“There you go,” said Leah. “Comfy?”
“Yeah. As comfy as I can be considering the circumstances.”
“Now just stay in bed and call me if you need anything,” Leah playfully scolded. “I can always get the bedside commode. You wouldn’t have to walk so far.
“I hate that damn thing,” Augie said. “Makes me feel like I’m peein’ in public.”
“How do you think I feel?” Colleen chimed in.
“Ha,” Augie said weakly.
Leah adjusted Augie’s pillow and pulled the covers up to her chest. Augie tried to take in a deep breath, but stopped short. “You think they’ll let me have more Morphine than what I’m gettin’ now? This just ain’t doin’ it for me.”
“I’ll check and come back,” said Leah as she went to the sink.
“They can’t say that I’m not in pain this time.”
“I know, honey. I’ll check with the doctor and let you know as soon as I can.” Leah dried her hands and slid between the curtains around Colleen’s bed.
“Your PCA pump is empty, isn’t it?” Leah asked Colleen rhetorically.
“That fucker’s been beepin’ all night,” Colleen said, disgusted. “Sorry. Pardon my French.”
“You wanna use the bedpan again, or do you wanna try to use the commode?”
“Bedpan is fine,” said Colleen. “I don’t feel like gettin’ up just yet. My leg and shoulder… are… killin’ me.”
“I’ll fix that as soon as we get you on the pan.”
“Okay,” said Colleen with a grunt of her own.
Leah put on a fresh pair of gloves and grabbed a bedpan. Colleen leaned to one side and Leah slid it in place. “Cold enough for you?” Leah asked.
“You ain’t a-shittin’ it’s cold,” said Colleen.
“Good thing they stopped using the old metal ones. Here you go.” Leah handed Colleen a large wad of toilet tissue.
Colleen relieved herself as Leah checked the PCA pump and punched a few buttons. The box emitted a long, single beep.
“Will that thing shut up now?” Colleen asked.
“It will only beep when it dispenses medication after I refill it. And when you push the button.”
“Thank you Jesus,” Colleen said with a sigh.
“Don’t bitch,” Augie said loudly. “At least you get more when you want it.”
“I’m finished here,” Colleen said.
Leah removed the bedpan and disappeared behind the curtain again.
“Maybe Doc will let you have more Morphine,” Colleen said.
“Shit,” Augie said. “I’ll be lucky if I can get a fuckin’ Flintstones Chewable in this place. How’d you get so lucky?”
“Well… I’m not a drug seeker like you are.”
“Kiss my ass!” Augie blurted.
The toilet flush echoed loudly. Leah emerged from the bathroom, removed her gloves, washed her hands and turned to Augie. “Do you want me to pull back the curtain now?”
“Please. Let’s see what my smartass roommate looks like.”
“I ain’t nothin’ to look at neither,” said Colleen modestly.
“Well I am!” quipped Augie. “I’m a bee-yootiful princess!”
Leah went to the foot of the bed and pulled the heavy drape to the wall. “And now, let’s see what’s behind curtain number one,” she said. She intentionally pulled the curtain slowly.
“What is this, Deal or No Deal?” Augie blurted. “Just open it!”
Leah whipped the curtain toward the wall, and the girls got their first look at each other.
“You bitch!” Augie shouted.
“Wow,” Colleen said, surprised.
†
Jim sat on the edge of the bed in the small musty room of the Las Gaviotas Motel off the 118 Freeway. The gauze bandage on his left hand was stained a dirty yellowish-brown from the oozing shreds of skin that clung to his palm. He puffed a cigarette as the small window air conditioner drummed noisily against the steady sound of the passing freeway traffic.
The gray smoke stood in light contrast to the sticky wooden paneling that reeked from decades of tar and nicotine. Thin, unpadded maroon carpet covered the floor and was dotted with stains from various untold liquids and cigarette burns.
