Doctors at Risk

by Alison Roberts

  She had seen this car before, she was sure of it.

  It was black, low-slung with a muffler large enough to advertise that the driver was probably a young male on an ego trip. It was the kind of car you could see a dozen times if you were out on a favourite cruising night like a Friday. It would be indistinguishable from the others unless you knew the registration number—or it had had a front door replaced, as this one had. The door must have come from a wrecker’s yard, so maybe the owner was not financially well off. Maybe that was also why it hadn’t been repainted to match the rest of the car. Or did its owner think that dark blue was a close enough match to black?

  Wendy reversed her car carefully. It wasn’t so much that she wanted to avoid damage to either vehicle but because she wanted to avoid getting any streak of black on her own car. She had a horrible feeling that when she remembered where she had previously seen the black sports car it wasn’t going to be any help in shaking off the shadow of paranoia stalking her. It had been there for weeks now. Ever since that first silent phone call at work. No. Ever since that first anonymous bunch of flowers had been delivered.

  Turning the front wheels and accelerating to leave the car park was a relief. Ticking off the incidents that had occurred in the last two months was not. Any one of them could have been dismissed as relatively insignificant in its own right, but stacked up together they made Wendy reconsider her decision to ignore them. She felt safe enough at work, of course, and now that the locks and alarm system were installed she was happy enough to spend time at home. It wasn’t as if there was much else in her life right now, was there? Wendy took a quick glance in her rear-view mirror, half-fearful she might find her car being tailed having broken her routine to go out socially. The empty road behind her mocked her fear and Wendy smiled ruefully.

  She was perfectly safe. She could look after herself. The smile reappeared as Wendy stopped for a traffic light and watched a group of joggers cross the road. At least with all the training she was doing she could probably outrun any pursuer. The light turned green but Wendy was oblivious.

  That was where she had seen that car. It had been parked at the bottom of the hill the other day when she’d gone for a long run up the Dyers Pass road. Someone had been in the car as she’d passed going uphill. The car had been empty when she’d come down again. When had she noticed the runner using the same route? Not until she’d been halfway up the hill at least. She’d—

  The blast of the horn behind made Wendy jump in fright. She moved off with a jerk and an apologetic wave to the driver who’d been held up. She tried to concentrate on her driving and it wasn’t until the cramp in her hands became uncomfortable that she realised how tightly she was gripping her steering-wheel. She took a deep breath. It could still be a coincidence. It might not even be the same car, and if it was, a lot of people might drive to the hills and then park in order to do a more challenging run. There had been dozens of people at that vineyard and she hadn’t noticed any stranger staring in her direction. Kyle’s infatuation was familiar enough to be easily dismissed. And he drove an old maroon Volkswagen Beetle. She had seen him get into it the day she and Ross had gone to the outdoor adventure shop.

  Still, seeing the black car had simply capped what now appeared to have been a disastrous outing. As a means of brightening her mood and aiding her resolution to move on with her life, it really hadn’t worked at all.

  It wasn’t working as well as he had hoped it would.

  For over a week now Ross had punished himself physically as much as he ever had in his able-bodied life. The effort he had put in, the sweat and the pain were reminiscent of the gruelling Coast to Coast race he had entered only last year. The goals he was striving towards now bore little resemblance to crossing mountain passes or dealing with treacherous river currents and he had no one to compete with other than himself, but the effort was just as great.

  He was succeeding, too. Sally was impressed by the hours he was insisting on spending in the well-equipped gymnasium and astonished at the progress he had made in the last few days. His upper-body strength was as good as it had ever been. Probably better. He frequently lost count of the repetitions he could do lifting weights that Sally struggled to attach to the various pieces of equipment. Self-transfers to a toilet or bed were no problem now. Ross could dress and wash himself and had just about ticked every box on the check list for advanced wheelchair skills. He could backwheel balance for negotiating rough ground and kerbs, jump the chair sideways to manoeuvre in a tight space and lift the chair in and out of a car unaided.

