("She's got a smile that heals me. I don't know why it is. But I have to laugh when she reveals me")…Billy Joel 1971

For Tuyet, Katrina, KaSandra, and Luc

 

"GABRIEL'S PROMISE"

Chapter Ten

 

http://www.amazon.com/Gabriels-Promise-Nicholas-Sheridan/dp/1497451884/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1396317103&sr=1-2&keywords=gabriel%27s+promise

 

 

LA Trauma Center, Los Angeles November 30, 2004

 

            Changing rotations from days to nights is like moving to another planet as far as Lizzie was concerned. Daytime rounds tended to be schedule driven and routine even boring juggling paperwork and sales reps in between actual doctor stuff. But night shifts were ripe with variety. The night bypassed the usual suspects for a hodgepodge of God knows what. You never knew who or what was going to come crashing through those automatic doors in the ERR From the ridiculous to hilarious to the downright terrifying and heartbreaking. There weren't any gray areas in the spectrum of human emotion. The twelve hour shift passed quickly and Lizzie had no problem with that! She'd been on this new shift for a couple weeks now and had already learned more about practicing medicine then she had learned in all eight her eight years of book learning.  As Friday nights went, tonight seemed unusually quiet, but then it was only eight o’clock, a full two hundred and forty minutes before the witching hour.

“Hey Lizzie,” hollered Mollie Lebowitz, the Maternity charge nurse. Elizabeth looked up from the clipboard she was reading and acknowledged her with a nod of her head.

“There’s fresh Danish up on eight in oncology courtesy good old Doc Octopus," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Looks like the old pervert's finally retiring!” Mollie said, stopping beside Lizzie, giving the metal clipboard a thump with her fingers.

“Sorry Mollie, what did you say,” Lizzie asked apologetically?

“I said Doctor Shaw, a.k.a. Doc Octopus is retiring. Although, if you ask me I think he finally accumulated enough harassment complaints to propagate a forced early retirement!” said Mollie sarcastically.

“Oh yes, the fastest hands in LA, I know him. If the cops ever needed his fingerprints all they'd have to do is dust my ass,” Lizzie replied, giggling.

Mollie laughed out loud and continued down the hall toward the elevators on her way back to her ward. Lizzie waived goodbye, putting her glasses back on and returning to the chart she was studying.  After a couple of minutes the pastries Mollie had mentioned were starting to call her name. A sweet treat sounded pretty darn good right now and her traitor stomach was growling go, go, go! She returned the chart back into the large circular chart caddy and walked over to the same elevators Mollie had taken only a few minutes before. The car arrived before she pushed the button and she entered the empty elevator, pressing eight on the panel. "Guess those Danish have powerful friends she," she muttered, pressing the button for the eighth floor.

Lizzie checked her look in the brushed aluminum walls and gave her hair a little tease as she rode the six floors from two to eight. She'd always been nervous riding in elevators, ever since she saw the second Exorcist movie, the one where some guy gets sliced to ribbons by a severed cable in one. Flashing back to that scene she hummed a happy tune to squelch evil thoughts. A loud ding announced her arrival at the eighth floor and the doors slowly opened. She sprinted out into the lobby of the oncology ward leaving those bad vibes in the devil contraption and stopped abruptly in front of the nurse’s station. Shaking off the heebie-jeebies she tried to look cooler than she felt, realizing she probably looked ridiculous.

“Smooth Doctor Andrews, I see that we’re our usual ball of confusion this evening,” teased Nurse Hardy, easily the most senior (older than dirt) RN at the hospital.

            Everyone called her by her married name, never by her given name. Ednabelle Hardy was the unofficial den mother for every nurse, intern, and resident at this place. Sort of like a Master Chief on board a naval vessel, the highest ranking non-com around, the real power behind the well oiled machine known as LA Trauma, or LAT as most of us referred to it.

“Yeah, well I was ummm…”

“The Danish are round the corner in the waiting room,” Nurse Hardy said with a smile, returning her attention to whatever she was doing before Lizzie had burst onto the scene.

“Danish, really, I had no idea? Maybe I’ll stop on by just to be polite,” Lizzie lied weakly.

“Oh please!” giggled the ancient RN, shaking her head at the silly young doctor.