Jim stared blankly at the small television and ashes dropped silently to the floor as the blonde weather girl spelled out the forecast and continually mispronounced the word “temperature.”
“Jesus Christ!” Jim shouted. “It’s tem-purr-uh-choor, not tem-puh-chur, you stupid bitch!”
The perky blonde continued her mispronunciation, which angered Jim even further. He snatched the glass, tar-encrusted ashtray that teetered precariously on the edge of the bed and hurled it at the old television. Ashes floated in the air and cigarette butts littered the floor as the ashtray missed its mark. The wayward missile hit the paneling with a hollow thud about a foot above its intended target. The dull metal frame that held a picture of seagulls tapped loudly against the dark paneling, and then fell behind the wooden television stand with a crash.
“Fuck it,” Jim said calmly, as if throwing the ashtray were a form of anger management therapy.
The occupants in the next room pounded on the wall and yelled something Jim couldn’t make out. He suddenly stood up and adrenaline shot into his veins. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and he could feel his left hand throb intensely with every heartbeat. His chest and back muscles rippled as he held his breath and neared a rage-like state once again.
“Low profile,” a voice in Jim’s head reminded. “Keep a low profile.”
Jim’s chest rose and fell heavily as he caught his breath. He repeated his brother’s advice over and over in his head. He unclenched his fists and looked down at his left hand, which stung as if a hive of angry hornets had attacked his palm. Fresh blood oozed through the edges of the filthy gauze bandage, and Jim felt a sudden wave of nausea.
†
Colleen and Augie surveyed each other’s injuries from their respective hospital beds.
“You said you were nothing to look at!” Augie chided. “You’re beautiful!”
“Is that a line?” Colleen asked playfully.
“Huh?” asked Augie.
“I mean… I don’t think I can accept a proposal this early in the season.”
“Shee-it. How old are you again?”
“Thirty-two,” said Colleen. I feel like we had this conversation already.”
“We did yesterday. You don’t look thirty-two.”
“And you look like you feel,” said Colleen.
“I look like I feel?”
“Didn’t you say you were twenty-five going on fifty?” Colleen recalled.
“You have a good memory on Morphine,” said Augie. “Do I look fifty to you?”
“I can’t see half of your face,” said Colleen. “You could be John Merrick for all I know.”
“Who’s John Merrick?”
“You know… John Merrick? Never mind. Way before your time. He had a burlap sack over his head so people wouldn’t see his deformed skull. John Hurt played him in the movie. Early eighties, I think.”
“Thanks a lot.” Augie said. “What was the title of the movie?”
“You don’t wanna know,” said Colleen. “That’s… some bandage you got there.”
“Speaking of movies, the Terminator called,” Augie said. “He wants his leg back.”
Colleen let out a sudden belly laugh, followed by Augie, who was cradling her ribs with both arms.
“Don’t make me laugh!” Colleen said with a painful chuckle.
“You started it!” Augie quipped. “Owwww!”
Augie groaned as she struggled to control her raspy giggling. Colleen swallowed hard and tried to catch her breath as she crowed loudly from Augie’s comment.
“You know… what the title… of the movie was?” Colleen asked in a broken sentence between belly laughs.
“What was it?” Augie g
roaned as she tried to hold her breath.
“The Elephant Man!”
“Owww! Stop!”
“Okay… okay,” Colleen said as her laughter slowed to guffaws. “Olly Olly oxen fr—” she started, and then swallowed hard again.
“I haven’t heard that in years,” Augie said as she settled her breathing.
“Am I interrupting your game of kick the can?” a man’s voice called from the open doorway.
Colleen giggled and Augie’s smile suddenly disappeared. Father Francis Jones stood in the doorway and knocked lightly on the heavy wooden door. Augie and Colleen pulled their bed covers to their chins in unison.
“No, sir,” Augie said blankly.
“Good morning, Father,” Leah called from the hallway behind the priest.
“Good morning, Leah.” He said over his shoulder. “I was just paying a visit to the young ladies before breakfast. Sounds like they’re having quite a time in here.”
