Bobbi and Soul

by J. B. Marsden

  “Nothing. Just a friendly visit. Since you been at me, I’ve been in jail twice. That wasn’t very nice. I didn’t like that.” His beady eyes bored into her.

  His pupils were dilated, his color a light grey, and he sweated in the cool spring air. She was sure he was high on something.

  Bobbi closed the door behind her and stepped onto the porch, wishing she’d taken the time to put on shoes. She knew the guy in the duplex next door was probably out for the day, but Wes wouldn’t assault her in broad daylight, would he?

  She watched him closely. His face was waxy, his hands shaking. Definitely on something.

  In a flash, he reached into his pocket, whipped out a pocketknife, and stuck it into her belly. “That’s for messing with me, you dyke bitch.” He grimaced, then laughed, as he pulled the knife out and ran for his truck.

  She looked up at him fleeing, as she slid down onto the porch. The pain in her stomach shocked her, but not as much as the blood oozing out onto the concrete porch.

  Wes fled in a rusty red pickup truck, the tires screeching.

  Bobbi told herself to remain calm. She pressed her hand onto the wound spreading sticky, warm blood across her t-shirt. Steadying wobbly legs beneath her, she stood and stumbled inside. She groped her phone from her pants while she dropped onto the chair and dialed 911.

  Her head swam but cleared a little after placing it between her legs, despite the discomfort of bending at the waist. She answered the emergency operator in a raspy voice, between breaths. “Stabbing…At 745 Fairview Drive. The new condos.”

  “Who’s been stabbed?” The calm voice asked.

  Bobbi raised her head and decided lying down would help her. She put her feet up on the sofa arm. Shock. Must not go into shock. “Me…Bobbi Webster.”

  The operator kept her on the phone until Bobbi heard the sirens approaching her subdivision. Had she left the door unlocked?

  The doorbell rang, then two EMTs flung the door open and strode immediately to her on the couch. “Bobbi Webster?” a short woman asked.

  “Yes.” Bobbi breathed deeply but winced with the pain.

  The woman kept her talking while pushing her hand away to press gauze on her stomach. Bobbi groaned in pain. The other EMT wrapped a blood pressure cuff on her arm.

  “When did this happen?”

  Bobbi could feel her brain going fuzzy. She gulped and answered in a weak voice, “Just now. Five minutes tops…I’m a doctor.”

  The short woman who was at her side wrestled the long sleeves of her t-shirt up her arm and started an IV. “Yes. I know. I’ve worked with you a couple of times, bringing in a patient to BCH. I’m Beth Stephens. You delivered my nephew earlier today. And my grandmother is Charlotte, whom I think you know.” Beth smiled kindly, taping the IV line to her arm.

  Bobbi, trying to focus, dipped her head, the best she could do as a nod. Charlotte. She liked Charlotte.

  The EMTs transferred her from the couch, then strapped her onto the gurney and slid it out the door. The older one, a man, was on his radio to the ER.

  Bobbi recognized a neighbor who stood next to her front walk. The gray haired woman, her face a mask of concern, asked, “Can I call anyone for you, Dr. Webster?”

  The woman’s face whizzed by her. Bobbi steeled herself for the bumpy drop onto the ambulance floor. “Please call Mother Erin…Holy Spirit Church.” Bobbi closed her eyes with the effort it took to speak. Why did she say that? Erin was busy. And Bobbi didn’t like the idea of Erin seeing her so incapacitated.

  The ambulance door banged shut; the young woman—was her name Stephens?—sat next to her and kept tabs on the IV and her blood pressure.

  “Pressure one hundred over sixty and steady. Hang in there, Doctor. You called so quickly I think you won’t have lost much blood.”

  Bobbi could manage only a slight nod. She lay back, wincing from the pain shooting through her abdomen. “Anything internal nicked?”

  Beth shook her head. “Hard to tell. They’ll take care of you in the ER; don’t worry. It certainly wasn’t an artery, or you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

  If it had been an artery, she certainly would not be talking. She laughed to herself to think of it.

  “Something funny?” Beth asked.

  Bobbi wanted to reply, but darkness took over. The next thing Bobbi knew, the door of the ambulance flew open, and hands guided the gurney onto the pavement, then whooshed through automatic doors into the brightly lit ER.