            Composing herself Elizabeth strolled confidently toward the waiting room where the refreshments were laid out. She was starving and really needed the sugar and caffeine rush tonight. So, waiving ta-ta she quickly disappeared around the corner, picking up the pace as soon as she was out of eyesight. Arriving at the waiting room in nano-seconds, Lizzie immediately poured herself a cup of strong, hot coffee, taking it black like a man, and then went straight for a blueberry croissant. That first bite of pastry washed down by that first sip of truly good coffee was almost sinful. It was the closest she’d been to ecstasy in better than a year. Plopping down on a semi comfy sofa she enjoyed bite number two and tried to ignore the tiny voice encouraging her to stuff a couple more into her pockets for later. The little voice in her head was suddenly interrupted by a little voice behind her.

“What’s your name,” a little girl asked? Lizzie twisted around in her seat and looked up sheepishly from her snack. She ran her tongue across her front teeth to avoid a blueberry smile and answered the child, “Elizabeth,” she said.

“Hi Lisbeth, I’m Katie,” the girl replied with a cute impish lisp. Lizzie smiled at her, noticing that the child was pulling an IV tree along side of her.

“Honey, are you supposed to be out here?” Lizzie asked softly.

"Where are your mommy and daddy?"

"Mommy is at the cafeteria," answered the child.

            The little girl smiled at her, ignoring her question and looked down at Lizzie’s feet. “Your shoes are untied,” she said, pointing with tiny fingers. Lizzie looked down to verify the child’s claim, she was likely right; her shoes were always coming untied. Lizzie set her refreshments down on the coffee table and bent over to tie her shoes. “Listen, I can walk you back to your room when I finish here Katie, would you like that?” she asked.

“Okay,” the child replied in a cheerful tone.

            Lizzie finished off the croissant in two mega bites, choking them down with a big gulp of coffee then jumped up from the sofa to helped Katie maneuver her IV tree back into the hall. They walked hand in hand toward her room, passing the nurse’s station on the way. Nurse Hardy looked up from her work and got out of her chair when she saw Katie. She wagged a stern finger at the little girl that contradicted the warm smile on her face.

“Katherine Jean Tate! What are you doing up at this hour?” Nurse Hardy asked.

“I couldn’t sleep Edna, my room was making thhcary noises,” Katie answered.

“Scary noises indeed! All you have to do is press the call button and I’ll come straight away my dear, you know that,” explained Nurse Hardy softly.

“I know, I’m thhorry, but I was bored,” Katie replied pouting.

“Yes, well never the less, you belong in bed young lady, you have a big day tomorrow, “Nurse Hardy said, gently scolding the child.

“Maybe we can talk doctor into taking you back and tucking you in. She might even read you a story before she goes back to work. Why don't you ask nicely,” she said winking at Lizzie. Lizzie took the hint and chimed in, “Oh, yeah, sure, I could do that. What do you say Katie?”

“Alright, but you have to read Green Eggs and Ham, the whole thing, okay?”

“It’s a deal, Dr Seuss it is,” Lizzie answered enthusiastically, winking back at Nurse Hardy.

The younger generations waived to their elder and scurried down the hall giggling. When they reached Katie’s room, Lizzie held open the heavy wooden door as the kid navigated her way back to her bed. Katie scaled the metal sides expertly like a rock climber and crawled under the covers, skillfully keeping her IV lines from tangling. The tree teetered perilously as she socked at her pillows, fluffing them up, causing Lizzie to scurry over and steady the apparatus before it tipped over.

“Careful sweetie, I don’t want to have to put any stitches into that pretty little head of yours,” Lizzie teased.

“My pillows were flat,” Katie explained.

“No worries honey, no harm done. Now, where is that book of yours?”

“Over there,” the child replied, pointing at a stack at least four feet high in the corner of the room, near the bathroom.

“My goodness, how long have you been in here anyways?”

“You’re funny,” Katie said giggling at the surprised expression on Lizzie’s face.

“I’ve been here since my birthday last month,” she answered.

“Really, since your birthday, so how old were you?”

