Recoveries... a KnightWATCH story

Chapter 14

         “Copy, Knight 88. Continue to monitor vitals and call back if anything changes. Go to room five on arrival. Carrolton clear. WNHA 475.” Melinda took off her headset as Dr. Don Drake walked over. “Duck, 88 is bringing in a 79-year-old lady with shoulder pain from a fall. They didn’t note any deformities, and she’s complaining of dizzy spells. Her vitals are stable. I gave them room five. Any questions?”

         “The Duck” looked at the information Melinda had copied down during the radio report. “Does she have any cardiac or neurological history?”

         “I asked about that, Duck. 88 said none was provided, but they only had her word to go on. That’s why I put them in five.”

         “In case we need cardiac work-ups. Melinda, you get any smarter and I’m going to have to watch out for my job. Good work.” Drake beamed a smile at Melinda as she walked off. This, Melinda said to herself, is one of the reasons I like working here. Almost everyone is part of a team, working together. Looking down the hall, she saw Karl Marx come into the ER. There are, of course, exceptions.

         Marx walked towards Melinda at the nurses’ station. He purposely bumped into her, knocking her towards the desk. She looked up to see a leering smile on his face. Melinda turned away and mentally shuddered, wondering why the jerk wouldn’t take ‘no” for an answer. Just then, Stephanie Berglund returned from her lunch.

         “Anything I need to know about, Mel?”

         “Hey, Steph. 88’s bringing in a fall victim, possible dizziness. I told them to go to five. Duck already knows about it.”

         “Okay, anything else?”

         “Just that Marx is making his presence known. The prick walked in, bumped me into the countertop, then gave me a smile that sent shivers along my spine.”

         “Don’t you worry, Mel. He’ll get what he deserves soon enough.” And so will you, Stephanie thought to herself, so long as you open the door to it. “It could even happen today, if I’m hearing things right. Rumor has it Angie Swanson is going to call him on the carpet about his lack of treatment of David Longfellow.”

         “David… Longfellow… wait, is that the EMT that Marx tried to shoot upstairs too quickly the other day?”

         “That’s him, Mel. And you remembered his name. Good.”

         “Actually, Steph, I didn’t. I just remembered what Marx tried to do, and how Angie Swanson took over the case. Good thing, too. He wasn’t nearly stable enough to go into surgery. I guess I just put two and two together.” A sneaky smile came to Melinda’s face. “Which was your intention all along, wasn’t it?”

         “Actually, Melinda, you’re wrong. This time I’m perfectly innocent. It did, however, have the same effect.” Melinda looked over her glasses frame as her friend smiled at the coincidence. “You’ve got a name to go with the face. Now, in a few days you can go visit him in his room.”

         “I’m surprised you’re not pushing me to see him now, Steph.”

         “You made a good point the other night, kiddo. He’s still in Intensive Care, and pretty weak. Plus, he’s on a positive-pressure ventilator for his collapsed lung, which they may be weaning him off of it soon. He still needs his rest, and you need to be ready.”

         “Ready? Ready for what?”

         “To reach out without pulling back. You need to get on with your life, Mel. At your own speed, and maybe with a few friendly kicks in the butt to keep you moving, but you do need to get out there and live. You had Duck worried a few days ago.”

         “Duck was worried about me? Why?”

         “He feared he had brought up a forbidden or too-painful subject with you. Did he say something about Jeremy?”

         “Oh, that. No, it wasn’t directly about Jeremy. I admit I opened the door on that one. It started when I complimented him on his treatment of a little boy with a minor left arm fracture. I told him he’d be a good dad some day.”

         “Shoot, Mel, we both know that Don Drake just grew older, not up.”

         “Yeah,” Melinda chuckled. “Anyway, he started saying there wasn’t anyone out there for him. I disagreed, though I didn’t mention Paula. Then he turned my question back at me.”

         “And what did you say?”

         “I told him the truth, that I’ve already found and lost the perfect man for me. And I’ll never find another.”

         “Mel,” Stephanie said, some anger creeping into her voice. “Didn’t we have a chat about all of this several days ago?”

         “Yes,” Melinda sighed in exasperation. “I’m supposed to keep my eyes open, allow for the possibility of happiness, et cetera. You make it sound so easy. Have you actually been there?”

