by Iona Rose
“Dr Miller, we have a new patient intake in room three. Would you mind taking a look at her?” she says.
“Sure,” I agree. “What’s her story?”
The nurse, Julie, looks down at a piece of paper she is carrying as we walk back down the corridor towards the private rooms at the end of the ward.
“Female, estimated to be in her early to mid thirties. She came in through the emergency room. She’s unconscious but Dr Lowe from the emergency room is confident there is no skull fracture present after taking several x-rays. She has a bruise on her cheek bone and bruises around her neck consistent with being choked. An elderly neighbour heard commotion coming from her place so he called the police and when they arrived, they found the woman unconscious and her house trashed. The police called for an ambulance and she was brought here. The neighbor has told the police her name is Erika Hart and that’s all we know at this time. The police are on standby and we’re to call them when she wakes up and is up to being questioned about what happened to her,” Julie says.
I blow out a low whistle.
“It sounds like she’s been lucky to survive this. The police must have showed up at just the right moment to scare her attacker away,” I comment. “Either that or they thought they had finished the job and left her for dead.”
Julie nods her head.
“Yeah. Judging by the woman’s neck, whoever did this to her meant business,” she agrees.
We reach the room and I knock, just a habit really as I know the woman is unconscious. I open the door a crack and I hear a shrill alarm ringing out from the direction of the nurse’s station. Julie glances down the corridor at the flashing red light indicating a patient is calling for assistance and then she glances at me.
“Go,” I say to her. “I’ve got this.”
She flashes me a grateful smile and hurries off to attend to whoever needs her. I push the door to the patient’s room open a little further and step in. I move towards the bed as the door slowly closes behind me. I pick up the patient’s chart and glance over it. It confirms everything Julie has just told me and nothing more. I didn’t doubt that would be the case. Julie has been a nurse for a long time, and I swear she knows more about medicine than I do and she would never leave out an important detail on a patient’s background when they’re a new admission.
I glance up at the patient. She’s lying on her back. A sheet is pulled up to her chest, her hands neatly folded on top of it. She’s wearing a pink hospital gown. Her eyes are closed, her long eyelashes laid on her cheeks. I am meant to be looking at her neck, but I can’t tear my eyes away from her face for a moment. This woman is gorgeous. Even the bruise on her cheekbone does nothing to diminish from her beauty. In fact, it makes her look vulnerable which somehow makes her even more attractive.
Her skin is pale and her long wavy hair is a natural looking red colour. Other than the bruise on her cheekbone, her face is unblemished, perfect. When I finally manage to tear my eyes away from the woman’s face, I step closer and begin to look over her neck. The sight of the bruises there, obvious finger marks, make me feel sick. I am overwhelmed with a feeling of protectiveness for her, and I know if her attacker was before me right now, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from punching him. I swallow down my anger and gently put my hands on either side of the woman’s neck, feeling for anything out of the ordinary. It all feels normal enough and I ignore the way her skin feels warm and delicious underneath my touch. I ignore the way it makes me feel like my hands are tingling. And I definitely ignore the way it makes my cock pulse with desire.
The woman makes a low moaning sound and her face screws up slightly as I probe at her injured neck. I take some of the pressure off, but I don’t move my hands away fully; not yet. The woman’s eyes open and I find myself looking into emerald green eyes, eyes so bright and vibrant that I want to look into them forever. She smiles at me and her beautiful eyes sparkle as she looks back into my eyes. I return her smile and we just stay that way for a moment, looking at each other.
“Who are you?” the woman whispers after a moment.
Her voice, her words, pull me out of this stupor I have found myself in and I straighten up, taking my hands from the woman’s neck. Somehow, I miss the feel of her skin. I clear my throat, a little embarrassed that I have let myself act like this around a patient. At least her question didn’t sound like she is afraid of me. Instead, she sounded curious, relaxed, like maybe she knew she could trust me. I tell myself I’m being silly and I smile at the woman.
“My name is Dr Miller,” I say. “You’re at Claremont Hospital. Do you remember what happened to you?”
“I … No,” she says, screwing her face up slightly as she tries to remember.
She starts to push herself into a sitting position and I put my hand on her shoulder, gently holding her in place. I feel sparks running through my hand and up my arm where I touch her. She makes a soft gasping sound at my touch and I dare to let myself think that maybe she felt it too.
“Don’t try to sit up just yet,” I say with a smile, ignoring the sensation touching her gives me. “You were unconscious. I just need to check for a concussion.”
I pull a little penlight from the pocket of my white coat and shine it in each of her eyes in turn. The light picks up flecks of gold in the green and I feel my insides stirring, desire flooding me. I force myself to ignore the feelings, concentrating on her pupils. They dilate normally and I smile at her, putting the penlight away.
“Your reaction times are fine,” I smile. “And I would say it’s unlikely you have a concussion, but we’ll keep you in for a while just to be on the safe side. If you start to feel sick or dizzy, let a nurse know immediately.”
She nods her head and I sit down on a chair I pull up to the side of her bed.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Erika. Erika Hart,” she says.
