“Really?” I frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t think so.”
Just then the door opened and the doctor walked in.
“I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it. I’m going to head out, but I’ll be by with Dad later.”
“Thank you, Eli.”
I stayed one extra day in the hospital. I suspect it was due more to ensuring that I was fine and wouldn’t sue the hospital since I was injured in the line of duty on the hospital premises. If I was going to sue anyone, it was Lyle Mason, but since his mother died, that seemed too mean. With that said, I did call the sheriff's department to find out what had happened to the protesters. Several had been arrested for obstructing access to the hospital. Others were taken in for trespassing and failure to disperse. None were arrested for causing physical harm, but I supposed it was best for the town if the incident was put past us.
During my extra day stay at the hospital, when I didn’t have visitors, I grappled with whether or not I should try to contact Nick again. Surely, he’d want to know that I was okay. But then Peggy, who I guess decided I wasn’t the enemy anymore, told me Nick had called the hospital to check on me. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk to me, so I didn’t call or text.
The next day, I was back at work, and I spent it working on everything but Ms. Mason’s legal case. There really wasn’t anything to do at this point, but also, I needed a break from it and everything around it. Perhaps that’s why Nick left. Maybe he needed a break from it all too.
I spent that evening with my father, who seemed to miss Nick too, but didn’t say anything.
“You know Dad, maybe I or Eli can take you to the zoo,” I said as we sat together.
“We can all go together,” Eli added.
My father shook his head. “Nah.”
I looked at Eli who shrugged.
I kept trying. “Okay. That’s your and Nick’s thing. But what can we do as a family?”
My father seemed to perk up at that.
“We could go gamble and see a show in Reno, or really live it up and head to Vegas,” Eli said.
“Or we could go to wine country,” I offered. “There is a wine train.”
“All those sound fun,” my father said reaching over to take a hand from each of us. “Just being with you like this is fun. Thank you.”
“We love you, Dad,” I said.
He squeezed my hand. “I love you too. You know, maybe we could go visit your mom. I haven’t done that for a while.”
“You visit Mom?” Eli asked.
“Nick used to take me sometimes. Not in a while, but—” He looked at Eli, I suspected to see how he’d respond.
Eli’s jaw tightened in the way it did when he was pissed but didn’t want to let it out.
“I just figured it would be hard on you two,” my father explained.
“Dad, we’d like to go with you to see mom. I haven’t been since I returned to town,” I said, feeling bad that I hadn’t visited her grave. I looked at Eli, giving him a nod to join in.
“I haven’t been in a while either,” he said.
“She’d be happy we were here together,” my father said. “All she wanted was for us to be happy.”
I couldn’t say we were happy, but I, at least, could be grateful for what I had. “She’d be annoyed that we weren’t saying grace before we ate,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood.
My Dad smiled. “You’re right.”
That night, I headed back to my apartment that still wasn’t completely unpacked. I realized that subconsciously, I didn’t want to finish. That would mean I was staying, and when I first came home, I wasn’t ready to commit to staying beyond the time my family needed me. But as I opened a box of photographs and other décor, I realized I was ready to stay. My life here wasn’t perfect, but neither had it been in L.A. At Goldrush Lake, I had my family and a history. My memories of my mother were everywhere, from the park she took us too when we were kids, to the hill we’d go snow tubing at in the winter.
In some ways, I’d been like Eli, expecting the world outside me to change and bring me happiness. But if I was to have success and contentment, it was up to me, and that started by committing to making my life here work. A job and my family were more than many had. I didn’t have the love of a good man, but I didn’t have that in LA either. I didn’t need a man to be complete. And who knew, maybe someday in the future, I’d meet someone else.
I laughed at myself as I thought that. It seemed impossible anyone would capture my heart like Nick. But Nick was gone, and so I had to hope that somewhere out there was another person who could come close and would pass through the tiny town of Goldrush Lake.
Over the weekend, Eli left the store in the middle of the day so we could take Dad to see our mother’s grave. We cleaned the grass and leaves off of it, and put her favorite flowers, lilacs on it. We shared memories of our time with her, and Dad told us stories about their courtship.
“You know, she left me once,” he said, sitting in the fold-up outdoor chair Eli brought, while Eli and I sat on a blanket on the grass.
“Why?” I asked.
“She worried I’d be bored with small-town life. I had a bit of wanderlust back then. I wanted the big lights big city. To travel. Not unlike you, Mia.” He sighed. “She broke off with me and told me to get out of town and live my dream.”
“What happened?” Eli asked.
“I left.”
“What!” Eli and I said together.
My father had a bittersweet smile. “I did it mostly to be contrary. I was sure she wanted me to tell her she was wrong, and beg her to keep me.” He shook his head. “What nutty things we do sometimes to the people we love. I was a psychologist by then. I should have known better.”
“So, how’d you get back together?” I asked.
“Time apart made us both see what we had. Plus, instead of the big city, I went to a small town in Colorado, not unlike Goldrush Lake. I worked in a small group home for teens there.”
