Recoveries... a KnightWATCH story

Chapter 9

         “An-hey-leen-a Maria,” Father Crenshaw said, using the Spanish pronunciation of Dr. Swanson’s name. “You are seen too rarely in church. I know, I’ve been talking with Father O’Toole at St. Margaret’s.” Crenshaw held out a hand, which Swanson took in both of hers.

         “Padre, I try. My work keeps me busy. And yet…” She looked over to the Starks. “There are days where my work, my skills, are not enough. I know that God has a plan for all of us. Yet some days I have my doubts.”

         “Trust me, Angelina Maria, God understands your confusion, and so do I. In fact, Alvin and I both served in Vietnam; he was in the Marines when I was an Army chaplain. We’ve both seen senseless death over the years. Sadly, he also drove by Melissa’s wreck and recognized her car.” Father Crenshaw shook his head at that ugly twist of Fate. “He realized very early on that it was a long shot for Melissa. I think he even prayed for her death, as a deliverance from pain. I can understand that.

         “On the Starks’ behalf, and for myself, thank you and all your people for trying to help Melissa.” Crenshaw put his hands on the shoulders of the doctors. ”Vaya con Dios, Angelina, and all who work with you. May your work always be blessed.” Swanson performed a ”Sign of the Cross” after receiving the unexpected blessing from the priest. Mitchum, a lifelong Methodist, stood there clueless as to what had happened. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be with the Starks.”

         “Father, wait,” Swanson called. “If the family is ready, I know Melissa’s body has been cleaned up. If they’d like to say good-bye.”

         ”Thank you Angelina. Is there a pressing need for her bed?”

         ”Not that I know of. Jack, have you heard anything about any rush cases coming into ICU?”

         ”No, ma’am. In fact, rooms three and six are open right now.”

         ”We can probably wait a little bit then, Father. But not too long; the morticians will need to start pretty soon.”

         ”I know. It may have to wait until the wake,” replied Father Crenshaw, remembering Elizabeth Stark’s immediate denial of her daughter’s death. “I’ll do what I can. Again, thank you.” Crenshaw turned around and went back to the Starks. His immediate duty was to help the living accept death. He knew that the doctors’ duty was with those still living.

         ”Uh, Doctor Swanson,” Jack Mitchum stammered when they were a ways down the hall. ”Who is that guy? And what is that outfit he’s wearing?”

         ”Haven’t been around many Catholics, have you, Jack? That was Father Jeremy Crenshaw. He’s a Catholic priest with the Society of Jesus, more commonly known as the Jesuits. He’s the chief minister at St. Alban’s Cathedral on Quigley Boulevard. A real character, but more important, a very good man.” Swanson remembered this from her counseling after she came home from Las Vegas, after her divorce from her first husband. He had always used kind words, helping her understand that God had meant for things to happen as they did, that the divorce wasn’t her fault. “He’s been a priest most of his adult life. He’s told me stories of when he was a military chaplain, including serving in Vietnam. As for his clothing, that’s a cassock, the ‘uniform’, if you will, of a Jesuit priest. You see a lot of ministers wear variations on collars? The Jesuits go even further.”

         ”Doctors?”

         Swanson and Mitchum turned around to see Alvin Stark coming down the hall. ”I wanted to thank you personally, Doctors.” Stark reached out and shook each of their hands. ”I saw what was left of my daughter’s car. I saw her best friend lying through the windshield, covered with a sheet. I knew Melissa’s chances weren’t good.” Mitchum tried his best not to react to this news, but still turned pale. Swanson absorbed it all stoically. “I was an MP for several years in The Corps. I’ve seen more than a few accidents. I’m actually grateful she’s gone; she won’t have to suffer.” Stark took a moment to dab at his eyes with a handkerchief. “I wanted to thank you personally, and see if there was anyway we could say good-bye to her.”

         “Sir,” Angie Swanson replied, “I’m very, very sorry for your loss. If you think you’re ready, I do know that... I’m not sure how to put this.” Angie Swanson looked down to her wringing hands, trying to find a polite way to tell the man his dead daughter’s body was ready for viewing. “Melissa has been ‘cleaned up’, so to speak. The nurses and technicians have removed the various tubes and lines we used to try to revive her.”

         “Thank you, doctor. And if Father Jeremy could come in with us --”

         “Not a problem, sir. I’ll be glad to take all of you inside.” As Stark walked back to his wife, Mitchum leaned over to whisper in Swanson’s ear.