  The driving lesson this week had been a piece of cake as soon as Ross had made the mental shift from trying to use his lower body. The session on the tilt table had been less of a pleasant experience, with Ross experiencing hypotensive symptoms of dizziness and nausea as he’d come close to an upright position, but his consultant had been happy enough.

  ‘You’ll get there in no time. We’ll have you standing in a frame within the next week or so and then we can get you really moving with some callipers and crutches.’

  ‘No.’ Ross shook his head. ‘There’s no way I’m using callipers.’

  ‘Even if walking is just for exercise, it’s important. Regular standing is vital to prevent contractures and minimise osteoporosis.’

  ‘I’m going to walk unaided,’ Ross said quietly. ‘Or not at all.’

  The second tilt table session was without problems but Ross had an argument with Sally about callipers. Patrick Miller was despatched to have a word with him about his potentially damaging declaration.

  ‘I really admire the way you’re pushing yourself, Ross, but don’t forget this is going to take time.’

  Ross muttered a grudging agreement. He couldn’t tell Patrick that he felt like he was working to a deadline here. Friendship wasn’t going to be enough to keep Wendy in his life. She had taken a distinct step away after that conversation they’d had when he’d made it clear marriage was no longer an option, and throwing himself into the challenge of forcing new strength and movement into his limbs hadn’t prevented Ross from realising how devastating it was going to be to let her go completely. If there was some chance of real recovery then Ross was going to make it happen. Sooner rather than later. If all his efforts failed in letting him reach his new goal of walking out of this hospital without any ironmongery holding him up then he would, finally, be able to accept a life without the woman he loved.

  ‘It’s quite possible that you will be able to walk again one day, Ross, but none of us can give you a prediction on how long that might take.’

  ‘I’ve got almost normal sensation in my legs now. I can move my feet and knees. All I need is to develop strength and control.’

  ‘And you’re doing all the right things to achieve that. Apart from gait training. Sally tells me you’re not keen to get measured up for callipers.’

  ‘Would you be, Paddy?’

  ‘Point taken,’ Patrick said sombrely. ‘But you know as well as I do what the reasoning is. Have a think about it.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ Ross sighed heavily. ‘I do realise that if there’s no chance of walking without them I’ll have to change my mind, but I’m not ready to go down that path just yet.’

  Patrick nodded, satisfied for now. ‘Have you been told you’re on the list for a rehabilitation unit next week?’

  Ross nodded. ‘It’ll be a bit of a shock to have to cook for myself again.’

  ‘Do you feel ready to try managing alone for a few days?’

  ‘Yes.’ Ross was more than ready. And not just to try cooking for himself.

  His body was repairing itself but Ross had to know just how far he was likely to get. He knew it was quite possible that he could regain full sensation and reasonable movement and still never be able to support his body in an upright position. Nobody could tell him what the outcome was going to be. Incomplete spinal lesions were as individual as their sufferers. Ross doubted that anyone else in his position had ever been
quite this determined to succeed, however. So determined that he had convinced himself that part of his problem could simply be a psychological block. If he pushed himself just that bit harder he might break through whatever barrier was holding him back.

  It had been almost two months since his injury now. His fractures were virtually healed. His neurological recovery was better than some had predicted but it still wasn’t enough. He was going to lose Wendy. Maybe he should have agreed to go to the vineyard last night. He had seen the look in her eyes when he’d refused to discuss it. Wendy had simply given up on trying to persuade him. She was giving up on him.

  Maybe it was desperation that prompted him now as he sat on his bed, staring at the waiting wheelchair. Sally would be back from answering her phone call any second now. The curtains around the other beds would be drawn back as his roommates completed their early morning ablutions. He was as alone as he could hope to be, but not for long. Ross wasn’t sure precisely what his intentions were until he leaned to one side and pushed his locker far enough away to leave a calculated gap. His hand gripped the rail at the end of his bed as he used his other hand to help his legs move. Then he was sitting on the side of his bed, his feet dangling only an inch or two from the floor. If he continued holding the rail and leaned on his locker with the other hand he would be able to stand.