“Did she beg you to come back?” Eli asked.
“No. Your mother was a proud woman. But she did tell me that I was a jerk for not following my dream. I might as well have stayed home if I was going to be a small town shrink.”
I laughed. “Did you come back then?”
“I told her I’d come back only if she married me.” He laughed. “She wasn’t expecting that.”
“She said yes and you lived happily …" A wave of sadness filled me as I realized there was no happily ever after for my parents.
“We did. I won’t lie, I’d have liked more time with your mom. But we packed in more love and happiness than most people do. Sometimes I look at people and think about how much time they’re wasting being bitter or avoiding life. I have regrets in life, but not around your mom. From the moment we got back together, she always knew I loved her deeply, fully.” He pressed his hand over his mouth, kissed it, and then blew it to my mother’s gravestone.
I looked at Eli, and he knew, like I did, that Dad was telling us we were wasting time. I wondered what Nick would do if I called him and told him I loved him. Then again, maybe I’d be more loving if I gave him his space to find himself and get his head right. Of course, maybe he’d be happy to know I was thinking of him. Cripes. I was thinking myself in circles.
“I guess that means I’m asking Dana Ramsey out,” Eli said.
“What?” both my father and I asked.
Eli grinned. “I’ve been avoiding it, even though we flirt every day when I go to her coffee shop.”
“I didn’t know you had a thing for Dana Ramsey,” I said.
“Since sixth grade.” He laughed and it was the first time in a long time I’d seen Eli so relaxed.
“Wait, you were a Lothario in high school, and you’re saying you never asked the one girl you really liked out?”
“That’s right.” He pointed to himself. “Coward. What about you Mia, what fear do you have that’s held you back?”
I took a deep breath. “Telling Nick that I love him.”
33
Nick
Turns out being away and with my family didn’t keep the nightmares at bay. If anything, it was worse. Not only did I have Ms. Mason and Jane Parker accusing me of murder, but Mia appeared too. Not accusing me. No, she was still and silent. Dead. My anger and heartbreak tore from my mouth, waking my parents. Of course, after that, there was no way I could avoid my mother’s insistence I see a counselor.
“Why are you so adamant that you don’t have PTSD?” the therapist asked me a day later when I appeased my mother and went.
“Because I’m not a soldier. I’m not in battle or experience violence.”
“Some ER doctors view the emergency room like a battleground,” he argued.
“In a big city maybe, but not in a small town. Most of our patients are victims of accidents or poor health, not violence.”
The middle-aged man that reminded me some of Jim, nodded. “A common misconception about PTSD is that only people involved in war or experience violence are impacted. The truth is that the cause of it is extreme stress that in essence rewires the brain. An extremely frightening experience, such as being threatened with a gun or knife, can lead to symptoms.”
So, he knew about that. Had my mother told him?
“Or prolonged stress. Emergency room doctors have to contend with the unknown every day. They have to make life and death decisions. One wrong decision, one miscalculation, and a life is lost.”
I felt nauseous as the memory of Ms. Mason came back to me. Somewhere in her case was a bad decision or miscalculation.
“The fact is, from what you describe … the nightmares, the feeling of being on edge, fear, racing heart, all that are symptoms of PTSD. But, regardless of what it’s called, if it’s impacting your ability to sleep and function, it’s a problem. It won’t just go away, even if you’re on vacation.” He looked at me pointedly. “Did you have a nightmare last night?”
“Yes,” I said but didn’t want to admit.
“So being with your folks didn’t make that go away.”
“What will?”
“Do you want it to go away?” he asked.
Was he shitting me? “Why wouldn’t I want it to go away?”
“Some people like to wallow in pain. Or perhaps feel it’s a punishment they deserve.”
The ‘wallow in pain’ made me think of Eli. Punishment though, was that what I wanted? No. What I wanted was to be a man worthy of love and success. Worthy of Mia. Jesus, I missed her. I felt like my heart was torn in a million pieces in my chest. I’d hurt the first time she left me, but this time, it felt worse. Was it because I left?
“Tell me what to do to make it stop, and I’ll do it.”
“Start by keeping a journal, especially around the anxious episodes. For example, when I mentioned issues in an emergency room, I could see that affected you. Write down the trigger and what you’re feeling.”
“How does reliving it help stop it?”
“It faces it head-on. It helps you understand it. And gives you a chance to process it in a way to avoid it in the future or take away its power. Often irrational thoughts or guilt are involved. For example, what about the emergency room comment made you upset?”
I inhaled a breath, not wanting to go back to it. “You said mistakes and miscalculations in life and death situations.”
“Do you think you made a mistake that led to a death?”
I looked down. “I don’t know.”
“Nick.” The therapist's voice was sharp, snapping my head up.
“Be honest. In that moment, what was the thought?”
“That I made a mistake that lead to a death.”
“So why did you say, you didn’t know?”
“Because I’ve gone through it a million times and while I did leave her to attend another patient, at the time I’d done what needed to be done. I’d ordered the tests. I thought I’d be ruling out a heart or lung issue, but …" My heart sped up and a wave of despair overtook me. “Fuck.”
