ADRENALINE: New 2013 edition

by John Benedict

  He strode past the bathroom stalls and glanced over as he was about to exit the room. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

  There on the floor, visible underneath the first stall, were Mike’s Nike Airs. He recognized them immediately. What stopped him, however, weren’t the sneakers, but the rubber tourniquet draped over the left one. That, and the funny breathing he heard coming from the stall.

  “Mike, you OK?”

  “Doug!” Mike answered with an unmistakable trace of alarm. “W-what are you doing here?”

  “I forgot the damned schedule book.” Doug was immediately worried. Things didn’t add up.

  The toilet flushed and out walked Mike, a huge smile plastered on his face. “Can’t keep you away from this place,” Mike said, his eyes dancing about the room.

  Doug didn’t return the smile. He was stunned by what he saw. Mike’s face was slightly flushed and his pupils were absolute pinpoints. The conclusion was inescapable, but Doug’s mind refused to believe it.

  “What’s with the tourniquet?” Doug asked.

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “I saw a tourniquet on the floor.”

  “It dropped out of my pocket, I guess.” Mike abandoned his smile. “Geez, Doug. What’s your problem?”

  “You are, Mike. Your pupils are goddamned small enough.”

  Mike hesitated, then said, “It must be this cold medicine I’ve been taking.”

  “Cold medicine!” Doug’s mind clung to denial, but he commanded it to accept the truth. “You don’t have a cold.” Now it all made sense, the haggard appearance, the euphoria. “You think I’m stupid, Mike?”

  “What’re you saying, Doug? C’mon, just say it!”

  “Cut the crap, Mike!” Doug said, his voice rising swiftly. “We both give this shit to people all day long. I know what it looks like.”

  “You think I’m using!”

  “Show me your pockets!” Doug shouted. “Show me your arms, if you’re clean!”

  “No, I won’t. Listen, I gotta get back to my case.” Mike tried to maneuver around Doug, who was blocking the exit.

  Doug grabbed his arms, squeezed hard and shook him. “Show me your damned arms!” Doug screamed.

  “No, I won’t!” Mike pleaded. “You’re my friend, Doug. Can’t you trust me?”

  Before he could finish his sentence, Doug pushed up the sleeves to Mike’s scrub jacket.

  “There, Mike. What the hell’s this!” Doug said, exposing a fresh puncture wound on his left arm. “I suppose you’re taking your damned cold medicine by injection.”

  He threw Mike’s arm down and turned his back on him in disgust. “I can’t believe it, Mike.”

  “Doug, listen to me.” Mike touched him on the shoulder. “You gotta listen. It’s not what you think,” Mike said, his voice breaking up.

  Doug turned and faced Mike. It was hard to see his friend in such agony, to see the tears. He took several deep breaths to calm himself and spoke in a lower tone. “How long, Mike?”

  “I just started, Doug.” Mike sat down on the bench and stared at the floor. He tried to wipe away the tears. “This morning was the first time, I swear. I was gonna tell you.”

  “Why Mike? What about Colleen and the kids?”

  “I know, I know,” Mike said, shaking his head. He looked up. “It’s stupid, but I did it for them, Doug.”

  “That’s crazy!” Doug said and put his hand to his forehead. He took a few steps away and paced about in a small circle. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Not Mike. It just wasn’t possible.

  “I just needed a little help through this malpractice shit,” Mike said. “That’s all. They’re counting on me, Doug. I can’t let them down.” Mike buried his face in his hands, his body wracked by sobs.

  Doug walked over and put his hand on his back. “Mike, there are better ways to get help.”

  “I guess. Doug, you can’t turn me in,” Mike said, choking back the tears. “Listen, I swear that was the last time. I’m not hooked yet. I can stop like that.” He looked up, met Doug’s eyes for the first time, and snapped his fingers.

  “I don’t know, Mike.” Doug’s anger was dissipating, being replaced by concern and pity.

