Coming In Hot Box Set

by Gina Kincade

  “The kid from d’Italia delivering your order found you and called 911. He saved your life, Brianna. He acted quickly and opened your airway giving you mouth-to-mouth until the EMTs arrived. He had blood all over his face and clothes. At first the police thought he had something to do with the assault, but it soon became clear he didn’t. He’s waiting outside, too.”

  “I can’t remem…” and she drifted back out.

  When Brianna woke again, she was in a lot of pain and still in the ER. She was hooked up to a hundred different machines whose purring, beeping and muted whir sounded comforting. She was parched, so thirsty she thought her lips had cracked. She learned much later that her lips were split from getting a smack down. She really didn’t remember anything and really didn’t want to remember anything that made her hurt like this.

  She must have moaned when the blood pressure cup inflated, pinching her arm. It beeped rhythmically as it measured her vitals.

  The nurse came over to her and checked her reading, her pupils, the saline drip and injected something in the tube port. She felt lightheaded almost immediately. She never did drugs so any were foreign to her sense of well-being. She even struggled to take aspirin. Pretty counter-intuitive for someone who disregarded and disabused their own body as she. This time she had gone too far. That ragged edge she teetered upon raised its ugly head and attacked. This was a close call. It may still be. She had no idea what her condition actually was. She didn’t seem to care…

  “Ms. Denton, is there someone I can call for you?”

  “Someone…?”

  “Yes, a relative or husband—a boyfriend, perhaps—or girlfriend, neighbor?”

  “My sister…Tatianna…”

  “Nurse, tell the police she has a sister named Tatianna, presumed same last. Maybe they will find something in her apartment with an address and phone. Go!”

  “Yessir…” and one of the nurses darted out of the ER room.

  “Miss Denton, your sister Tatianna…where can we find her?”

  “Dead…they’re all dead. No. No, thank you. I’m sure I’ll be fine. Won’t I?”

  “Yes, ma’am, you will. It is going to take a while and perhaps some physical therapy, but, you’ll be good as new. You’re young and in good health. This was brutal, and you will recover one hundred percent. I promise. Now, who is dead? Who is ‘all’?”

  “Thank you, nurse. Thank you, thank yo...” The patient drifted back out.

  The team labored over the struggling patient for several hours. Clearly, she’d been brutally attacked and her injuries were significant. She had a ruptured spleen, broken ribs, a punctured lung, a broken wrist. Her head appeared to have been stomped upon and her throat nearly crushed. There was still a bloody footprint on the left side of her neck. She had severe defense wounds and broken fingers on her right hand. She’d put up quite a fight.

  Once stabilized, she was moved to x-ray where she underwent an MRI then was returned to a bed in the ICU to begin the long dark journey of recovery.

  “Let me get you some ice to wet your mouth,” Nurse Wholper said quietly to the just awakening Brianna in ICU.

  “I have it, Nurse Wholper,” said the man in the crisp white coat who had just entered the room.

  “Thank you, Dr. James. I just gave her Dilaudid. She’ll probably be out soon, again.”

  “Thank you, Susan. I have her now.”

  “Yes, sir. Ring if you need me.”

  “Thank you, Nurse Wholper.”

  Dr. James reached for Brianna’s wrist and took her pulse. Slow, but steady. A clear side effect of the Dilaudid. She needed all the rest and sleep she could get so she could get better, outdistance her pain. Keeping her sedated for the first few days was generally a good idea until they had a handle on her level of pain tolerance and the development of any additional symptoms. He recorded her pulse and BP on her chart from his iPad then listened to her chest as she breathed.

  There was fluid building. He made a note to watch her kidney functions and respiration. That would dissipate when he could get her into therapy and moving around. That might be a few weeks while her ribs healed and her fractured pelvis mended along with everything else. The man, or men, that did this to her must have worn steel-toed boots and kicked her repeatedly in the abdomen to have left her with a fractured pelvis. It was fractured in the sense that one of the muscles attached by tendons tore away from the bone and pulled a layer of bone fragment off of it. Luckily for Brianna, it was not broken on the through and through and would heal without residual long-term effect. She would return to normal over time and be able to live a full life.

