On Opposite Sides

by Walters, Janet Lane;

  She put her hand over her mouth. He had died and she was to blame.

  With a choked sob, she ran to her car. Though she wanted to hide, she drove to Shadow Lake. For the rest of the weekend, she used her family and friends to barrier herself from Eric.

  Chapter 4

  On Tuesday morning, Jenessa dashed across the street with Megan two steps behind her. For the first time since they’d been college roommates, they had slept through the alarm. Jenessa barreled into the hospital. As she hit the doors to ICU, she waved to Megan. “See you.”

  Seconds later, she slid into a chair at the L-shaped desk and glanced at the wall clock, gratified to see she’d arrived with four minutes to spare. She sighed with relief. No sense giving the nurse manager an excuse to write her up.

  A young and frazzled night nurse looked up. “Am I ever glad to see you.”

  “Am I it?” Jenessa asked.

  Beth shook her head. “Pam’s counting narcotics. Rob, Rachel and Claire are in the break room.”

  “Amazing. Full staff for a change. Are we being inspected?”

  “I hope not.” Beth combed her fingers through her short hair. “I don’t like it here. I should have stayed on Four East.”

  “And wasted your critical care course.” Jenessa searched for words to assure the younger nurse that when she learned the pace, she’d feel more confident. “It’s like shooting the rapids. You’ll learn to shift and turn. Also, praying the beds are full when you come on helps.”

  Beth leaned against the desk. “Maybe I’ll sign on with X-tra Hands. I hear if you work for them, you don’t have to do extra days here.”

  “How can they promise that? They sure aren’t used here.” She frowned. She’d heard the agency mentioned the other day. Did any of her co-workers work for the agency? Like Claire? The brassy blonde was always glad to work until eleven, but it had been ages since she’d worked an extra thirteen hour shift. She reached for a clipboard. “Ready for report.”

  “Great. All your patients were mine.” Beth opened the report book.

  Jenessa attached three flowsheets and pulled out her pen. “I’m set.”

  “Cubicle three. Tommy Greene, motorcycle accident, head trauma, multiple fractures, trach, respirator, hourly neuro checks.”

  A touch of the past brushed Jenessa’s thoughts. Though Beth droned on, Jenessa heard little of the rest of the report. She gripped the pen and fought an urge to run.

  I can’t handle this, she thought. She felt as though she’d been backed into a corner. A deliberate assignment? she wondered. The nurse manager knew her history. She sucked in a breath. I’m a professional. I can do this.

  “In four, Sadie Johnson, Grand mal seizures times two since admission. Last one at two AM. Non-compliance with medications.” Beth looked up. “Percy Maynes, post pneumonectomy, chest tube patent, no temp elevated…may be transferred if a bed is needed.”

  Jenessa nodded. “He’ll go tomorrow for sure.” She checked the charts and noted medication and treatment orders. As she set her priorities for the day, she heard snatches of the other reports. Then she left the desk to make rounds. Instead of beginning in three, she walked to five.

  Coward, she thought. But she couldn’t face the patient in three yet. She needed time before she faced a glimpse of the past.

  “Good morning, Mr. Maynes.” She stood in the doorway of five.

  The elderly man grinned. “Glad you’re back. Them other nurses don’t know how to make me laugh. Guess they’re feared of jostling the tube. Got me a piece of good news. Doc says I’m getting out of here soon.”

  “Today or tomorrow.” She popped a digital thermometer under his tongue and stooped to check the drainage set-up. When the beeper sounded, she removed the probe. “No elevation.”

  “Maybe today.” He chuckled. “Can’t wait to see a real TV ‘stead of them monitor things. Want to watch the Pirates.”

  “They’re on tonight. I’ll push you for this afternoon.”

  “Do that and I’ll bake you one of my favorite rum cakes, full of chocolate and nuts. Kids won’t let me do much at the bakery these days, but I’ll sneak in.” He winked. “Got a few bucks riding on the Bucs.”

  Jenessa filled an orange basin with water and set it on the overbed table. “Be back to help you finish your bath.”

  “No hurry.”