  “Doug, listen. You just can’t tell anybody yet. If the lawyers get wind of this, they’ll crucify me. You know how it goes—drugged up doctor kills patient. If this gets out, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “I’ll have to think about it, Mike, OK?” Doug turned and exited the locker room, his mind a tangled mess of emotions. The schedule book was no longer a concern.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Are you sure?” asked Laura Landry as she punched buttons on the microwave. She shuffled her slippers on the vinyl brick kitchen floor.

  “Yes, no doubt about it,” said Doug. He was slouched forward in his chair at the large oak trestle table, his back to her.

  “I’m making coffee. Want any?” she asked.

  “Sure, decaf.” His tired gaze roamed around the room, but the familiar details of the rustic country decor didn’t register. Lots of pigs and cows in all shapes and sizes peeked out from shelves and countertops. Antique implements, some of long-forgotten function, hung from the walls and wooden ceiling beams. Doug sighed and said, “He had no reason to lie. Besides, I saw the needle mark on his arm.”

  “Wow,” she said above the hum of the microwave.

  “I didn’t want to talk about it until the kids were in bed.”

  “This is just horrible,” she said. “Mike always seemed so happy, so stable. I can’t believe it.”

  He heard instant coffee being scooped into mugs. “I can’t either. I’m sure it must have to do with his case. He really took it hard.” Doug massaged his temples, his elbows resting on the table.

  “And you said he got sued over it too?” she asked.

  “Right,” he said. The microwave beeped and was opened. He heard sounds of pouring water, followed shortly by a spoon clinking. The aroma of freeze-dried coffee drifted over to him. She appeared with the two steaming cups and placed his on the table.

  “Here, give me a hug,” he said, standing up.

  “Sure.”

  She set her mug on the table, stood on her tiptoes and embraced him tightly. Even though she was wearing flannel p-j’s, slippers, and wore no make-up, he found her very attractive. He always had. Her thirty-nine years and three pregnancies had done nothing to change that. He buried his face in her long black hair and breathed in her fragrance; it was a muted floral scent that arose from her favorite shampoo and bath soap. They fit together perfectly, so comfortably, he couldn’t tell whether it was just good fortune, or if their bodies had molded themselves somehow into an exact match over the years. He felt closer to her than he had in months.

  She looked up into his eyes and said softly, “You’d never take drugs, would you?”

  He returned her gaze and looked into her dark brown, liquid eyes. “No way. I’ve got too much to lose.”

  “Colleen’s gonna be devastated,” she said, turning her eyes away.

  “Yeah, I just can’t figure out what to do.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Well, Mike pleaded with me not to tell anyone. You know, that he just started, and he could stop like that.” He felt her body stiffen ever so slightly.

  “Do you believe him?” She withdrew from his arms and backed up a step. Her voice had lost its soft tone.

  “I don’t know.” Doug missed the warmth of her body. He sat down and picked up his coffee cup. He noticed she had given him his favorite mug, the one with three little cubs crawling all over the big papa bear. When he felt how hot the ceramic was, he set the mug down without taking a sip.

  “Doug, you’ve got to tell someone.”

  He could almost hear Laura’s mind shifting on the fly. “What do you mean?” he asked and looked up at her.

  “You’ve got to tell the chief of the medical staff, Doctor, uh—”


  “Nichols.”

  “Right. You’ve got to tell him.” She started to pace.

  “Well, I figured I’d sleep on it. If this got out, it would ruin Mike,” Doug said tiredly. He wasn’t in the mood for a long discussion.

  “It’s not Mike I’m concerned about.”

  He recoiled a bit from her stern tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Doug, you can’t let him in the OR anymore. What if he kills someone else?” “What!” He felt the peaceful mood slipping away like the steam escaping from the coffee mugs.

  “Someone else might die because he’s on drugs and not paying any attention.” Laura’s eyes were now on fire, and she appeared to be brimming with energy.

  “That’s not what happened, Laura. I was there.” He smiled at her in an attempt to offer an olive branch, but she wasn’t paying attention.

  “Were you there from the beginning?”

  “No—”

  “So, you don’t know what really happened.” Her jaw was set, and he knew her mind was likewise set, in concrete.