         ”Uh, ma’am, the rules say only two visitors --”

         “Another thing you need to learn, Jack. Rules are important, and need to be followed at least 98 per cent of the time. But there will be occasions where you have to bend and even break them. Let’s go.” Swanson and Mitchum returned to the waiting room, and walked the Starks and Father Crenshaw to Room 8 in the ICU. Swanson then tugged on Mitchum’s sleeve, hinting they should leave the family in private. As they walked to the nurses’ station, Darlene Thomas saw someone pushing a gurney into the room. She told the man from mortuary services to wait, that the family was saying good-bye. Being in a hurry, the man started to complain. Darlene put a hand over his mouth and told him to chill out. She came back to the station and sat down, checking the monitors in front of her.

         “Oh, shit,” Darlene said. Said almost under her breath, Angie Swanson heard her.

         ”Darlene, what is it?”

         ”It’s David, Doc. He’s already blaming himself for her condition. How do we tell him that we lost the patient we was transporting?” Swanson looked at Darlene Thomas, then across the unit to the open door of Room 5.

         “You’re right, Darlene. Oh, shit.”

         “Excuse me,” Mitchum interjected, ”but is it really any of his business?”

         “Yes, Jack, it is,” replied Swanson. ”She was his patient, his responsibility. Also, he’s been blaming himself for something that wasn’t his fault, despite what your ‘unimpeachable sources’ may say. He needs some reassurance. I may have the Padre talk to him at some point.” Swanson went to talk to Father Jeremy before he left. Darlene walked into David’s room.

         “David? David honey, are you awake?” David opened his eyes in response to Darlene’s questioning. ”David, honey, we need to talk.” She took his left hand in hers. With his other hand, David wrote out a question. ”What’s wrong? David, I have some bad news. Your patient… she passed away a little while ago.” David balled his right into a fist and began pounding it against his mattress. Darlene reached over and held it down. ”Stop it!! It’s not your fault. You know first hand that she suffered severe injuries in her car wreck. And even though you won’t accept it, you know your wreck made no difference in those injuries.” Just then Angie Swanson walked in, with Father Crenshaw and Alvin Stark in her wake. Recognizing the priest’s cassock, David the Catholic performed a Sign of the Cross.

         “Relax, my son,” Father Crenshaw told David. “I have someone here who wishes to meet you. This is Alvin Stark.” He stepped forward. “You were transporting his daughter when your wreck occurred yesterday.”

         “Son, I just want to tell you something.” Stark took hold of David’s right hand. “I read about the accident, and I saw my daughter’s wreck. Her death isn’t your fault. If it hadn’t been for you and your partner, my daughter wouldn’t have made it this far. I wanted to thank you for trying.” Stark tried to hold his tears back. “You... you get better, David. Because there are other folks out there who will need your help in the future.”

         “Angie,” Father Crenshaw asked, “could you stay with Mister Stark for a few minutes?” Angie Swanson nodded her assent and followed the grief-stricken father out of the room. “My son, what parish do you belong to?” David wrote out his answer. “St. Casimir’s? I’ll tell Father Grozny to come check up on you. As for your ‘when I can make it’ comment, there’s something you should know.

         “You’re always there, my son. You’re always praying, even when you don’t realize it. God hears your prayers in your job, and in your actions to help others. That’s how both you and Doctor Swanson do your prayers, your worship. God blesses a lot of people in this world with the ability and desire to help others as both of you do. But so few understand the blessing, the Calling, they ignore or never feel it. You have. I can see it in your eyes, in your concern over young Melissa. You will go far and do many things to help others. And whether you realize it or not, you’ll be doing them in His name.”

         The priest took his thumb and gently traced a cross on David’s forehead. “May the Lord bless you now and always in your work; may He bless you with improving health and a speedy recovery. In the Name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.” Crenshaw rested a hand on David’s forehead, shook his hand again, and left the room. David wrote out a note, tapping the clipboard to get Darlene’s attention.

         ”David, I don’t think you’re supposed to say anything. The good father said it all. Now get some rest.” Darlene walked out to see Father Crenshaw give Doctor Swanson a hug before he left with the Stark family. ”Doctor,” Darlene said, ”if that man weren’t a priest, I’d call him a silver-tongued devil. He seemed to know what to say to David.”

         “He said what David needed to hear,” Swanson replied. “It just so happens it’s the truth. But from what Dr. Mitchum was saying, someone else is trying to say differently. I want to know who, before lives are damaged or destroyed.”