That’s a good sign. She knows who she is. I run through the address details, the date of birth, and the medical history the system had linked to the tentative ID we had been given and everything matches what is on the chart. It doesn’t seem like she’s any the worse for wear for the bang she’s taken on her head. The small cut she sustained has already been stitched and I’m confident that’s the only damage that’s been done to her head.
I run through a few more questions. What year it is, who is the president of the United States. I ask her where she went on her last holiday and she smiles at me.
“Greece. But how will you know if that’s correct or not?” she asks.
“I don’t,” I confess. “But it’s a test to see if you can answer questions quickly or if you have to really think about the answers.”
“So what’s the verdict? Am I broken?” she asks.
“Nope. You’re as good as new,” I say.
She blushes slightly and I feel my heart skip a beat. I can’t let myself be attracted to this woman. It’s unprofessional and she’s been through enough without me coming on to her. I stand up and smile at her.
“One of the nurses will be along shortly to give you some pain meds for your neck. There doesn’t seem to be any real damage done, but it will be sore for a few days until the swelling goes down,” I say.
I head for the door.
“Dr Miller?” Erika says from behind me. She sounds unsure of herself suddenly and when I turn back to her, I see the fear on her face. “What happened to me? And why can’t I remember it?”
I go back to the chair beside her bed. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to be the one to have this conversation with her. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to be the one to tell her that some monster had attacked her in her own home. But I can’t bring myself to walk away from that pleading tone, the scared looking eyes.
“Call me Aidan,” I say, something I always tell my patients. Dr Miller sounds so formal and patients are much more likely to open up to me in a less formal setting. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
She thinks for
a minute and then she nods slowly.
“I was meant to be going out on Saturday night. It is still Saturday right?” she says.
I nod my head.
“Yeah. Six o’clock Saturday night,” I say.
“Right. I was meant to be going out with my best friend. I think it was about four, but I decided to start getting ready. More to pass the time than anything else really. I remember someone knocking on my door. And the next thing I remember is this,” she says. “Was Jennifer early? Did we go out somewhere and have an accident? Is she ok Dr Mill … Aidan?”
Erika’s voice is starting to sound panic filled and I shush her before she can work herself up into a frenzy.
“Your friend wasn’t with you,” I say quickly. “We don’t know who was at your door, but one of your neighbours called the police because he heard a commotion coming from your place. When the police got there, they found you unconscious and the room around you trashed.”
“Someone did this to me?” Erika says, her eyes opening wider.
“Yes. I’m sorry,” I say.
“Who? Why?” she asks.
I wish I could take the fear out of her and make her feel like everything is going to be ok. Instead, I have to settle on the truth.
“I don’t know,” I say. “But the police want to come and talk to you and I’m sure they’ll get to the bottom of it all.”
I wasn’t sure of that at all. How could they have any hope of finding out the truth about who had attacked her when Erika had no memory of what had happened?
“I definitely want to talk to them,” Erika says. “But I don’t know what I’ll be able to tell them. They probably know more about this whole thing than I do.”
“Maybe something they say will trigger something,” I say, not really believing it but wanting to. Whoever did this to Erika needs to be caught and locked away.
“Why don’t I remember the attack?” she asks.
“It could be one of two things,” I say. “Either your mind has blanked out whatever happened because it’s too traumatizing to remember. Or it could be a short term memory loss brought on by your head wound.”
“But the memory will come back right?” Erika says.
“It could,” I say. “But there’s no guarantee it will. The odds are around fifty-fifty.”
“Ok. Thank you,” she says with a smile.
I know she’s not really thanking me. I haven’t told her what she wanted to hear at all. But it’s the thing most patients say to doctors at some point, even when they’re getting bad news. I smile and stand up again.
“If you’re sure you’re feeling up to it, I’ll call the police and tell them you’re ready for them,” I say.
Erika smiles and nods.
“Will you call Jennifer too please? My best friend? She’ll be so worried if she gets to my place and sees the mess and I’m not there,” Erika adds.
“Of course,” I say. I hand her a notepad out of my pocket and give her my pen. “Just write her number down on there.”
Erika takes the pen and paper and flashes me a quick smile and then she scribbles down Jennifer’s number.
“Has anyone called my parents? Do you know?” she asks.
I shake my head. Presumably we do not have any contact info given that we had little ID on her. If they had, it would have been in her chart.
“We like to get a positive ID from the police on people in these circumstances before we call their next of kin. Your neighbor told the police your name and they matched it to the address you were transported from, but we would have needed to be certain before we called anyone. I see we don’t have a number contact for any family yet. If you want to jot the number down I’ll call them now for you,” I say.
“No,” she says quickly. She smiles again. “Ok, that made it sound like we have some deep, dirty family history didn’t it?”
“A little,” I laugh.
“My parents live in Argentina. And that call would do nothing but worry them. They’d insist on flying out here and no amount of me telling them I was fine would stop them. I’m thirty-four, not twelve, and while I appreciate that they would only be doing it because they care, there’s nothing they could do really and I’m ok,” Erika explains.
