is. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until we know he will be all right.”
“Of course, Mother,” Lorena said and went back to Yancy’s bedside.
Elijah pulled some papers from his pocket. “Miss Lorena, Dr. Hayden tole me to give these to you. It’ll tell us how to take care of Mr. Yancy. Why don’t you go on down to the kitchen where it’s good light and read it while I tend to him.”
Lorena started to object—she didn’t want to leave Yancy, not for a moment—but then she realized that of course Elijah would be attending to Yancy’s personal needs. Just then Missy came in with a steaming copper water pot, thick tendrils of vapor rising and filling the room with the soothing scent of rosemary. Lorena inhaled gratefully. Some of the confused panic retreated, and she felt her mind cleared somewhat. “Missy, do you know where Leslie’s nightshirts are?”
“Yes ma’am, when the boy comes with the news that Mr. Yancy was hurt, I took one of ‘em out and steamed it to freshen it up. It’s hanging in the cupboard,” she said kindly.
Missy does the laundry and ironing. Of course she knows where all of our clothes are. She must feel that sometimes the gentry thinks these things get done by magic.
“Yes, of course, of course,” Lorena said, turning to the door. “Please let me know when you’ve finished.”
Lorena went down to the kitchen and sat down at the oak counter where she and Yancy had sat so many times before. Pulling a lamp close, she read her father’s notes.
Lorena
,
First of all, please do not be too distressed. Yancy has two injuries, but at this juncture I don’t believe either of them are life threatening. Clear your mind and be calm. It won’t help Yancy if you are troubled
.
First, his head wound: He has a scalp laceration, I believe a graze from a bullet. He sustained a simple linear skull fracture (it’s just a thin line about three inches long), and the skull is not splintered or depressed or in any way distorted. This is good news; but all skull fractures are serious injuries, and he will require constant monitoring for the next twenty-four hours. The scalp laceration required eleven stitches, but the wound and the edges were clean
.
For care: Wrap ice chips in a clean white towel and apply to his forehead and eye every hour for about fifteen minutes. Head wounds bleed profusely, and even with the stitches he may bleed through the bandage. Rebandage as necessary, gently cleaning any dried blood at the laceration site if necessary
.
As for his mental condition, I do not believe he is in a coma. I think he is unconscious, but in a very light state as he goes back and forth into a deep sleep. He drifted into consciousness as I was stitching his arm, and he seemed to be lucid. He knew his name and could see me very well. But he was in pain, so I gave him some morphia and he slept again. Don’t attempt to rouse him, but if he does wake up just ask him some simple questions: his name, if he knows where he is, if his vision is clear, if he is in pain. You may give him twenty drops of laudanum as often as every four hours if needed
.
Head injury patients generally have a sensitivity to bright light and noise, so keep the room dimly lit (I suggest with candles only, and keep the drapes drawn) and speak and move as softly as possible. Also, it is best that he be propped up to a half-sitting position; he will be much more comfortable than lying flat
.
I must caution you, daughter, that when people receive the shock of head wounds, they usually evidence some distressing symptoms, but in actuality they are the norm. He will likely be confused as to time; he won’t know what day it is, and it will mean nothing to him when you tell him. He will have lost the instinctive sense we have of knowing whether it is day or night, and this usually results in increased anxiety. I’m sure this will be magnified for Yancy, as he does seem to have sharper senses than most men. Perhaps it is the Indian in him. At any rate, if he wakes up and seems to be alert enough to want to talk, first gently let him know where he is, what day it is, and what time it is for he very well may not know where he is
.
It is common for victims of skull fractures to have amnesia to one degree or another. They rarely remember the incident that caused the injury, and the amnesia may evidence itself in many ways. He will almost certainly have holes in his memory, both short-term and long-term. Do not be alarmed, for it’s natural that he will have trouble with his memory for a while
.
As I said, I don’t believe the head injury is too severe, but there are a few symptoms that would indicate a graver prognosis, and I wish you would send for me immediately should they occur. They are: convulsions, slurred speech, stiff neck, visual disturbances, or clear fluid leaking from his ears or nose
.
As for his right arm, he was shot and the bullet lodged just at the edge of the humerus. I removed the bullet without trouble, but the bone is slightly chipped and it sustained a hairline crack, which is not even considered a break. We will need to keep it bandaged tightly and tied securely into the sling to keep it immobilized for a few days, but I think he will regain full use soon. He may suffer pain at the incision site, and you can administer laudanum for that, too
.
The hospital is extremely busy. men are pouring in from Gaines’ Mill just east of town, where the battle was today. Dr. McCaw kindly let me take an hour’s break, and I ate and even napped a little, and so I feel refreshed enough to keep working on. I am going to try to stay tonight as there are so very many emergency surgeries to perform. And you may take that as a measure of what I would term only moderate concern for Yancy. Certainly if I was worried to a great degree I would have come home with him, for as you well know in the last year, your mother and I have come to regard him almost as a son
.
Keep hope in your mind, Lorena. Trust my judgment and trust yourself. You’re an excellent nurse, and as you know, Missy and Elijah are wonderful with sick or injured people. Yancy could not have better care. And of course, we will all “pray without ceasing” for Yancy
.
With my great love,
Father
Lorena read it all again, slowly. But she felt a tremendous burden and fear both for Yancy and herself. She was frightened that Yancy might actually be much more severely injured than even her father, who had practiced medicine for almost thirty years, could know. And she was frightened that she might make some horrible mistake with his care; with misjudging his state, either physical or mental; some stupid mistake with his medication… An ugly picture of Yancy in bone-jarring convulsions grew large in her mind. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands. She was on the verge of panic.
But Lorena knew she was a strong woman who knew where her true strength came from, and with a supreme effort, she suppressed the paralyzing dread and banished the desolate visions in her mind. She bowed her head and quoted softly, “ ‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’” She felt a great calm and clarity of mind and strength of will flow over her and through her, and she thanked the Lord for it.
Gathering her father’s notes, she went upstairs to reassure her mother that Yancy was going to be just fine. She had every confidence that she could take care of him.