  In cubicle four, she found the obese woman sitting on a chair beside the bed. A wash basin stood on the table. “Good morning, Sadie.”

  “Guess you ‘members me. I know your face but don’t recollect your name.”

  “Jenessa. And I do remember you. You were here three months ago with the same problem.” She wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Sadie’s arm. “Why did you stop taking your medicine?”

  “Weren’t having no more fits.” Sadie pushed stringy dishwater blonde hair from her forehead. “Guess I was dumb.”

  “I think you didn’t understand the importance of your medicine. We’ll talk about your epilepsy and why you need to take your pills later. Maybe we’ll find a way to keep you from coming back.” Jenessa completed Sadie’s vital signs. She emptied the basin, washed her hands and left the room. Would Sadie ever understand that the absence of seizures meant the medication was working, not that she no longer needed it.

  Jenessa hesitated outside three. Bike accident. Drunk driver. Multiple fractures. Trach. Respirator. Each time she recalled another parallel, another set of muscles tensed. Her feet felt leaden; her knees unstable. With slow steps, she moved to the door. A massive weight settled on her chest.

  “Chuck,” she whispered.

  For a moment, she stepped from the present into the past and another ICU. A storm of emotions swept over her with guilt riding the first wave. My fault. I shouldn’t have -- She swallowed several times to force back a rise of bitter bile and inched toward the bed.

  The same white bandages turbaned his head. The same casts covered both legs and one arm. The wheeze of the respirator sounded identical.

  She sank on the chair next to the bed. What am I going to do? She gulped deep breaths of air. She was tough. She could handle this. Not Chuck. Tommy Greene. She wasn’t to blame this time.

  The young man’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His ashen skin nearly matched the sheets.

  She considered asking one of her co-workers to switch assignments. With brisk movements, she rubbed her icy hands on her uniform. Then, knowing if she didn’t face the morass of emotions she would lose her effectiveness as a nurse, she gulped a breath and accepted responsibility for Tommy.

  “Hi, Tommy. I’m your nurse today. Jenessa.” Her words ended in a gasp. Had she seen his eyelids move or had it been a shadow? She focused on his face and studied features unlike Chuck’s. She gripped the side rail and vowed the boy would have a better chance for survival than her husband had.

  Once her rioting emotions were tightly chained, she set priorities. Her need to give Tommy as much time as possible forced her to set a rigid schedule. She completed a neurological assessment and left to assemble morning supplies.

  Before heading to the utility room, she stopped at the desk and reached for the extra duty roster. Mrs. Sikes, the unit clerk glared. How did I offend her today? Jenessa wondered. The woman had just arrived. Jenessa turned and grabbed a cart.

  As she loaded linens and other supplies, pictures of Tommy and her husband flashed in her thoughts. Tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t cry, not here and now. She bit her lower lip until her ragged breathing flowed smooth and even.

  Just after she entered Tommy’s cubicle for the second time, she heard Eric’s deep voice. While trying to ignore a new infusion of emotions, she began the boy’s care. When she sensed the presence of another person in the room, she tensed.

  “Mrs. Robertson, could you give me a report on the boy’s condition? The media’s hounding the switchboard.”

  His professional stance steadied her. “I’ll be finished in ten minutes. Then I can talk.”

&nbs
p; “I’ll be in the break room. Coffee light and sweet.”

  He remembered, she thought. She felt as though fifty pounds had been lifted from her chest. With practiced movements, she suctioned and cleaned Tommy’s tracheotomy. When the cannula was again in place, she washed her hands. Then hoping her confused emotions didn’t show, she hurried to the break room.

  Eric sat at the small table. “Seven minutes.”

  His smile warmed her. “I underestimated.” She leaned against the counter and lifted the mug inscribed with her initials. Memories of the kiss they’d shared made her flush. She swallowed. This wasn’t the time to dwell on fantasies. She dragged her thoughts to the reason he was here.

  “What do you want to know about Tommy?”

  “You look wiped. Are you sure this case isn’t too much for you to handle?” He moved to her side.

