Lady Justice and the Broken Hearts

by Robert Thornhill

  It looked like I had been assimilated by the Borg. If you’re a Star Trek fan, you know what I mean.

  The Borg were a powerful race of humanoids from the Delta Quadrant. If you were captured and assimilated into the Borg collective, cybernetic devices were implanted into your body. This is exactly what happened to Jean-Luc Picard, the captain of the star ship Enterprise. Once assimilated, Captain Picard became known as Locutus.

  Just as these random thoughts were floating through my mind, the technician on duty came into my room.

  I had grown accustomed to the technician’s usual greeting, “Time to check your vitals. Can you tell me your name and birth date?”

  I thought, Oh, hell. Why not?

  “Locutus, Star Date 2366.”

  I saw the puzzled look on her face as she checked her clipboard.

  “Sorry. Walt Williams. 6/12/43.”

  I think she might have given the blood pressure cuff a couple of extra squeezes.

  That afternoon, Evie said it was time to get my ass out of bed. She really didn’t use those words, but that was the gist of her message. The docs wanted me sitting in a chair before the day was over. With all the tubes and paraphernalia hooked to my body, getting me from the bed to the chair was a twenty minute process. It was the first step in my rehabilitation. I would never have guessed that just sitting upright in a chair would give such a feeling of accomplishment.

  Maggie, of course, had been with me all day and finally left after seeing that I was safely tucked into bed.

  I propped up in bed and reached for one of the books I had brought with me. Knowing I would be a guest of St. Luke’s for close to a week, I stocked up on James Patterson novels to get me through the day.

  After reading for about thirty minutes, I started nodding off. I switched off the lights and lowered my bed. Moments later, I was in la-la land.

  Suddenly, I was in uniform and my partner, Ox, and I were on the Country Club Plaza heading to the J.C. Nichols fountain.

  A little piece of me cried out, “Walt, you’re not a cop anymore!”

  Then another voice replied, “This is a dream. Just go with it.”

  I’m sure it must have been the drugs talking.

  Anyway, I went with it.

  The J.C. Nichols fountain, named after the developer of the trendy Plaza, was a favorite gathering place for a whole gamut of people.

  With the fountain in the middle and the lights of the Plaza across the street, it was a great spot for lovers to walk together hand-in-hand.

  The spacious grounds surrounding the fountain also provided the perfect spot for demonstrators to gather to proclaim the virtues of their latest cause.

  As we approached, we saw Officer Dooley and his partner leading a small group of men across the park.

  “What’s up, Dooley?” Ox asked.

  “Taking these guys in,” Dooley replied. “Vagrancy and practicing medicine without a license.”

  I looked at the group. There were thirteen of them and they were all wearing long brown robes tied at the waist with a section of rope. They reminded me of the reverend that performed our wedding ceremony on Maui.

  Just then, Dooley’s radio crackled. “Officer Dooley, there has been a robbery and an abduction at 39th and Main. The perp says he’ll only talk to you.”

  “Crap!” Dooley said, looking at the robed figures. “Can you guys handle this?”

  “Sure,” Ox replied. “Take off.”

  I looked at the guy in front who seemed to be in charge. “So what’s your name and what’s your story? Dooley says you’re vagrants.”

  “You can call me J.C.,” he said with a warm smile. “As for the vagrancy thing, if you look up the definition, Mr. Webster says that a vagrant is one who has no established residence and wanders idly from place to place without lawful or visible means of support. I had just told the other officer that in my Father’s house are many mansions and he has prepared a place for me, but he wasn’t inclined to listen.”

  “Yes,” I replied. “That sounds like Dooley. J.C. huh? As in Nichols? Like the fountain?”

  “No, just a coincidence. However, we do bring a message, and when a believer speaks in love and truth, his words are a spiritual fountain of life.”

  “So what’s with this practicing medicine without a license charge? Are you guys peddling drugs?”

  “No, quite the contrary. We are peddling salvation to those who would believe.”

  Just then, a man hobbled up on crutches. “Master, can you help me?”

  “What would you have me do for you?”

  “Master, that I may walk again.”

  J.C. turned to the twelve men, raised his hands like a choir director and gave them the downbeat. I was astonished when I heard a chorus of Operator, one of my favorite songs by The Manhattan Transfer.

  Operator

  Give me in-forrrr-ma-tion

  Give me looooong dis-tance

  Give me heaaaa-ven

  (Two-three)

  Operator

  Information

  This is J.C. on the line

  Operator

  Information

  I’d like to speak to a friend of mine.

  When the song was over, he laid his hands on the man. “Thy faith has saved you.”

  The man tossed his crutches aside and walked away.

  Needless to say, I was impressed.

  It gave me an idea.

  “Listen, J.C., I have this thing going on with my heart. Any chance you could help me out here?”

  He smiled. “You remind me of another guy wanting a miracle. A religious man is on top of a roof during a great flood. A man comes by in a boat and says ‘get in, get in!’ The religious man replies, ‘no, I have faith in God. He will grant me a miracle.’

  “Later the water is up to his waist and another boat comes by and the guy tells him to get in again. He responds that he has faith in god and god will give him a miracle. With the water at about chest high, another boat comes to rescue him, but he turns down the offer again because God will grant him a miracle.