She’s thirty-four. Her date of birth told me that much of course, but looking at her face, I find it hard to believe all the same. There are no fine lines, no crinkles around her eyes or mouth. If I had had to guess her age, I would have said she was no older than twenty-seven.
“Well at thirty-four, I’d say you’re old enough to make that decision for yourself. Let me just make a note in your chart so no one else notices they haven’t been called yet and wants to make the call.”
I hold my hand out and she looks at me, confused for a moment, and then she realizes she still has my pen. She gives me it along with Jennifer’s number and her fingers brush mine as she does. Her cheeks flush slightly and she looks away from me quickly. She’s definitely feeling the same spark I am feeling, but it doesn’t matter. She’s my patient. Nothing can happen between us.
I grab her chart and write down what she said about not informing her parents of her stay in hospital though she hasn’t provided any number for anyone to do so. I replace her chart. I should leave now, go and call her friend and the police and then get on with my job, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to leave her here alone.
“Can I try sitting up now? I’m really thirsty,” Erika says.
Is she trying to find a reason for me to stay? I hope so, but I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, looking for something that isn’t there and something that I can’t act on even if it is there. I nod my head.
“Slowly,” I say.
I walk around the bed and help her into a sitting position.
“Do you feel dizzy or anything?” I ask.
“No,” she replies.
She starts to reach for the jug of water on the cabinet beside her. I get to it first and pour some water into a plastic cup and hand it to her. She sips the water and makes an “ahh” sound. When she finishes the water, I take the cup back from her and refill it. Her lips are shiny, the water coating them and I feel an urge to lean in and kiss that water off her. I step back quickly before I can do something I will regret.
The door opens and I feel myself blushing red, although I have done nothing to warrant it. I thought about it, but I didn’t actually do it. Erika looks equally flustered as Stacy, one of the nurses, steps into her room. She looks at Erika then at me and then she frowns. God, is it that obvious I was just thinking about kissing a patient?
“There you are,” Stacy says. “Kevin has been looking all over for you.”
“Kevin?” I say stupidly, just relieved she doesn’t seem to have noticed the awkward moment she has disturbed.
“You know, Kevin, one of the nurses?” Stacy says. “Dr Miller are you ok? You seem a little off color.”
“I’m fine,” I say, back under control and cursing myself for not knowing who Kevin was. He’s been a nurse here for a few months. I should know his name. I would have known his name if I wasn’t so consumed by the wetness of Erika’s lips. “What does Kevin want?”
“Mrs Adelman’s scan was scheduled for like ten minutes ago,” Stacy says. “He wants you to, you know, do the scan.”
I smile, a smile that says I have got this.
“Yes of course. I hadn’t forgotten about that.” I am lying. I had forgotten about it. “I was just doing a preliminary exam on Ms Hart and she woke up.”
“I can take over that for you,” Stacy says, nodding to the trolley she’s pulled into the room behind her with the blood pressure cuff, the oxygen monitor and the thermometer.
“Thank you,” I say. “And can you call the police and let them know Ms Hart is ready to talk to them. Also, can you call this number? Ms Hart’s friend was due to be picking her up from home at seven and she needs to know where she is.”
I hand Stacy the paper with the number on it and she nods
. She steps closer to Erika.
“How are you feeling Ms Hart?” she asks.
“Call me Erika,” Erika says with a smile. “Sore but not too bad.”
Stacy starts to apply the cuff to Erika’s arm.
“I can give you some medicine for the pain if you need it. It has been prescribed for you,” she says. She looks up at me. “Dr Miller? The scan?”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” I say, and I rush from the room before I can make myself look any more useless.
Erika
To say the last couple of hours have been strange would be an understatement. First of all, there’s the fact I was attacked brutally enough to leave me with a necklace of bruises and another bruise on my cheekbone. Plus, the cut on my head and the ache inside of my skull, which I have been assured is normal and the painkillers Stacy gave me are helping with that.
I have no idea who attacked me or why. And my memory of the whole thing is just gone. Like I told Dr Miller, Aidan, I remember deciding to go and get ready and then someone knocking on my door. And that’s all I remember until I woke up in hospital. My mind is spinning with questions about the incident. Did the person who knocked on my door attack me? Or was that something innocent and then I did something stupid like forgetting to lock the door and someone came in after that? I know by the clothes in the cabinet beside my bed that I hadn’t showered at the point of being attacked, because the clothes are the same jeans and t-shirt I was wearing on the Saturday afternoon.
And if all of that wasn’t odd enough, then there’s Aidan. I woke up from unconsciousness with no idea what had happened to me or where I was. I woke up to find myself looking into the eyes of a stranger, his hands on my throat. I should have been terrified, but I wasn’t. His touch was gentle, his dark blue eyes were warm and caring, and somehow, I felt safe. When he stepped back and I got a good look at him, for a moment, I thought it was all a dream. It didn’t seem possible that someone so good looking could exist in reality.
