Prisoner in Time (Time travel) (2 page)

“You do look tired. Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked sincerely.

“Not unless you know how to crack open a skull and operate on a brain,” he joked.

They both smiled lovingly at each other for a moment. As he reached across the table to hold her hand, they both became distracted by the approaching waiter.

“Ah, finally, I’m starving,” he said quietly, out of earshot of the waiter.

With an aluminum three foot tray held above his shoulder, the waiter stood at the edge of their table, then set it down on a small stand.

“I believe you ordered the side of beef, Sir?” the waiter joked, setting the plate down in front of the doctor.

“Half a side. I’m watching my weight,” the doctor shot back in good humor, as he eyed his dinner hungrily.

“And for you ma’am, the rotisserie chicken,” he said, resting the plate in front of her.

The waiter stayed for a moment to ensure their needs were met, then headed off to the kitchen.

“Finally, a decent meal,” the doctor said, speaking while he ate. “I’m so tired of hospital food. Damn, this is good.”

“Would you care for some chicken? It is delicious,” she asked.

“What? And taint my palate with that foul squab? NEVER,” he joked.

“It won’t kill you to try it,” she replied.

“We’ve been down this road before. It dead ends, remember?”

“I remember,” she smiled, delicately slicing through her chicken.

Suddenly, an electronic vibration sounded out from the doctor’s pants pocket. Even with the sound turned to ‘silent’, the noise the cell phone made on vibration mode was loud enough for both to hear.

“Oh no!” his wife cried out. “Not now. We just started eating.”

Quickly, he dug the phone from his pocket and stared at the number disapprovingly.

“Great... just great,” he said, still chewing his food.

“Maybe you could ignore it… pretend the batteries died.”

“They call page me unless it’s an emergency, especially this time of the evening,” he said, now resigning himself to his fate.

He dialed the phone and waited for the line to connect. Glancing up to his wife, he smiled cordially. She stared back in frustration.

After a few words, he pushed the button to end the call and quickly stuffed his phone back into his pocket. Standing at the edge of the table, he searched for his keys.

“I’m really sorry about this. I really wanted us to have a nice evening together,” he said, sadness evident in his tone.

“I know, me too,” she responded simply, her disappointment limiting her words.

He bent over and kissed her goodbye, then hurried for the exit.

Fifteen minutes later:

The doctor burst through the double doors of the operating room. Having changed into his OR scrubs, he quickly prepared himself for surgery.

“Ok, so what do we have?”

“Car accident, doctor. Young male, early twenties, TBI (traumatic brain injury). We have the films from his CT scan. It looks like a large subdural hematoma,” assisting Dr. Bill Acosta explained. “His vitals are weak but stable for the moment.”

Pointing to a region on the film showing the left side of the brain, the doctor said, “There’s significant hemorrhaging of the left temporal lobe extending into the external capsule and across into the frontal lobe. I’m seeing significant mass effect, with a midline shift. It looks like there’s also mixed density in the parenchyma of the temporal lobe.”

Looking back at the OR team, he said bluntly, “This is bad. Let’s get in there before the pressures grow too high and cause any further damage.”

Immediately, the team moved to action.

Surgical Nurse Jenna Taylor carefully cleaned the left temporal region of the patients head with Betadine soap. Ten minutes later, she shaved and sterilized the affected area with a Betadine solution.

“Ok, let’s secure his head in the Mayfield holder and push anesthesia,” Dr. X ordered respectfully.

“We’ve got a central line started. Pushing anesthesia and meds now,” anesthesiologist Dr. Matt Haskins called back.

Dr. X glanced over to the monitors, then the I.V. lines as the anesthesiologist began his work. Looking back to surgical Nurse Taylor, he called to her, “I need a fifty-fifty mixture of point-five percent Marcaine and two percent Lidocaine.”

Having anticipated his request, Nurse Taylor instantly handed him a syringe. With a nod of approval, Dr. X accepted the anesthetic mixture.

“I wouldn’t trade you for a hundred nurses,” Dr. X complimented, now smiling through his surgical mask.

Turning his attention back to the patient, assisting Dr. Acosta had already adjusted the patient’s head, turning it toward the right to expose the left side. Grabbing the Mayfield holder, he positioned the three contact pins around the skull and waited for doctor X to administer the anesthetic.

“I’m ready,” Dr. X announced simply.

Quickly, Dr. X injected the anesthetic solution into the skin of the patient’s skull just under the three contact pins of the Mayfield holder. Moments later, as Dr. Acosta held the holder steady, Dr. X screwed the pins through the skin and into the skull. With the head now fixed within the appliance, he fastened the holder to the table, securing it firmly for surgery.

“Ok, let’s place the neck and shoulder supports. Are all tools and instrumentation in place?”

“Patient is sedated. His vitals are weak but holding at BP ninety over sixty, pulse forty-eight and his pulse ox is eighty-two… for now,” Dr. Haskins called out ominously. “Maybe we should wait until he’s stable?”

“If we don’t get in there now, he’ll be dead in an hour,” Dr. X shot back in grim tone.

“Tools and instruments set,” Nurse Taylor responded.