  “With the water at chin high, a helicopter throws down a ladder and they tell him to get on. Mumbling with water in his mouth, he again turns down the request for help. He arrives at the gates of heaven with broken faith and says to Peter, ‘I thought God would grant me a miracle and I have been let down.’ St. Peter chuckles and responds, ‘I don't know what you're complaining about, we sent you three boats and a helicopter.’"

  “I don’t get it,” I replied.

  “Think about it. We already sent you the finest surgeon in the city, an anesthesiologist, and a whole staff of wonderful nurses. What more do you want?”

  At that moment, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Mr. Williams, it’s time to check your vitals. Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?”

  I was disoriented for a moment, but then I thought of J.C.’s words in my dream. “No, I’m fine. I really couldn’t ask for anything more.”

  The next morning, Evie was back on duty.

  “Guess what? Today you get your tubes out. You’ll feel so much better when they’re gone.”

  I thought about the three things sticking out of my chest and, once again, my hiney puckered. Surely, they’d put me to sleep for that.

  “Let’s do this,” she said, enthusiastically, lifting my hospital gown.

  “You mean --- like --- right now!”

  “Yep! Right now. Here’s what I want you to do. I’ll count to three. When I say ‘three,’ you take a deep breath and hold it. Got it?”

  I nodded, reluctantly.

  “One, two, three!”

  I took a breath and she ripped.

  “See, nothing to it,” she said, holding up a tube that looked like the one I used as a kid to syphon gas out of my parent’s car.

  I was shocked. It didn’t hurt even a little bit.

  “One down, two to go.”

  When all three were out, she said, “Okay, now let’s ge
t rid of that nasty catheter.”

  She grabbed Mr. Winkie and after another three count, gave a pull.

  There’s just no such thing as dignity in the I.C.U.!

  After she left the room, I gave Mr. Winkie a closer look. The poor guy had a black eye!

  Evie was right. After the tubes were gone, I did feel better. My appetite returned and I was able to chow down on the wonderful hospital food.

  That afternoon, Evie popped in. “How about a walk?”

  I had been sitting in my chair. It was much easier to maneuver with all the tubes gone.

  “Sure, why not?”

  She helped me to my feet and tied my gown in back so my ass wouldn’t hang out and scare the visitors roaming the hall.

  She rolled a grocery cart into the room and told me to hang on while I walked. I took a few wobbly steps and soon I was motoring down the hall.

  Another small victory in my rehabilitation process.

  When we were finished and I was back in bed, Evie asked, “How’s your pain? Give me a number between one and ten.”

  Actually, I had been surprised. In light of what had been done to me, I figured I’d be on a morphine drip for days, but just the opposite was true. When I was still, there was no pain at all, and the only time my incision hurt was when there was some abrupt movement.

  “No pain, really,” I replied. “The only time it hurts is when I cough, sneeze, burp, laugh or fart. Come to think of it, there really isn’t any pain when I fart.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Maggie said, doing the gag thing with her finger down her throat.

  Evie grinned. “So, do you want pain medication or not?”

  “I’ll pass,” I replied, remembering the weird dream from the night before. “The meds make me groggy and upset my stomach. I’ll be fine.”

  That evening was a carbon copy of the day before. Maggie left after tucking me in for the night. I read until I started dozing off, turned off the lights and drifted away.

  CHAPTER 11

  The next morning, I was greeted with great news. After three days in I.C.U., I was being moved to a regular patient room on the 5th floor.

  My new accommodations were every man’s dream. Comfy bed, satellite TV with HBO, private bath, and all I had to do to get my choice of food was pick up the phone. On top of that, nurses and technicians were at my beck and call to take me for a walk or help me to the john.

  Too bad my chest had just been cracked open. My physical limitations kind of put a damper on enjoying my new digs.

  There was even a little alcove for Maggie. It had a couch that pulled out into a bed and she even had her own private TV.

  My nurse was a young lady named Marcie.

  It wasn’t long before I figured out the pecking order in the hospital. Sometime during the morning, a doctor would appear followed by a group of underlings who were probably students. It was never the same doctor twice. I had no idea who they were. They certainly weren’t my doctors. They would come in with my chart and expound on my condition and treatment. That would last about ten minutes and they were gone.

  You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to see that the RN’s were the real workhorses. They dispensed the meds, changed the dressings, emptied the bedpans, gave the sponge baths, and they did it all with a cheerfulness and grace that warmed my healing heart every time they came into my room.

  I had noticed that most of the RN’s were young women between twenty-five and thirty-five years old.

  I couldn’t help but marvel at their stamina. They each worked a twelve hour shift, seven in the morning until seven in the evening, and seven in the evening until seven the next day. I also noticed that roughly an hour before each shift change, the two nurses would meet to go over my progress for the day. That meant that each of them were putting in over 13 grueling hours every day --- and they did it with a smile.

  By this time, I was feeling pretty peppy and my goal was to get out of the hospital as quickly as possible. I started walking as much as I dared, at first with Marcie hanging onto a belt around my waist. Later on, after proving I wasn’t going to fall on my butt, I was able to walk with Maggie.