  Dr. James rubbed some ointment over her swollen lips to keep them moist while she slept.

  Her chest raised and lowered rhythmically. The good doctor sat and watched his patient for several minutes longer until he received a page with another new emergency. He would be back to check on her as often as he could get away.

  “Please keep a close eye on her, Nurse Wholper. I hear fluid building in her lungs.”

  “Yes, Doctor. I’ll page you if anything develops with her condition.”

  He took another quick look at her. The beauty that was once her face was masked in swelling, bandages and black and blue marks and cuts with stitches. She had a butterfly bandage holding her lower lip together. Those were the lips that were on his neck in Blu Balls just the night before…Those were the lips she would not let him kiss.

  ***

  Having her so close now meant he could keep a close eye on her recovery and help her. He wanted to help her. He needed to help her. He had watched her for weeks.

  And now, she was here in such a way he never expected. They had been forced to induce a Level Three coma while she healed and they assessed her recovery. Fluid built up on her brain and the neurologist had taken her into surgery and drilled holes in her cranium to relieve the pressure from the swelling of her brain. If that didn’t work, they may be forced to pull out a plate, part of her skull, and remove it until the swelling reduced.

  The pulmonologist inserted a drain tube into her lungs and drained the fluid buildup from her lungs. He ordered a special oxygen therapy administered through the respirator they were forced to put her on while she was in the coma. Through her breathing tube, they treated the fluid buildup and cross treated for pneumonia.

  Her other injuries were serious, but not life-threatening. The breaks in the bones would mend, the bruises would fade and the splits in her skin would grow back together and heal.

  But he was afraid her secrets never would.

  One week passed, then two.

  She began to breathe on her own so the respirator was removed but they had to remove a portion of her skull. With part of her cranium removed, to be replaced later, her brain would have an area to swell without causing permanent damage to her functionality.

  Brianna needed him to help her, although she didn’t know it.

  Her recovery was slow and so noted in the third week.

  He couldn’t keep her like this for much longer. He had to be in a position to call for immediate action when she started to rouse. But, he feared for her life. He feared for his if anything happened to her.

  His long shifts in the ER were broken up by frequent visits to her bedside, routine checks on her condition and her slow improvement. He ordered a reduction in pain meds and paroxysm therapy. He needed to see if the head injuries would produce seizures, tremors, or convulsions. Her pupils responded to light therapy, so he was encouraged. He had to determine the next course of medication and order physical therapy as soon as she could tolerate the sessions. But he couldn’t do that unless she started coming around on her own and she would never be able to do that under the current treatment.

  He sat for a long while watching her, studying her breathing, every twitch, flinch or reaction to noise, light or touch. He was optimistic but not yet hopeful. There was no room for hope until he could determine just how far she had to go to get well.

  He
heard her moan and he woke. He must have fallen asleep for a few minutes while watching her. His iPad was still in his grip. His last entry was mere minutes before.

  “Brianna, Bri…how do you feel?”

  “What are you doing here? Are you here? Who are you? Are you him?”

  “Yes, I am here. Him, who?”

  “You know, don’t you? Friday night, the handsome man with the heart-shaped face and steel-blue eyes always…watching me…Blu Balls? Wasn’t that yo…”

  “Miss Denton? Miss Denton! Brianna!”

  “Yes, I’m sleepy, so tired. Will I be here long…?”

  “If I have anything to say about it, you will.”

  Dr. Benjamin James was as happy as he had ever been. She was going to be alright. It was going to be a long haul, but she would live. He quickly rang for the nurse while he started taking her vitals: BP, pulse, O2, urine output. All her vitals looked as good as possible under the circumstances.

  He was inputting the data into her chart when the nurse entered the room.

  “Dr. James, how can I help you?”