  He’d tried it in the gym only yesterday between two rails, and he had been sure the connection between his brain and his legs had somehow been reactivated. Excitement had kept him awake for a long time last night and here was the perfect opportunity to test the theory. With no medical supervision and no chair to flop back into, he would have to manage on his own. And he could, he was sure of it.

  His hand touched and gripped the locker the instant after his feet touched the floor. Ross could feel the weight of his body resting on his legs as he gradually decreased the share his arms were supporting. Then he held his breath and let go. A second passed. And then another. He was standing. Then Ross felt his legs crumpling and any plan he’d had to save himself by using his upper-body strength evaporated as the locker tipped away from his grip. Dimly Ross heard the crash as the locker toppled.

  And then everything went black.

  The crash was heard as far away as the ICU. Wendy looked up, startled, and met Peter’s surprised gaze.

  ‘Go and see what that was,’ he urged Wendy. ‘I’ll hold the fort here.’

  And so Wendy was among the medical team that dealt with the unconscious form of Ross Turnball, sprawled beside his bed in the corner of Room 2.

  ‘Did anyone see what happened?’ John arrived at the same moment as Wendy. Sally and Debbie were already beside Ross. Sally was standing, shaking her head in response to the registrar’s query. Debbie was crouching, her hand on Ross’s wrist.

  ‘Good radial pulse,’ she reported. ‘Airway’s clear and his breathing’s fine.’

  ‘Oh, God!’ Wendy stared at the pale, still face of the man lying on the floor, his legs twisted, one hand flung outwards with its palm upturned as though in mute appeal. Debbie’s words of reassurance that Ross was alive and breathing had not yet been registered by Wendy’s brain, still grappling with the dreadful fear that she had just irretrievably lost the man she loved. The firm grip on her shoulder stopped the mental spin. Patrick’s voice was calm.

  ‘Let’s do a straight lift and get him back on the bed. Sally, push the bed over there to give us some room. Debbie, you take his head. Wendy, you look after his feet and John and I will do the rest. Ready?’ He waited another few seconds as the staff finished positioning themselves. ‘OK. One…two…three…Lift!’

  Ross was stirring as they laid him on the bed. ‘At least he’s wearing his collar and brace,’ Patrick observed. ‘I don’t think he will have done himself too much damage.’

  ‘But what could have happened?’ Wendy still had her hands on Ross’s feet. ‘Oh, no,’ she murmured as she looked down. ‘This ankle’s starting to swell.’

  ‘I’ll get some ice.’ Sally looked relieved to find something useful she could do. Nobody noticed her departure, however, because Ross opened his eyes at that point and groaned softly.

  Wendy stepped forward automatically and laid her hand on Ross’s head as she leaned close. ‘It’s OK, Ross,’ she said softly. ‘We’re here now.’

  Ross could feel the touch of her hand. He focussed on the amazing depth of blue in the gaze fastened on his and he could feel the depth of concern, the love that was still there for him.

  ‘What…happened?’

  ‘That’s what we’d like to know.’ John was lifting the locker upright. ‘Somehow you seem to have fallen off your bed. Looks like you knocked yourself out on your locker.’ He stepped closer. ‘How’s the head?’

  ‘Hurts a bit,’ Ross admitted.

  ‘Do you know what day it is?’ Patrick queried.

  ‘Friday.’

  ‘And the time of day?’

  ‘Early.’ Ross closed his eyes. ‘Last time I looked it was about 8 a.m. Sally had just arrived.’

  ‘I was only gone for a minute.’ Sally had an ice-pack in her hands. ‘I had to answer my pager. Ross was sitting up…he was going to show me his wheelchair transfer when I got back.’

  ‘It’s not really far enough to fall to get KO’d.’ Patrick was frowning. ‘Were you feeling unwell, Ross?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’ Ross was trying to think of a plausible explanation for the accident. He couldn’t admit that he’d been trying to stand—desperately attempting to find a real belief that he was going to conquer this rehabilitation. A belief that would allow him to invite Wendy back into his life without the death knell to their relationship that he felt disability sounded. And all he had done was provide the ultimate proof that, at least in the foreseeable future, his quest was hopeless.