            Katie held up six fingers and smiled. Lizzie smiled back trying not to let her analytical face betray the fact that she'd deduced from the IV bags what this adorable child was suffering from. This was the oncology ward after all so it hadn't been too hard to put two and two together. The fact that the kid had already been here for weeks was a little puzzling as most chemo kids were in for a week or less then home or off campus until the next round. She wondered what was up with that. And what was so big about tomorrow anyways? She wrestled with that for a few seconds until she saw a question begin forming on Katie’s cherub-like face. Lizzie quickly took two giant steps toward the pile of children’s books and fished out a well worn copy of Green Eggs and Ham.

“TA-DA, here it is,” she exclaimed, beaming back at Katie like she had discovered gold.

“Yippee,” Katie replied excitedly.

“Sit on my bed with me, okay?” the child asked, pleading.

“Sure sweetie,” Lizzie answered, crossing the room to sit beside her.

            She made a mental note to make some inquiries later. She knew that she should mind her own business, and not get involved in something that was not likely to end well. But her maternal instincts won out over her better judgment, as usual. This was familiar territory for her. It was only a little over a year ago that another suffering child had stolen her heart. She let herself picture Gabriel Bouchard's smiling face for a moment, and then jumped back into the present before a tear could form and began reading to Katie.

“I am Sam…Sam I am…”

("How I wish, how I wish you were here. We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year")…Pink Floyd

For Tuyet, Katrina, KaSandra, and Luc

 

GABRIEL'S PROMISE"

Chapter Nine

 

 

Long Beach, California, November 30, 2004

 

            As long as I can remember, my father has been an early riser. Some of my earliest memories are of him walking past my room before dawn on his way to the stairway.  I'd hear him draw in deep breaths while he did twenty knee bends, exactly twenty, right outside my door before descending the stairs two steps at a time to the landing below. Next he'd grunt out fifty sit ups and fifty push ups and then finish up with a jog around the house, living room, family room and kitchen breathing through his nose which would tweet like a whistle every now and then. He'd jog twenty-five laps, always, no more, no less, pausing on the odd numbered laps to sprint in place for a hundred count. This was his routine Monday through Friday, altering only on the weekend to allow for yard work on Saturday and church on Sunday.

This morning was no exception, even though technically he was at my house now, and there weren't any stairs to navigate. I heard his alarm faintly announce from down the hall that it was precisely 5am, and propped myself up on one elbow. I listened for him to jog past my room and start his ritual just outside my door. A low muffled moan emanated from the form curled up beside me, her mop-topped head snuggly wedged underneath both of her pillows.

“Aww come on Patrick, he’s your Pop! Can’t you get him to take that noise outside?” groaned Michelle, scooting toward me and trying to push me out of bed with her bottom.

“Maybe we can find him a girlfriend or something to redirect all that extra energy.” I snickered, rolling her way, spooning up to her.

“I bet I can take your mind off of his noise if we make a little noise of our own,” I said, whispering in her ear.

“In your dreams hot stuff, I need a couple more hours sleep,” she mumbled sleepily.

“Tell you what though, you go and cool your Pop’s jets and I’ll meet you in the shower around seven, deal?” she offered playfully, kissing the air and patting me reassuringly on my rump.

“Promises, promises!” I sighed, swinging my legs out of bed and reaching for my bathrobe hanging on the footboard. I felt around for my slippers on the cold hardwood floor with my stocking feet and worked them on without hands.

I tied a sad little knot around my robe and walked out of the room and into the hall. There he was, my old man, still in tip top shape and full of piss and vinegar. He paused for a second to acknowledge my unexpected presence, and looked me over like a drill sergeant, grunting something unintelligible. 

“What was that? You say something ya old fossil?” I asked sarcastically.

“Ah, I was going to ask if you wanted to join me. But, I can see that you didn’t even have the strength to tie a proper knot,” he quipped, pointing out the embarrassing gap in my loosely tied bathrobe. I looked down and quickly put the mouse back in his house and cinched the terrycloth knot snuggly as Dad disappeared through the living-room and into the kitchen, lap number one under way.

“Hey, wait up!” I hollered, chasing after him. I caught up with him on turn two as he passed the living room sofa. I had to trot behind him as there wasn’t room enough to run along side.

“Listen Pop, why don’t we take this outside so Michelle can sleep in? You’d be doing me a really big favor, believe me!”