  In a haze, she recognized the voice of Jaime Garcia-Brown. Her eyes fluttered open. He had his stethoscope on her chest, while the EMTs shouted out numbers for pulse, temperature, blood pressure, and IV fluids. Hands held her on both sides and slipped her onto the exam table of one of the ER rooms. Someone cut off her t-shirt and attached EKG leads.

  “Hemorrhaging. Two or three centimeter laceration of indeterminate depth. Let’s stem this bleeding.” Jaime shouted orders to several people around her bed.

  Bobbi was determined to stay awake, not to go under, but it was becoming harder and harder. The pain kept her both awake and wanting to escape from it.

  “Get me a unit of B positive.” It was Amanda.

  “Amanda,” Bobbi whispered.

  “Hey, Bobbi. Don’t talk. We’ve got you.” Amanda laid a hand on her arm. “You’re doing well. Blood pressure still stable. We’re managing the bleeding first, so you can go for a CT scan.”

  Jaime poked his head in her vision. “Good afternoon, Bobbi. Looks like you had an encounter with the wrong guy.”

  She gulped as the pain washed over her. “Wes,” she rasped.

  “Your BP looks good. You bled out some, so we’re giving you one pint of blood. I want to see what the damage looks like inside.” Jaime nodded to the staff surrounding Bobbi. “Okay for CT. Let’s go.”

  One of the nurses and an ER tech guided the gurney through the doors to the Imaging Department. Bobbi could hold on no longer and gave in again to the darkening of her vision.

  An imaging tech woke her to get her into the CT machine. It whirred around her for minutes, then she was glided out and slid onto the gurney again, to return to the ER.

  The ceiling lights swept by her vision like a carnival ride. She held onto consciousness and measured her breathing through the pain.

  Amanda met her in the curtained space. “Mother Erin is here for you. Do you want to see her?”

  “Let’s get me fixed up first. What’s the verdict on the internal damage?”

  “Let me get Dr. Garcia-Brown.”

  Several minutes passed before Jaime came into her line of vision. “Good news. The radiologist says no important structures were severed. No puncture of the intestine, spleen, or gall bladder, or even the stomach. Some damage of soft tissue and the rectus and transverse abs, but nothing needing surgery. Missed the abdominal aorta, thankfully. Seems the knife went in at a shallow angle from the left, so didn’t penetrate below three or so centimeters into the ab wall. You’ll heal just fine with no movement for a few days, then you can do some therapy. I’ll put in some sutures and you’ll be good to go. How’s the pain?”

  “Could do with something, Jaime.”

  She heard him call for morphine drip and for lidocaine.

  Amanda appeared at the bed to inject her IV, smiling down at her. “Good news, Bobbi. Just a few stitches.”

  The morphine soon had Bobbi struggling with the fuzziness in her brain.

  Jaime pushed the suture cart into the space. “I didn’t ask whether you wanted somebody more skilled, you know, since this is above your bathing suit area. Do you want me to call Hunsaker, the plastics guy?”

  Bobbi grinned and laughed softly, immediately regretting it. She moved her hand in dismissal.

  While Bobbi swam in the pool of near-consciousness, Jaime and Amanda prepped her belly and stitched up her wound. She woke when the surgery light above her bed suddenly flashed brightly in her face.

  Amanda stood over her, bandaging her belly. “All done.” S
he smiled. “You’re going up to the med-surg floor for observation.”

  “No way. That’s not indicated.” Bobbi tried to raise her head from the bed, but it got only a few inches before she collapsed back on the treatment table.

  “Sorry, doctor’s orders. You’ve had a transfusion, and we need to monitor your BP and blood counts. You know that.” Amanda stilled, then continued checking Bobbi’s vitals.

  Jaime returned to her bedside. “How you doing?”

  “I’d be better if you’d let me go home.”

  “Not going to happen. You know the drill. Observation for at least twelve hours. If you’re a good little doctor, you can go home tomorrow morning. Any questions?”

  Jaime looked pleased with himself, but Bobbi wanted nothing more than to knock the grin off his face. She pouted and shook her head.

  “Hello?” Erin peeked around the curtain. “Is this where I can find a certain doctor who has become a patient?”

  Bobbi smiled faintly. “The Elf. So glad to see you.”

  Erin went to the bed, looking intently into Bobbi’s eyes. “Hey, there.” She kissed Bobbi’s forehead, while stroking back her hair. “How are you?”