         “Mel…” Stephanie paused, wondering how, or if, she should tell her tale. “You know that Mike and I were married on my 21st birthday. We dated for less than a year before we got married, and were engaged for only three months. What you didn’t know is Mike wasn’t my first fiancé. My married name was originally going to be Wiggenstaff.”

         “Huh? You were actually engaged before you met Mike? And how did that other numbskull let you get away?”

         “Oh, he was a very charming fellow named Darren Wiggenstaff. Little guy, not much taller than you. A real nice guy… who drove me away.”

         “What happened?”

         “That real nice guy had some not-so-nice ideas about sex. He tried…” Stephanie had to catch her breath. “Mel… he tried to rape me one night. Said that our engagement and eventual marriage gave him blanket permission to have sex with me at any time he wanted to.”

         “My God…”

         “Yes, he was very much a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Anyway, I hit him where it would hurt the most, ran to my car and drove straight to the police station. Unfortunately, the desk sergeant wasn’t ready to believe me. Even grabbed my hand away from my face when he got angry at me.”

         “He grabbed your–”

         “He was angry because he thought I was wasting his time with a lover’s spat. He grabbed my arm to lead me out the door and out of his hair. And when he moved my hand… he saw the scratches and bruises on my face.”

         “Why would it take that for a cop to believe you?”

         “Remember, this was the early eighties. People were just starting to realize that rape didn’t only happen to prostitutes, that rapists weren’t always hiding in the bushes waiting for a victim. Back then, people were just beginning to think that ‘Boys will be boys’ might not be that great of an idea. A large part of society was resisting the change in attitude. Including a certain gruff desk sergeant, until he saw my facial bruises.”

         “Then what happened?”

         “They asked me a few quick questions about when and where. A female detective took me to University ER while two officers went to talk to Darren.”

         “Not to arrest him?”

         “All they had was my story and bruises. They wanted his version of events. One of the cops saw my purse there and pressed Darren about it. Darren panicked and tried to run. That was enough for an arrest. And once he was arrested, I broke off the engagement.

         “Then there was the trial. His lawyer had a grand old time when I was on the stand, but I didn’t crack, didn’t fall for his questions or tricks. Darren was found guilty of attempted rape and sent to prison.”

         “And when he got out, you were married to Mike.”

         “Not exactly, Mel. I married Mike two years later. Three months after the wedding, Darren’s mom called me. He had died in prison, caught in a riot of some sort. His mom was calling to let me know… and blame me for his death.”

         “What? How were you to blame?”

         “I created this jilted-lover fantasy of him trying to rape me. In her mind, Darren could do no wrong, and I was getting even for God-knows-what with a scurrilous lie. Because of that, Darren was in prison when the riot broke out. Her ‘never do wrong’ only child was locked up for a crime he didn’t commit. Ergo, my lies condemned him to an early death.”

         “Stephanie, I hope to God you don’t believe that. After all, he did try to rape you, right?”

         “Sometimes, I can still feel the bruises he left on me…” Stephanie again began to shiver. “It’s been over 20 years, Mel… and I can still feel my blouse starting to rip.” As she said this, a man in a suit came up behind Stephanie. Melinda noticed him, but said nothing. “No, Mel, it’s no lie. But I could never convince Darren’s mom of that. She still calls me every year on the anniversary of his death. She won’t let it go.”

         “Honey,” Mike Berglund said as he hugged his wife from behind, “Let Dottie Wiggenstaff take that anger to her grave. It can join the shame of not raising her son to be a good man. Don’t let her guilt trip you into thinking you did something wrong.” Mike kissed his wife’s cheek. “I’m sorry I’m late, hon. Want to talk for a few minutes?”

         “Sure, let’s go to the staff lounge.” The two walked arm in arm past Angie Swanson. The Chief Trauma Surgeon was looking for Dr. Karl Marx for a not-so-pleasant chat about rumor control. She found him dictating a chart at the far end of the ER and invited him to her office. Once there, Swanson decided to see how much rope Marx would tie into a noose.

         “Yes, Doctor Swanson, what can I do for you?”

         “Karl, there have been some ugly rumors going around about a recent patient in the ER. Rumors that are way off base. I need to get them nipped in the bud before people’s lives and reputations are needlessly damaged or ruined. I need your help, along with everyone else’s, to get this stopped. There may be lawsuits, and the last thing this hospital needs is any of its staffers subpoenaed to give potentially false testimony.”