“We may have to separate them before too long,” Leah said in a happy tone as she slid through the doorway past the elderly clergyman.
“Leah, can you pull the curtain, please?” Augie asked in a sullen voice.
“Sure can, sweetheart,” Leah replied.
Father Jones stood awkwardly in the doorway as Leah pulled the curtain between the two tenants and around the foot of Augie’s bed. She had a small tray in her left hand that contained Morphine and a similar bag of antibiotics, both with white labels. Colleen’s view of the priest was obstructed by the curtain at the foot of Augie’s bed.
“Can I come in, Miss Caldwell?” asked Father Jones.
Colleen closed her eyes and shook her head at the thought of being called Miss Caldwell.
“Sure, but only for a second,” Colleen called from behind the curtain.
“You’ll be sorry,” Augie whispered to Colleen through the thick curtain.
“What?” Colleen whispered back, and then turned her head as Father Jones appeared at the foot of her bed. “What can I do for you, Father?”
“I was going to ask you the same question, actually. I had the nicest visit with Joan yesterday, and I thought I would stop by and say hello.”
“Oh,” said Colleen, who couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“We chatted for a while and she said that you had an unfortunate accident,” said the priest as he moved around the bed to Colleen’s right.
Colleen pulled at the covers and shifted her position away from the approaching priest. Father Jones stopped in his tracks, sensing tension from the beautiful young lady Joan described.
“I’m sorry, Father… I’m not Catholic,” said Colleen coldly.
“That’s okay. I get it all the time,” replied Father Jones. “Do you want me to come back some other time?”
“That’s okay,” Colleen said. “You don’t need to check on me.”
“Fair enough,” said Father Jones.
“My mother will be here about one o’clock this afternoon if you want to see her,” Colleen said, almost in a dismissing tone.
“Sounds good. I’ll drop by then if that’s okay.”
“That’ll be fine,” said Colleen.
“Get better soon, my child,” he said as he turned and headed for the door.
“I will. Thank you, Father,” said Colleen.
Leah stood beside the sink and recorded some numbers on a notepad and waited for the priest to leave the room. Augie sniffled and Colleen sighed heavily as Leah clicked her pen and put it in her pocket. Augie’s PCA pump suddenly beeped the same tone as Colleen’s did when it ran out of Morphine.
“I’ll get that in a couple of minutes, Augie,” Leah said loudly. There was no reply.
Leah stepped quietly around the curtain to Colleen’s side of the room. The medication tray was in her left hand, and a fresh pair of gloves in her right. Colleen adjusted the head of her bed to a slightly flatter position. Leah heard Augie’s bed do the same.
“Time for more of the good stuff,” Leah said as she opened the PCA pump and inserted the Morphine.
“Excellent,” Colleen said with her eyes still closed.
Leah said nothing as she worked the Morphine into position and closed the pump, which made a series of beeps while she punched a few buttons. An uncomfortable silence filled the room.
“There you go,” Leah said. “You can push the button when you want more.”
“Thank you,” said Colleen. “What’s the other bag for?”
“Antibiotic,” answered Leah as she hung the square plastic bag. “I’ll be back in a little while to replace the other one.”
“Okay,” Colleen said as she punched the pain button.
Leah gathered the empty bag and placed it in her tray. She checked the IV tubing one last time before disappearing around the end of the curtain. Colleen heard Leah remove her gloves with a familiar snapping sound, and the plastic liner rustled with a thud as she dropped them in the trash bin.
Leah washed her hands, gathered her things again, and quietly left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. The door latched with a heavy click, and the light that came from the hallway disappeared.
“Augie?” Colleen asked in a calm, quiet tone.
“Yeah?” Augie replied after a few seconds of silence.
“What’s wrong?”
No response.
†
Carlos stood in the middle of the tack room with his notepad in hand and a pencil behind his ear. Several entries were double-underlined, especially the ones that Colleen usually took care of personally, but Carlos felt up to the challenge of the increased workload.