  Brianna promptly dropped into a torrent of convulsions, tremors and a seizure. Dr James called a Code Blue.

  “Give her one cc of lorazepam stat, nurse, and check the pressure monitor on her brain cap, tell me the cc output on her lung tap. I need to check her eyes. Follow in five minutes with one cc of fosphenytoin if the neurologic dysfunction continues.”

  She calmed. They promptly recorded all her vitals and the momentary controlled panic for which they’d all trained, had passed.

  He leaned over this woman whose beauty, hidden beneath the effects of the attack, was beginning to blossom again under his care—her recovery slow. He reached for the penlight in his breast pocket of his once pristine starched coat and withdrew it clicking the intense light on. He lifted her lids, one at a time, and checked the reaction of her pupils to the blinding light. To his satisfaction, they immediately narrowed.

  Now, he had hope.

  Quickly, he entered the changes to her medicinal treatment, reducing all medications by twenty-five percent. He would see quickly if this was going to be a positive course. He notified both specialists, the neurosurgeon and the pulmonologist, her current status and his orders requesting that they see her in the morning for assessments. He was so exhilarated and relieved, he couldn’t sleep, going home was out of the question, and a Code Blue in the ICU Level 1 snapped him out of his joy. He sprang to respond.

  When he returned two hours later he was exhausted, but he had to check on Brianna. She was sleeping peacefully. He checked her vitals and everything was steady.

  He turned to the window, opened the shades and sat. As he watched, the sun sliced a sliver of light at the horizon that looked like a smile and it lifted his spirits.

  Today was a new beginning.

  He took it as a sign and quickly dozed.

  When he woke, it was an hour later and he was surprised the nurses had not woken him. In their compassion, they let him sleep. Brianna stirred and released an involuntary indication of pain—she moaned.

  Dr. James was on his feet and at her bedside in a single stride.

  “Brianna, can you hear me? It’s Dr. James…it’s Ben James, Brianna. Do you remember me?”

  Brianna moved her hand only slightly. There were tubes and IVs everywhere. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

  “Can you hear me? How do you feel?”

  “You…what are you doing here?”

  “Here? I’m a doctor. I’m your doctor, in fact. Well, one of them. Do you remember what happened?”

  “Happened…?”

  “You were assaulted in your apartment.”

  “Oh…assaulted? At home?”

  “Yes.”

  “How …when…how long have I been here?”

  “You have been in a coma for about twenty-two days. You suffered a severe beating which resulted in broken ribs, a punctured lung, a fractured pelvis, broken fingers, minor cuts, contusions and abrasions and head injuries that resulted in your brain swelling. We removed a portion of your cranium—your skull—to allow for the expansion of your brain while it healed.”

  Brianna raised her left hand to her head and felt the bandages.

  “We replaced the cranial piece yesterday while you were still sleeping, since the pressure normalized and the sub-cranial hematoma healed.”

  “Who…?”

  “Who found you or who did this to you?”

  “Boff.”

  “Both?”

  Brianna nodded as the tears welled in her eyes.

  “Well, we know that the delivery boy from found you on the floor barely breathing. He called 911 and started CPR—chest compressions with alternating breaths into your mouth. When the police arrived, he had blood all over himself and they immediately thought he was the perpetrator until they sorted things through. He saved your life by acting quickly.”

  “Chawie…?”

  “Yes, I think that is his name—Charlie.”

  “Yeah…good kid.”

  “I would say so. Who did this to you, Brianna?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t ’member. But, I ‘member you. Bwack hair, sky bwue eyes… gentwe smiwe. Soft wips on a heart-shaped face…” She drifted back to sleep.

  Nurse Wholper entered as Brianna Denton reflected on his attributes. Dr. Benjamin James flushed red with embarrassment.

  “Nice to see you again, Dr. James.”

  “Likewise, Nurse Wholper. I’m going to run home and shower, change and grab a bite to eat. Will you keep an eye on our patient for me and page me if anything changes?”