  There was also another milestone, my first shower. On the second night after my surgery, a male nurse had given me a sponge bath in bed. Now that I was ambulatory, I could walk into the shower and bathe like a normal person.

  Marcie turned on the water and when she was satisfied that the temperature was right, she walked me into the stall under Maggie’s watchful eye.

  I tested the temperature myself and found it to be perfect. I turned, expecting Marcie to step out of the bathroom, but she wasn’t budging. I gave her a quizzical look and she simply replied, “You just had open heart surgery four days ago. There’s no way in hell I’m leaving you alone on this slick floor.”

  I could see immediately that it was pointless to argue, so I slipped out of my gown and stood there buck nekkid under the shower with Maggie and Marcie looking on.

  There’s just no such thing as dignity on the 5th floor.

  The rest of the day was uneventful. I walked again, sat in my chair reading James Patterson, and had a decent supper of tortilla crusted tilapia with mashed potatoes and gravy.

  About six-thirty, Marcie came in and introduced me to Kim, who would be my nurse during the evening shift.

  It was seven-forty-five by the time Marcie Malone climbed into her car and headed home. It had been a long, but satisfying day. One of her patients, eighty-nine-year-old Malcom McCloud, who had suffered a massive heart attack had shown signs of improvement. Beatrice, his eighty-eight-year-old wife who was not in the greatest of health herself, had remained steadfastly at his bedside since the day he had been admitted.

  She had been assigned a new patient, Walt Williams, who had just had a mitral valve repaired. She liked the old guy. He had a great sense of humor and was always clowning around with her. She couldn’t help but smile when she remembered the look on his face when she wouldn’t leave him alone in the shower.

  Yes, it had been a good day. This was exactly the kind of day she had envisioned when going through the grueling years of college, nursing school and clinicals.

  As rewarding as the day had been, she was dog tired as she climbed the stairs to her apartment which she shared with Jason, her boyfriend.

  “Hi Babe,” Jason said, meeting her at the door and taking her coat. “I’ve missed you.”

  He took her hand and led her to the living room. The reflection of the flames of two candles flickered on glasses of amber liquid on the coffee table.

  “I got a bottle of your favorite wine today,” he said. “I thought it might be just the thing after a long, hard day.”

  Marcie looked at the romantically staged scenario and tried her best to hide her disappointment. It was obvious that Jason was feeling amorous and it was pretty clear how he wanted the evening to end.

  She couldn’t help but feel guilty. Most girls would be thrilled to come home and find their lover had planned a romantic evening, and she, too, would have been thrilled if it had not been on one of her days at the hospital. She found it extremely difficult to get in the mood after spending twelve hours emptying bed pans and barf bags and standing in the shower with scrawny old men.

  Jason just didn’t get it. They had been down this road many times, and each time it hadn’t ended well and they had gone to bed angry.

  Marcie was conflicted as she considered her options. Should she submit to his demands or stand her ground and hope he would finally understand how she truly felt. It only took a moment for her to make up her mind. If this relationship was going to survive, Jason had to respect her situation and not make selfish demands.

  “That’s really sweet of you,” she said, picking up the glass. “This is just what I need. A glass of wine, a hot shower and I’ll be ready to zonk out.”

  She could sense his frustration, and instantly, the look in his eyes changed from loving and pleading to something much darker
. “That’s it? I buy you wine and plan a special evening together and all I get is a ‘that’s sweet’ and ‘I’ll see you in the morning?’

  “Please don’t do this, Jason. It’s late, I’m really beat and I have to be up at five in the morning. One more day and then I’ll have three days off. We can spend as much time together as you want.”

  “But I wanted you tonight,” he pouted. “I just don’t get it. Every week you have these horrible thirteen hour days and it’s like you’re not even here. You’re gone when I get up and you’re ready to crash when you get home. I don’t know why you won’t consider Dr. Trimble’s offer. You could work in his clinic and have normal hours and we could have a life.”

  Jason just wouldn’t give up. Ever since he found out that Dr. Trimble had offered her a position, he had hounded her to take the job, but it just wasn’t her cup of tea. She had gone to the clinic to have a look. It was a medical merry-go-round. The waiting room was crammed with people, many of whom had been waiting an hour or more to get five minutes with the doctor. To her, it was like a cattle drive, ‘head ‘em up, move ‘em out.’

  In the cardiac wing, she had two or maybe three patients. It was quiet and she could use the skills that she had acquired to really make a difference in people’s lives.

  “I’m sorry, Jason. That’s just not what I want. I’m happy with my work at the hospital and I care about you. I just hope you care enough about me to understand.”

  “I understand, all right,” he said, gulping his wine and stalking off to the kitchen.

  After her shower, she climbed into bed alone. Jason had taken his pillow and a blanket to the couch.

  Another night of going to bed angry. Another night with a broken heart. She finally nodded off to sleep, but not before her pillow was damp with her tears.

  It was two in the morning and I was wide awake. I had zonked out right after the ten o’clock news, but I had awakened hours later bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Having earned the privilege of getting to my chair by myself, I was sitting up reading when Kim came in to check my vitals.