  “Look, Laura, the guy had a massive MI. Shit happens. I was with Mike during the resuscitation. He seemed fine.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Doug. This isn’t something to take lightly. You’ve got to tell Nichols.”

  Her authoritative tone always rankled him. Where did this come from? “And just what do I tell Mike? Sorry pal, best friend, I just can’t trust you. You’re a junkie. It’s time to give your career the old heave-ho, but don’t worry, it’s all for the best.” Doug felt himself heating up.

  “Don’t get sarcastic,” she said and gave him a withering stare.

  “Look, how about if we talk about this thing tomorrow. I’ve had a long day, and I’m pretty beat.” Doug stood up and eyed the hallway to the bedroom stairs.

  “I’ve had a long day, too, with the kids.”

  “The point is, Laura, if I tell Nichols, it’ll all be over. They’ll suspend his privileges—”

  “No,” she interrupted hotly, “the point is, you don’t have a choice!”

  “You mean, you’re not giving me one,” he countered. They traded glares briefly. He noticed her fists were clenched, a sign he had become all too familiar with recently, one that heralded an imminent meltdown.

  “You’re so good at figuring things out,” she said. “Why can’t you figure out this one? If you don’t tell someone, and some innocent person gets hurt, it will be just as much your fault as his! Don’t you get it?”

  Her raised voice and pointing finger completed his slow burn. He felt his face flush with anger. “Yeah, I get it all right! You really don’t care about Mike. You’ve written him off already. And I’m next!”

  Tears welled up in her eyes, and she squeezed her hands so tight her fingers blanched. Her voice worked although nothing came out but high-pitched squeals.

  “Cut me a break,” he said to himself. He couldn’t stand it when she got so emotional. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do? He’s my best friend,” he said trying to sound reasonable even though he knew he wasn’t anymore.

  “And Colleen’s one of my best friends! Her pain will be far worse than Mike’s! I’ll have to deal with that!”

  “Always the martyr,” he said with disgust.

  “I hate you!” she screamed.

  Judging from the intensity of her expression, he believed her. “Likewise!” He whirled and stalked out of the room, passing by the untouched coffee mugs, which were no longer steaming. “I’ve got to go to bed, so I can go to work tomorrow!” he called back over his shoulder.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Doug finished giving report about his patient, thanked the recovery room nurse, and washed his hands with some Betadine. It was 10:30 Saturday morning, and he had just finished the fractured hip case for Dr. Clark. He left the recovery room and headed for the anesthesia on-call room. For the moment, he didn’t have any other cases scheduled; he’d cleared the decks. Many a call day saw cases stacked up like planes at O’Hare jockeying for a place to land. He should’ve been happy, but he still felt like shit.

  Doug had gone to bed last night buffeted by a wide range of emotions. He was sick over Mike and angry with him at the same time, and he was furious at Laura for telling him what to do. But mixed in was genuine sadness about their latest fight and confusion over why it was happening. When he went to bed, his stomach was tied up in knots, and his neck and back muscles were locked in spasm. Sleep had not been in the cards.

  He passed the cysto room on his left and the anesthesia workroom to his right. Walking further, he came to the surgeon’s lounge, and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee caused him to veer from his course. Even though he’d already gulped two cups earlier in the morning, he couldn’t resist a third.

  He walked into the lounge and realized why there was a new pot of coffee. The two X-ray techs who had helped with the fractured hip case were standing by the coffee machine, cups in hand, waiting for it to finish brewing.

  Now that their surgical masks were down, he could see their entire faces, not just their eyes. He thought it was interesting to note how wrong one could be in predicting someone’s face from just a view of the eyes. Doug remembered being surprised on more than one occasion after meeting a new scrub nurse or sales rep whom he’d never seen before. After talking to them for a while with masks up, he’d be forced to paint a mental picture of their face. When he finally saw them outside the OR, masks down, he was sometimes shocked to find that the girl with the pretty eyes and nice voice was actually unattractive, or that someone with plain eyes might be beautiful when their whole face was revealed.