  Jaime said, “Need to see to another patient. You okay?”

  Bobbi quickly eyed him and said, “Go. I’m good. Thanks, Jaime.”

  He waved a salute and slid around the curtain.

  Amanda said, “Jeannie from med-surg is on the way to take you up. Glad you’re okay, Bobbi.” Bobbi smiled at her, as Amanda squeezed her shoulder and gave Erin a quick wink.

  “Thanks,” Erin said to Amanda. To Bobbi she said, “So. Tell me what happened.”

  Jeannie from med-surg came into view around the curtain just then. “Ready for a trip?”

  “I suppose. Doesn’t sound like I can avoid it. But I’m really all right.”

  “Sure, Dr. Webster. But you—”

  “Know the drill. I get it.” Bobbi winced. It hurt like the devil, she felt weak, and her head seemed stuffed with cotton. She blinked.

  Erin took one arm, Jeannie the other, and they helped her stand and shift her feet to lie on the rolling bed. They tucked her under a sheet. Jeannie pushed it out the doors toward the elevator, Erin in tow.

  After Bobbi had been rolled into Room 202, and Jeannie had checked all her lines, and given her the bedside call button, she left her and Erin alone.

  Erin sat. She grasped Bobbi’s left hand and stroked her skin.

  “Don’t look so worried,” Bobbi said in her raspy voice.

  “Was it Wes?”

  “Yeah.”

  Erin threw her head back and groaned. “Oh, God. He could have killed you, darling.” She gripped Bobbi’s hand more tightly while her eyes spilled over with tears. Erin grabbed tissues from Bobbi’s bedside table, sniffled into one, and said, “I’m sorry. You don’t need me here blubbering all over you.” She looked intently at Bobbi’s face. “You need some sleep, sweetie. It’s been a long day. You look exhausted.”

  Bobbi’s eyes drooped, as if to agree with her. “I’m okay.”

  “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll be back for dinner.”

  “Sure. You don’t have to come back tonight.” Bobbi yawned.

  Erin leaned over and kissed her sweetly on the lips.

  Bobbi hummed. “See you later.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Deputy Rick sat in Bobbi’s living area in the only chair, following up from yesterday’s interview in the hospital. “It was Wes. He wanted revenge for me having him arrested and stashing his wife in a shelter and away from him.” Bobbi shifted uncomfortably on the couch. She wore her rattiest sweatpants and an old, long-sleeved OHSU t-shirt.

  “Any witnesses?”

  Bobbi sighed. “No. One neighbor came by while the EMTs were loading me. I think her name is Dobbs. I’ve met her before, but don’t know her well. She lives two doors down. Retired teacher.”

  “Hmm.” Rick stuck his lower lip out. “Let me go talk to this neighbor. Hopefully she saw something. We also can try for some DNA from the blood. In most stabbings, the suspect ends up cutting themselves as well. I hope you still have the clothes you were wearing?”

  “Oh.” Bobbi stood up gingerly. “Let me get them. The hospital sent them home with me this morning in a bag.” Stepping carefully and slowly, Bobbi held a large white plastic bag and handed it to the deputy. She clutched her stomach while she sat back on the couch with a small groan.

  “Anything else you remember?”

  Bobbi blinked, remembering Wes’s glazed look. “Yes. His pupils were dilated and he sweated even though it was mild yesterday afternoon. I suspect he was high on something. It reinforces our conversation the other day.” She more than suspected. Perhaps this issue would explain his behavior, although it would never give him an excuse for it. But drug abuse could be treated.

  “Like weed?”

  “No. I didn’t smell weed. I imagine he’s using something more potent. Coke. Meth. I’m not a drug abuse expert, but his low weight and the other signs are there.” Bobbi wiped her hand wearily across her forehead. “Oh, and his truck was old. Red. Sorry, don’t know the make or model. Had a lot of rust.”

  “We can check his plates. I’ll bring you a picture to identify.” Deputy Rick nodded, writing more in his small pocket notebook. “Do you mind if I take these clothes? And I’ll do some legwork with the neighbors. Call if you remember anything else I should know.” Rick put on his cowboy hat. “And get well, Doctor.” He turned. “Don’t get up, I’ll find my way out.”