“What are you feeling right now?”
“Like shit.”
“No, in your body. Hot? Cold? Anxious?”
“My heart is racing. I’m panicked that I fucked up and I can’t live with that.”
He nodded. “Did you order the tests?”
“Yes.”
“The other patient you attended, did he or she need you?”
I sucked in a deep breath. “The baby was crowning when I got to her.”
“So yes. Was there someone else who could have helped either of them?”
Fuck why was he doing this? “The other doctor on duty was in the middle of a procedure.”
“There were only two doctors on duty?”
I nodded. “At that time yes. It’s a small hospital.” I lay my head back on the couch, feeling emotionally whupped.
“Have you lost a patient before?”
“Yes, but this woman … she’d been my teacher. Everyone’s teacher.”
“So along with losing her, you have to bear the grief of the town.”
“And blame. I’m being sued.”
He nodded. “What could you have done differently?”
“Stayed with her.” That was the thing that kept going around in my head. I should have stayed with Ms. Mason.
“Then who’d deliver the baby? What if the mother or baby, or both died because you weren’t there?”
“The delivery was routine. No complications.”
“You know that now, but how could you know that then?”
I scraped my hands over my face. He was right.
“This is a process Nick, and maybe this situation isn’t the best to start with since it has ongoing parts to it. The point is that often we let our imaginations and emotions run wild. Our body responds to that, whether the situation is real or simply a thought. That’s why you have panic attacks or second guess your work and the nightmares. They’re responses to what you’re thinking or feeling. Learning to put them in perspective is a start.”
“How long will it take?”
The doctor laughed. “Well, that depends on you and how serious you are about making a change. It won’t happen in one session, though. Are you still practicing medicine?”
I shook my head. “I quit. Not because of this though. It was something else.”
“What else?”
Jesus, did I have to tell him all my faults? “A woman I care about was hurt.”
He watched me as if he was waiting for more. When he didn’t say anything, I continued. “People thought I should have been put on leave or that the hospital was covering up a mistake they think I made, and they protested. It got a little out of hand, and she got knocked down.”
“That’s your fault too, I imagine.”
I shrugged. “If I’d handled Ms. Mason’s case differently, she might be alive, which means no protest, which means Mia wouldn’t be hurt.”
“So, the protesters have no blame? Were they on hospital property?”
I nodded. “Yes. Outside the door.”
“It’s against the law to block access to care.”
“They were there because of me.”
“Are you sure? Why isn’t it your patient’s fault for not getting to the hospital sooner? Maybe if she had, your tests would have been done fast enough to diagnose and treat her.”
My brain skidded to a halt at his statement.
“What? What about what I said has you reacting?”
I couldn’t quite say, and yet, there was something about it. “I’m not sure, but it … I need to reread my notes.”
“So maybe there’s something to that?”
“Maybe.”
He stood and went to his desk, opening a drawer. “Here is a journal. If you don’t want this, you can buy one. But track your triggers, even if it’s just a guilty thought, but especially your dreams and anything that causes you to feel anxious.”
I took the journal.
“You don’t have to show it to me or anyone. It’s just for you. Sort of like how you write notes for your patients. You’re chronicling your symptoms.”
I laughed. “Good way to talk to a doctor.”
“Doctors can make the worst patients.”
When I got home, I went through my laptop to find the notes on Ms. Mason that I’d copied and saved when the lawsuit started. I wasn’t eager to relive that day again, and yet, I knew there was something I missed about that day.
I checked the medical data; her heart rate, blood pressure, and a slight temperature. I went through my observations; the clammy skin, swollen legs. I reviewed her statements about how she was feeling; like her batteries were running down. That along with my observations had made me concerned about her heart and lungs, which was why I ordered the tests. I’d asked her about chest pain or difficulty breathing, but her answer wasn’t clear.
I asked her about the day, and in particular when she started feeling bad. I remembered she was all over the place during our conversation. She’d been excited that a former student was now a doctor. But she had said she woke feeling bad that morning, according to my notes. I kept reading, and then I saw it. She’d asked her son to bring her to the hospital, and he’d sent his son. But it was several hours before he actually got her to the hospital because he had to finish a game and later go make up with his girlfriend.
I pulled up the autopsy and notes from the pathologist. I wanted to call and talk to her, but now that I quit, I probably couldn’t. But Mia could. She already had. Didn’t she tell me that the autopsy indicated it might have already been too late for Ms. Mason when she got to the hospital?
I was beginning to feel vindicated. The only problem was, what sort of asshole would I be to blame her grandson for her death? I didn’t want that, but I did want to be out from under the shadow of Ms. Mason’s death, so I called Victoria.
“They’re suing me for negligence when they’re the ones who neglected her,” I explained to her.
“That could change things. Have you mentioned this to the hospital lawyer?”
“No. I quit actually.” I wondered if I should have told her that sooner.
Heart of Hope: Books 1-4 Page 21