  The pain John provoked as he explored the lump on the side of his head was nothing compared to the pain of finally giving up that last shred of hope.

  ‘No obvious fracture,’ the registrar observed. He shone a torch in Ross’s eyes. ‘Pupils equal and reactive. Any pain in your neck or back, Rossi?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘This ankle certainly needs an X-ray,’ Patrick said. ‘And we’ll have to check your neck and back.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you remember what happened yet, Rossi’

  ‘I was going to surprise Sally and meet her out by the office.’ Ross avoided meeting anyone’s gaze directly. Particularly Wendy’s. This was going to sound pathetic but it didn’t really matter any more, did it? ‘I guess I tried to do things too quickly. I remember leaning on the locker to get the wheelchair into position and then…I fell.’

  There was a moment’s silence and Ross had the uncomfortable impression that Patrick, at least, had guessed he wasn’t telling the truth. Maybe Wendy had as well. Risking a very brief moment of eye contact, he could detect puzzlement and a sadness that would be easy to interpret as pity. His gaze flicked towards Patrick who gave a brief nod, clearly accepting the only explanation he knew he was likely to get.

  ‘Let’s get you to Radiology and see what the real damage is.’

  But Ross already knew what the real damage was and he had to avoid looking at Wendy as he was wheeled away. It would be unbearable to see that look in her eyes again. The acceptance that he wasn’t the person she had fallen in love with. That he was now someone to feel sorry for.

  The X-rays seemed to take a long time and the ward was humming with activity by the time Ross was pushed back, still on his bed. There was another wait while Patrick and John examined the plates before coming to see him. Surprisingly, Wendy accompanied the two doctors.

  ‘You’ve been lucky,’ Patrick told Ross. ‘In fact, your neck’s looking good enough for you to move to a soft collar, which should make life a lot more tolerable.’

  ‘Can I get rid of the back brace as well?’

  ‘One step at a time.’ Patrick smiled. ‘Though I have to say those fractures have healed nicely as well. There�
��s no sign of any real damage to your head. The CAT scan’s clear. How’s it feeling?’

  ‘Bit of a headache.’

  ‘You can rest today and we’ll be keeping a close eye on you.’ Patrick frowned. ‘The main problem’s going to be that ankle. It’s a nasty sprain and it’s going to set your programme back for a few days. We’ll need to—’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Debbie poked her head through the gap in the curtains. ‘Wendy, there’s a phone call for you.’

  ‘Can you take a message?’ Wendy looked embarrassed at interrupting the consultation.

  ‘I think you should take it. It’s Dave somebody. From USAR? He said it’s urgent.’

  Patrick blinked. ‘You’d better take the call, Wendy. Maybe someone’s blown up another shopping mall.’

  ‘Doubt it.’ But Wendy left swiftly.

  Ross was only half listening to Patrick as he talked about the treatment his ankle would need and that he hoped Ross wasn’t disappointed that they would have to postpone his motel unit stay for at least a week. He was waiting, hoping Wendy would return. Why would Dave Stewart ring urgently unless there was a USAR callout? An activation of expert personnel that he could—should have been part of.

  Wendy looked too calm to have just received a code blue activation when she appeared a minute later, but Ross could see that any hint of sadness had been wiped from her expression. Her focus was a long way from him right now.

  ‘I’ve been called in,’ she told Patrick quietly. ‘Believe it or not, you were right. There’s been an explosion in another shopping mall. In Dunedin this time.’

  ‘Good grief. How are you going to get there?’

  ‘They’re making space available on a commercial flight. I’ve got just over an hour to get to the airport.’

  ‘You’d better get moving, then.’

  ‘I’m not sure I should go. I haven’t done anything about arranging cover for anything like this. Peter’s coping in ICU at the moment but—’

  ‘I’ll see to that. You get going,’ Patrick ordered. ‘And good luck!’