  After the deputy shut the door, Bobbi slowly made her way over to lock it. She laid back down on the couch. Her mind replayed the image of the knife puncturing her belly, over and over, like a video loop, as soon as she shut her eyes. Her heart beat out of her chest. His beady black eyes, bad breath, and toothless grin haunted her every time she closed her eyes. She wondered how long this video would loop through her mind as, finally, her tiredness won out and she slept deeply.

  ****

  Erin finished her to-do list for her days off. It had been difficult to keep her mind on her work, as the attack on Bobbi made her crazy with fear for her. Seeing her looking so pale in the ER was horrific. She cringed about the whole episode with Wes, from the fight in the tavern, to the episode at the clinic, and then at Bobbi’s own house. Sighing deeply, she grabbed her phone and called in an order at Ranchero, the best Mexican restaurant with take out. Glad that it was still light out at six p.m., she locked up the church and drove toward town.

  When she arrived at Bobbi’s, she used her new key and entered quietly. On the couch in the dark interior, she caught Bobbi’s outline on the small sofa, covered by a quilt. Erin gently pushed the door shut and locked it, then tiptoed into the kitchen with the food, where she placed it to warm in the oven. She crept back into the living area and peered down at a sleeping Bobbi.

  Her hair, matted with sweat, and her pale face prompted Erin to caress her cheek with tenderness. Bobbi brought out her maternal instincts. She could have been much worse off; Erin shivered with the thought.

  She blew breath from her puffed-out cheeks. What was she doing with this woman? Did Bobbi need her, really, or was it Erin’s wishful thinking? Bobbi functioned at a high professional level, making decisions affecting others daily, protecting their health and wellness, even saving lives. Erin’s heart swelled with the compassion and patient-focus of Bobbi’s work, even though Erin did not always agree with her methods.

  Did Erin’s more-spiritual approach clash with Bobbi’s, or had it been Bobbi’s more scientific mind? Not the message as much as the way the message was delivered? Both worked for others’ wellbeing, but toward differing goals. Erin strove toward spiritual depth and wellness. Bobbi strove toward bodily wellness. Bobbi may characterize her aim as whole-person wellness: mental, physical, and emotional wellness, which Erin appreciated more the more time she spent with Bobbi and understood better what made her tick.

&n
bsp; Take Wes, for example. Bobbi’s motivations to save him from himself all hinged on his drug abuse, which she identified as the nucleus of his explosive, physically violent behavior. Bobbi’s ordered mind found a source of Wes’s difficulty, so could now identify methods of treating it. To Erin, Bobbi operated much as she did. When an underlying source of spiritual angst could be pinpointed, a path to a parishioner’s or client’s spiritual health became clearer. The difference between her and Bobbi’s professional approaches lay in the lenses with which they searched the heart and soul, or, in Bobbi’s case, the body and mind. The bottom line: both Erin and Bobbi tried hard to assist people in their journey toward wholeness.

  Quietly, Erin pulled a book from her messenger bag, turned on a floor lamp, and sat to read in the chair next to the sofa, looking up occasionally to check her sweet Bobbi.

  Bobbi stirred thirty minutes later.

  “Hi, sweetie. Did you get some rest, I hope?”

  Bobbi yawned, inhaled deeply, and smiled at Erin. “Hey there.”

  Bobbi’s tired eyes called to Erin’s motherly instincts again. Her arms longed to hug Bobbi to her, but she willed them to her sides, wanting not to impose herself upon Bobbi. Dragging the chair closer to the couch, she said, “How are you doing?”

  Bobbi’s eyes avoided hers, and she said quickly, “Really well. I smell something good.”

  Erin recognized Bobbi’s independent streak in her avoiding telling her how she really felt. “Do you think you could eat some Mexican? I have the fixings for two fajitas. One chicken, one beef.”

  Bobbi did not try to get up, which was a red flag to Erin. She couldn’t imagine the pain she was in, but her body said it for her, stiffly lying under the blanket.

  “Chicken sounds good.”

  A kiss on the cheek before going to the kitchen left Erin nearly crying. She pushed down the tears threatening to fall. “Tell me you didn’t sleep on the couch all day. You should be in your bed,” Erin called from the kitchen.

  No answer came. Erin frowned. Bobbi wasn’t taking care of herself. Darn medical types. Her mom was the same way. She took care of everyone else when they were sick, but when she had the flu or a bad cold, she still went in to work. Even her dad’s admonitions about spreading things to other people didn’t disturb her mom. Bobbi stoically pushed on, just like her mom.