“Can’t do it son, shrapnel in both of my knees courtesy the Nazis, you know that,” he replied.

“Aw come on Pop, we can run on the grass and stay off the concrete altogether to save your knees,” I pleaded.

“Oh alright, I suppose I can do my part to support your love life. Besides, it’s high time we put some giggles back in this house, Gabriel’s been gone for a year now,” he added, stopping to man-slap me on my back. We walked through the kitchen and out the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. I sighed, uncomfortably, knowing that my father could see right through me. It had always bugged me how he was always so direct, so blunt. I slid the door closed behind me as we stepped into the cool pre-dawn air. It was still dark, but you could smell the morning coming, the dew on the grass was ice cold and crunched a little under my bare feet.

            We jogged along in silence for a quarter hour, our breath visible on the cold air. I admired my father’s square posture as he ran, secretly hoping that I would be as spry when I reached his age. We pulled up at lap twenty-five and started to run in place at a sprinter’s pace. I was sweating more than I had expected to and was having trouble keeping my robe tied shut. Mercifully the wind sprint run was over quickly and I watched my dad stop and reach to take his own pulse, a pair of fingers placed over the carotid artery at his neck. He watched the second hand on his Timex and counted the beats of his heart. After 30 seconds he put his hands on his hips and took a very deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then he smiled broadly and slapped me on the back, bragging, “I’ve got the heart of a 30 year-old!”

            We walked over to the patio table and sat down. He studied me for a moment and then leaned back heavily in the chair. Clasping his hands and lacing his fingers together as if he were praying, like he always did just before he lectured me. Somehow he always knew when I had something on my mind. Maybe it was a skill he learned from my mother, I knew it wasn’t a natural instinct because few men have that kind of sixth sense naturally. Most guys have the attention span of an African tsetse fly; we're just too easily distracted. Women on the other hand study people as a hobby, and have that nagging sense of “I know what you’re thinking” that they use to keep us in line, most of the time anyway.

“So, are you going to tell me about what you’re up to or are you waiting for me to guess?” he asked sarcastically. That pissed me off this early in the morning so I let him stew in his sarcasm for a moment before answering.

“I never could keep secrets from you or Mom,” I said.

“And why would you? You should know by now that I’ll support you no matter what as long you're not breaking the law or hurting anyone. I'm your father after all, right,” he quipped?

“Yeah, well this time Papa, this time I’m planning to step over that line,” I replied.

“Which line?” he asked cautiously.

“Technically both,” I answered, unconsciously biting at my lower lip.

“Oh,” was all he could come up with as he studied my face. He stared at me for an uncomfortable couple an moment before my impatience got the best of me.

“Papa?" I said, rudely snapping my fingers in his face.

“I was just deciding how much of this I wanted to hear is all,” he replied. His face betrayed his concern but he remained cool, carefully choosing his next words. He sighed heavily and I braced myself for a nickel lecture.

“You and Michelle have been through hell son. I know how it feels to visit there, how easy it is to surrender to evil thoughts when you’re convinced you’ve been wronged,” he said, delivering cent number one of the nickel lecture.

“That being said, I also believe that God’s ways are mysterious, and that sometimes the ends may actually justify the means. If the end is righteous of course, does that make sense?” he asked.

“Who’s being obtuse now?” I teased using one of his favorite terms.

“Touché,” he chuckled.

“Seriously Patrick, what do you have up your sleeve?”

“Did Sandy call you?” I asked suspiciously.

“No, but I have to admit that I’ve had a few questionable thoughts of my own where that hospital is concerned. I’m guessing that is what this is all about, am I right?” he replied delivering cent two, three, and four.

 “Let’s go back inside and make some coffee, we’ll have a couple of hours to chat before Michelle wakes up,” I said, nodding my head toward the warm house.

“Alright, go make the coffee while I finish my work out,” Papa answered, getting up to slide the big glass door open. He motioned for me to step inside and as I walked past he put his hand onto my shoulder.

“Top secret, right?” he asked with a knowing wink.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Not for Michelle’s ears, right?”

“Right, top secret,” I answered with a wink of my own.

            Papa smiled at me as I went inside and closed the door behind me. He turned and jogged back out to the yard, continuing with his laps, twenty-five, no more, no less.