  Doug immediately recognized the bigger tech. Her name was Tammy or Tanya or something, and she was a veteran who had been there over twenty years. She had obviously been teaching her companion the finer arts of C-arm technique, and the ever-important skill of dealing with an orthopedic surgeon without being reduced to tears.

  Doug had never seen the other girl before. She was much younger, probably right out of tech-school, and Doug couldn’t help but notice she was striking. Her long brown hair, previously tucked in her surgical hat, flowed freely over her shoulders.

  Why should he even look at her? He was a married man after all, a father. She’d be lucky to be half his age. Still, her beauty tugged at something, some archetypal hardwiring of his brain. He wondered whether other men had the same problem.

  The coffee machine ended its brewing cycle, and the X-ray techs both helped themselves. As Doug poured himself a generous cup and added some milk, he couldn’t help but steal some glances at the new tech. He was only partially successful and spilled a bit of milk on the table in the process. The older X-ray tech gave him a reproachful “That’s what you get for staring” look and exited the room with her baby duckling in tow.

  “Damn it,” Doug cursed silently. He wiped up the spill with some paper towels and threw them into the trashcan with more force than he’d intended, sending the plastic hinged lid spinning out of control. Wow, a bit testy this morning, he noted.

  Doug couldn’t get the picture of Mike’s flushed face and pinpoint pupils out of his mind. He couldn’t get Laura’s angry face and tears out either. All night he’d wrestled with Mike and Laura, arguing over and over about the drugs, wondering what to do.

  He walked back to the on-call room and sat down sipping his coffee. He glanced up at the pictures on his desk. He had upwards of fifteen snapshots of Laura, the boys, and himself in every combination strewn about. Some of the older photographs had actually acquired frames, but most of the more recent ones were propped precariously on various knick-knacks on his desk. The large bottle of Advil was a favorite propping device.

  He looked at last year’s Christmas picture of Laura and himself seated by the fireplace. God, she looked pretty when she smiled. She of course hadn’t been smiling last night when he told her about Mike. Strange, he thought, how easily they fought these days. They seemed to have lost the ability or d
esire to abort fights in the early stages. Now every argument, no matter how trivial, escalated to a full-scale fight. The braking mechanism was faulty.

  Doug was very uncomfortable with their fighting. He had been raised in a relatively fight-free household. In fact, Doug’s only childhood memory in this area was of his mother sobbing, sitting on the staircase when he was five years old. He remembered trying to comfort her. Doug had never seen her cry, and to this day the vision had visceral impact on him. He recalled vividly fearing the loss of his nice safe world and didn’t want his kids to have similar memories. So consequently, Doug believed early on that good relationships were fight free. Each time Laura and he tangled over the years, he would sulk away fearing the worst about his own marriage.

  Over the twenty years they had been married, they had had their sporadic fights, and Doug had gradually come to accept that occasional spats didn’t equate with a bad marriage; sometimes he realized they were even useful to resolve sticking points in the relationship.

  Now, however, things were worse. Doug couldn’t shut up the voice in his head: “See, I told you so. Fighting like this means something is fundamentally wrong with your marriage. Mom and Dad never fought. Maybe you’ve grown apart. It happens. Something is wrong.”

  Doug was truly perplexed. He knew some of the problem lay with Laura and her workaholic syndrome, but what really bothered Doug, was trying to figure out just how much he was responsible for the hurt to the family. Why was he becoming less tolerant of Laura and her ways? Was this his subtle, passive/aggressive way of signaling his dissatisfaction with the marriage? Doug hadn’t dated much before Laura, and he wondered if this was coming back to haunt him. Was this all a manifestation of some mid-life crisis where he kept asking himself what might have been, or what would it be like with another woman?

  Doug reflected on last night’s fight again. She was, of course, right about telling Dr. Nichols. Doug almost always agreed with Laura on big moral issues such as abortion, capital punishment, etc. This was one of the reasons they had been so compatible over the years. Opposites may attract, but nobody ever said they stay married. Deep down, Doug knew this, and it infuriated him all the more. He hadn’t wanted to call Dr. Nichols last night. He needed time to explore all options, see if there was any way to spare his friend the disgrace.