As he paged through the notebook, he drew lines through completed tasks and jotted down new ones for Jesus. The Triple C Ranch was a smooth-running operation before Colleen’s disaster, and Carlos was determined to keep it that way. He knew he could delegate most of his own tasks to Jesus, but he liked the feeling of importance from running the operation rather than contributing to it.
Colleen never made him feel less than important in the past, even though Carlos thought of himself as under-utilized at times. Colleen preferred sharing responsibilities that traditionally rested with a foreman as opposed to letting Carlos do all of the work.
The first time Carlos saw Colleen working on piles of manure was about a week after he moved to the ranch. When the California wildfires destroyed the Double C in October of 2003, Colleen’s father invited Chase to run the day-to-day operations of the Wilson Family Ranch. Joan was invited as bookkeeper and Carlos was hired on as foreman.
Harris Wilson was a thin, wheelchair-bound man in his early seventies who suffered horribly from Parkinson’s disease. He worried constantly about Colleen, who worked too hard and had very little personal life. He worried that ranch work would age his daughter prematurely and take away her essence of womanhood, which is something Harris saw in the horse business far too often.
Carlos, Joan, and Chase were just what Harris needed to save Colleen from becoming just another “horse girl” that looked as if she had been “rode hard and put up wet” as the saying goes.
For the first time since the accident the morning before, Carlos Guzman felt worthy of the tasks before him. He stood in the middle of the tack room and read the first double-underlined entry in his notebook over and over.
†
Leah brought a fresh bag of Morphine for the ailing August Riley. The room was quiet, with the exception of the bells attached to the lanyard that held the Morphine pump key. The bells were about twice the size of Hershey’s Kisses, and three of them were attached to the long burgundy-colored strap.
Leah found the bells annoying and assumed that her patients felt the same way. She approached Augie’s IV pole and opened the gray pump. Augie was laying in the fetal position with the covers pulled over her left shoulder with her eyes open. Tears fell to her pillow.
“We’ll have you fixed up in no time,” Leah said as she worked. “I talked to the doctor, and he said you can also h
ave Tylenol and Ativan every six hours.”
“Ativan makes me groggy, but I’ll take it,” Augie said quietly without moving.
“Do you want the Tylenol?” Leah asked.
“Okay,” Augie replied and sniffed again.
Leah continued her work and thought about Augie’s sudden mood change when Father Jones showed up. She wondered about Augie’s past, but never asked about it. While Leah felt empathetic about situations such as these, she rarely crossed professional lines by getting involved, even though there were times when she felt compelled to do so.
Most of her patients felt a certain level of comfort with her, and some even volunteered information about their afflictions and personal lives. Leah felt that a good nurse knows when it’s appropriate to open their heart to a patient while providing the best nursing care possible.
“I’ll be right back with the Tylenol and Ativan,” said Leah as she finished her work on the pump.
Augie said nothing as the bells attached to the lanyard tinkled loudly in the otherwise quiet room. She heard Augie sniffle again. She hoped that having Colleen as a roommate would help.
“Sounds like a bunch of Salvation Army people around here,” Colleen said softly.
Augie grunted and shifted her position under the covers. She searched for her pain button as the ringing of the bells grew louder, and then suddenly stopped.
“Sounds more like Santa Claus to me,” Augie said in a dull monotone.
“I wonder why they did that,” Colleen said a little louder.
“So nobody runs off with the key,” Augie said in the same monotone.
“What’s so special about it?” asked Colleen.
“The same key opens all of the PCA pumps,” Augie replied with a little more emphasis.
“You mean for the whole hospital?”
“I think so,” said Augie.
Colleen paused for a few seconds and thought carefully about what to say next. “I smell bacon,” she said.
“Yeah, if you wanna call it that,” Augie replied flatly.
Remembering August (Triple C Ranch Saga) Page 11