         “I’ll certainly stomp on any rumormongers I see… ma’am,” he replied with mild contempt. “I’ll get them all. But the only things I’ve heard about that… EMT,” he spat out derisively, “that was flown in here on Sunday have been factual.”

         “Such as?”

         “He has a bad accident record, has barely held on to his job. That day, he totally fu.. er, screwed up.” Marx caught the profanity as it escaped his lips. “He caused his own injuries, and caused a patient to die. He’s a menace,” Marx half yelled, “and deserves to have the book thrown at him. I’ll make sure it happens.”

         “Is that why you gave him such poor treatment when he arrived?”

         “Poor treatment? I’ll have you know, Doctor, that I gave him excellent treatment. In fact, I gave that screw-up the exact treatment prescribed for his condition. He WAS Ortho’s problem, not ours. But YOU had to poke your nose in where it didn’t belong.”

         “I see. And as Chief Trauma Surgeon and Director of ER Services, my nose doesn’t belong in the care of our patients?”

         “IF you would ever trust your people, Doctor, you’d see they know what they are doing. But you only trust your fellow females on the nursing staff and give them too much power. You’ll regret that one of these days.”

         “Will you see to that as well, Doctor Marx?” Despite a volcano of furry inside her, Angie Swanson maintained a calm voice and demeanor. Never dreaming Marx would use so much rope on himself, she doubted the young hothead realized what he was doing to himself and his career.

         “You better believe it… lady.” All his life, Marx was used to getting things his way. That included people surrendering to his threats, to the knowledge he came from a wealthy and powerful family. Angie Swanson’s calm demeanor only served to make him angrier that this… woman… and a Hispanic woman at that… didn’t know her proper place.

         “Then I’ll give you a start, Doctor Marx.” She handed him an envelope. “That’s a letter directing you to appear before the hospital disciplinary board next week. You can tell them all about my shoddy work while you discuss your treatment of one Robert Paul Shipley on the evening of April 9th.”

         “What? That EMT came through here on April 17th. Get your facts straight!”

         “That’s right. But when did I ever say we were discussing that case?”

         “You said there were rumors circulating about an EMT who screwed up. And I TOLD you, those weren’t rumors, but facts.”

         “Actually, doctor,” Swanson replied, crossing her arms over her chest, “I never mentioned who the rumors were about. You supplied that information. Now, the board is expecting you to appear next Monday morning, 9:00 a.m. sharp. At that time, if you like, you can present your evidence about my slipshod management of the ER. Just be ready to answer the disciplinary board’s questions as well.”

         “Is there anything else… Ma’am?” The honorific was heavily laden with both sarcasm and contempt.

         “No, that’s it for now Doctor.” Marx turned to leave. “Actually wait, there is one other thing.” Angie Swanson pulled a thick binder from the shelf behind her. “Let’s see,” she murmured as she looked in the index. “Yes, here it is.” She opened the binder to a particular section. “Guidelines on disciplinary action and investigation, Section Four, Paragraph Two. ‘All personnel under investigation by the Disciplinary Review Committee, upon being informed of said investigation, will immediately be placed on suspension without pay pending committee hearings and completion of the investigation.’ Accordingly, Doctor Marx, you are now on suspension. You see the committee next Monday morning. You know where the doors are.”

         “Let me see that bullshit.” Swanson sat back as Marx whipped the offending binder around. After reading it several times, he thrust it back at Swanson. “I’ll get you for this,” he yelled. “This is BULLSHIT!!!!”

         “Yes, Doctor Marx, some folks think rules are just that. I don’t happen to be one of them. As I said earlier, you know where the doors are.” To emphasize the point, Swanson opened the door for Marx to leave. “Enjoy your time off. And remember, the disciplinary committee meets at 9:00 a.m. next Monday. It wouldn’t be good to be late.” He stormed out, muttering something under his breath about getting even. Closing her office door, Swanson breathed a sigh of relief that it hadn’t gone any worse.

         Marx stormed though the ER, glowering at every female he saw, even Carrie from Environmental Maintenance. He took Don Drake aside and said, “Watch your ass, Don. These… women… are out to get us. They’ll say and do anything.” Before Drake could reply, Marx stomped out, banging the door open on his way to the parking lot.

         “What the hell was that all about?” Drake asked himself. “Whatever it is, I probably don’t want to know.” Drake went back into room five and his elderly patient, figuring he’d soon learn the reasons behind Marx’s enigmatic warning.