“Ok, have a unit of O’negative standing by. I’ll have the twenty-two blade,” he said. Directing his attention to Dr. Acosta, he asked, “Can you take the suction?”

Reaching for the instrument, he nodded simply.

Quickly, Nurse Taylor handled Dr. X the requested scalpel as Dr. Acosta manned the suctioning wand.

Dr. X stared into the worried eyes of his colleagues. He took a deep breath and exhaled. A moment later, he began his incision across the patient’s skull…

To be continued…

-----*-----*-----*-----

Nashville
, Tennessee 

December 16, 1864
 

Confederate General John Hood pulled his felt hat from his head and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. Even in December, the cool temperatures weren’t enough to prevent beads of nervous sweat from forming on his brow. Sitting on his horse, he stared out over the battlefield. From the nearby bluff, he watched the action unfold on
Compton’s Hill to his north. As a stiff breeze blew through his long black beard, he caught the strong oder of spent powder that drifted south from the distant cannons a half mile away.

He reached down and pulled his field glasses that hung from his saddle horn. Staring through them, he adjusted their focus and studied his generals as Union forces advanced on his positions.

On the eastern side of Compton’s Hill, Confederate General Alexander Stewart, waged a vicious battle against Union General James Steedman.

Situated along the hilltop, Gen. Stewart’s men knelt in shallow trenches and fired down at the enemy. At the base of Compton’s Hill, Union Gen. Steedman’s men held their positions behind breastworks made of logs and stone, and fired uphill at Confederated positions. As more Union soldiers entered the battle, they now began to outnumber Confederate forces. With the Rebel lines now weakening, Gen. Hood called up reserves to reinforce his right flank.

“Captain Helms, send a dispatch to Gen. Stewart. Bring up the 9
th
brigade and shore up that weakening line to the east,” he shouted to his officer standing nearby. “Concentrate artillery on the Union left flank,” he added.

“Yes Sir,” Captain Helms responded.

Quickly, the obedient captain dashed off to his courier, relaying the message from command.

Scanning the top of Compton’s Hill, Gen. Hood watched his men continue to fire down at the enemy. With a nod of approval, he surveyed his forces to the west.

Suddenly, the sound of a fast approaching horse, broke Gen. Hood’s concentration. As he turned to investigate, the dispatch rider pulled hard on his reins and brought his horse to a quick halt next to him.

“Gen. Hood Sir. Urgent Dispatch from Gen. Stewart,” the worn looking courier announced loudly.

“Bring it here private,” he shot back without hesitation.

Gen. Hood read the dispatch. His eyes grew in intensity with each line he finished. Quickly, he brought his field glasses back to his eyes and stared out toward the right flank he’d just examined moments before. To his horror, columns of Union Calvary were advancing on that position. As he continued to watch, a sickening feeling developed in the pit of his stomach as the once fortified position began to weaken.

“Lieutenant Rosewood, send a dispatch to Gen. Stewart,” Gen. Hood shouted frantically. “Send in any and all of his reserve units. He needs to shore up that line before it’s too late.”

“Sir, he has no more men in reserves,” Lt. Rosewood responded grimly.

Gen. Hood shot the lieutenant a scornful stare and instantly read the truth in his eyes. Quickly, he stared through his field glasses once more and scanned his forces off to the east.

“We need to divert some of Gen. Lee’s men back to Stewart’s,” Gen. Hood shouted.

“But Sir, Gen. Lee’s lines are already thinning,” Captain Gabriel shouted from his horse, behind his commander.

“I realize that Captain, but the greater force is now to our east. We need to redirect our fire before it’s too late,” the general explained. “If they outflank us, not only may we lose the battle, but to a greater extent, we might not be able to retreat.”

Captain Gabriel thought about the possibility of surrender. Up until that moment, he hadn’t considered it. With the general’s statement, the truth and extent of their crisis registered in his mind. He scanned the battle from east to west and a sickening feeling churned his stomach. Seeing anxiety spread across the captain’s face, Gen. Hood turned his attention back to Lt. Rosewood.

“You still here?” he said sarcastically to his lieutenant.

“No Sir,” Lt. Rosewood shot back in an obedient tone.

Instantly, the lieutenant hurried to his courier to deliver the general’s directive.

Within a half hour, the world of the Confederates had changed. As Confederate soldiers were diverted from the western edge of the battle, they marched through heavy fire toward the eastern flank. Soon, their numbers were greatly reduced. Upon reaching the eastern blockade, with nearly half the men laying dead or dying, their efforts proved ineffective. Shortly after taking up positions behind the breastworks, the Union advance overran their positions.

With the taste of victory on their lips, the Union troops flooded over the breastworks and headed up the eastern slope of Compton’s Hill. As Confederate soldiers fired down from their elevated position, the shallow trenches left their upper bodies exposed to the savagery of Union fire.

General Hood stared across the valley to his men’s position on the hill and realized the problem. His men had dug shallow trenches through the previous night in anticipation of the next day’s battle. In their haste, each trench was missing an important element: head logs. The missing logs would have provided the necessary element in their protective line. Now, fighting the battle without them, his men were paying the penalty for their oversight.