  “Yessir.”

  Ben James was gone for just under two hours when he returned refreshed to see Brianna still sleeping. He was pleased when he reviewed her latest stats. Slow but steady. That was all he wanted. It was full-on morning and he had finished all his rounds. It was eleven thirty and he was hungry again so he stopped at the commissary and grabbed a tuna sandwich, Reese’s and a carton of milk. He had lunch bedside with Brianna.

  He was eating when she stirred again. He put his sandwich on the night table beside the carton of milk and stood, holding her hand. He squeezed it gently. Her eyes opened and she returned with a gentle squeeze.

  “I’d smile, but it hurts.”

  “I know it does. But it won’t forever. You are getting better. Would you like some ice?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Do you feel like sitting up? Would you like to try?”

  “Yes, please. But I feel so foggy headed. I’m not used to taking medications; aspirin is even a challenge. My sister was a drug addict and I’ve always been afraid.”

  “I don’t blame you at all. I am trying to wean you off of some of the drugs now that your treatment seems to be making an impact and you are responding so regularly. It is going to take a while, but I am hopeful and optimistic.”

  “Will my memory come back?”

  “Actually, Brianna, that is very hard to predict. The mind, your brain, is healing and trying to protect you at the same time. You may remember bits and pieces in no particular order—a little like dropping a photo album and the pictures scattering randomly. Just don’t push it and don’t get frustrated. I’m a firm believer that our brains heal us at a pace they know to be good for us. So, just be patient. I can’t be sure it will all come back to you but it won’t help to get stressed out over it. You will heal one way or another so please just try to accept your body’s pace and don’t push it.”

  “Okay. Will I remember who did this?”

  “I don’t know, Brianna. I hope so. You might get some answers you need then. Here, let me help you. Can you wrap your hands or arms around my forearm?”

  Dr. James leaned over the young woman, extending his arm which she grabbed softly. He pulled his arm towards the foot of the bed, pulling her forward at the waist. He dropped another pillow behind her back just as one of the candy strippers entered.

  “Cindy, help me adj
ust Miss Denton’s pillows. Grab another please. Yes, like that. Thank you.”

  “Miss Denton, would you like a magazine?”

  “No, thank you. Not yet. Thank you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. You’re welcome.”

  “Thank you, Cindy. Brianna, do you feel like having something light to eat? Are you hungry?”

  “I am, kinda, Doctor.”

  “Okay, let’s try some clear soup and Jell-O. We’ll see how well you do with that and add more as you tolerate it.”

  “I would really like a chocolate milkshake…and a straw.”

  They laughed and her recovery began in earnest. Over the course of the next week, Dr. James ordered mild bed therapy until the chest tube removed from her lung. She was eating a more and more varied diet. Solids were introduced, but she was still very weak. Dr. James started taking Brianna to the atrium on a daily basis. He wheeled her there and they sat for an hour or so when he could spare it over his lunch hour. Getting her to and from bed was a challenge, but one he enjoyed. It was when he was closest to her. Holding her in his arms reminded him of the night before she was brutally attacked.

  His heart went out to her.

  One day, weeks later, he took her to the hospital garden. The sun was shining and the cherry blossoms were blooming. The garden was a veritable explosion of life.

  “I thought you would enjoy a trip outside now that it is spring and it is a warm day. I thought it would be good for you.”

  “Thank you, Ben. I would enjoy that today. I was always an outdoor girl. I loved hiking, tennis, biking. My sister was the night owl. Tatianna was incorrigible when the sun went down and I was when the sun came up. How two girls could be so different and still be twins, I’ll never know.”

  “Twins? I don’t think I could stand being around two of you!”

  “I hope you mean that in a good way.”

  “The best, of course, Bri. But, twins? Two beauties? I dunno!”

  ‘We really didn’t look alike, not like that—not like identical twins. We were paternal twins so no two girls could have looked more different, but we were connected. Like most twins, when Tati was cut, I bled. When I fell, Tati hurt.”