  So he’d heard about Chuck. Would he understand the reason she’d kept the assignment? He massaged her taut shoulder muscles. As though an infusion of sympathy had been opened wide, warmth suffused her body. She put the mug on the counter and began a report using information gleaned from Tommy’s chart and from her own observations.

  She finished and looked up. “If you’d like, I’ll give our unit clerk frequent updates.” For a moment, she leaned against him and absorbed the comfort he offered.

  “Unless there’s a drastic change, that won’t be necessary.” He thought of the kiss and her response. Being near her brought reactions that belonged in the bedroom. Before he acted in a less than professional manner, he stepped back. “You could have told me all this at the bedside.”

  “I could have, but though Tommy’s unconscious, he can hear. Learning how grave his injuries are might effect how he responds to treatment.”

  Eric nodded. “You’re right. Guess a year away from the bedside is too much.” He grinned. “Don’t think I’m ceding my seat on the Board.”

  “We’ll accept a second seat. The doctors have five. Why can’t the nurses have two?” She moved to the door.

  “No reason...Are you going to be all right?”

  “I’m tough. I’ll manage.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You know the guy who hit him was drunk and walked away with a few bruises? I hate drunk drivers.”

  Was she speaking about her husband or Tommy Greene? He disliked the rigid line of her mouth and the desolation in her eyes. “Why don’t you switch assignments?”

  “Why? I’m doing this because of what happened in my past. If you’d been there, you’d understand.”

  The opportunity to tell her had arrived, but the words stuck in his throat. Not this morning. How could he add to the anguish he saw in her blue eyes? “Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t let the past rule you.”

  “I’m not. Hiding from what happened won’t solve anything.” She hurried from the break room.

  Her words had struck a cord -- a discordant one. He was running from his past, the injury that had ended his career, his anger about the way Gail had used him to gain information, and his newly acquired guilt about the night Jenessa’s husband had died.

  The past intruded on the present. He wasn’t sure of what to do. Before he found the future he wanted, he had to resolve the past. How?

  *****

  At six thirty, Jenessa stood in the doorway of a semi- private room on Three South. “Enjoy the game, Mr. Maynes.”

  “Sure will.” He grinned like a child who’d received every toy he wanted.

  “See you.” She headed to the elevator. When she stepped out on the first floor, an announcement blared from the loudspeaker. “Code. ICU Three. Code. ICU Three.”

  “No!” she cried. Visitors swarmed the halls. She pushed past them and entered ICU and ran to cubicle three.

  A team of four, a doctor, two nurses and a respiratory therapist were in the room. The doctor snapped orders. One nurse handed him syringes of medicine while the other noted the orders and watched the monitor screen.

  Jenessa studied the pattern of lines. Ventricular tachycardia. The heart rate sped so fast she could barely separate the beats. Just like Chuck. As though mesmerized

  she stared at the screen.

  “Oh lord, what can I do? My fault. If I hadn’t pushed. I can’t do this alone.”

  Instead of Dr. Carter, she saw Eric. Her eyes widened, but he remained. What was he doing in the nightmare that had been hers for three years?

  “He’s converted.”

  She shook her head. That’s not the way it happened. He died. He died. A shudder shook her body. Not Chuck. Her legs trembled. The room blurred. She leaned against the door frame and waited for the storm of emotions to fade.

  Claire pushed the code cart from the room. “Gee, Jenessa, you missed all the fun.” The brassy blonde frowned. “You look awful. Seen a ghost?” Her eyes widened. “Sorry, I forgot.”

  Jenessa turned to leave the room. Dr. Carter put a hand on her shoulder. “You all right?”

  She nodded. “What happened?”

  “V tach. Not unexpected. His condition is grave.”

  “He responded to my voice. His eyelids moved.”

  Dr. Carter led her to the break room. “An involuntary movement. I know what you’re thinking. I didn’t see Chuck, but I spoke to his doctors. There was no chance for a recovery here either. It’s a matter of time.”

  She sank on one of the chairs. “I know why Chuck died and it wasn’t his injuries.” The automatic response rang false, but she couldn’t stop herself. Then she’d have to admit the real reason.

  “He would have died another day. Child, you’ve got to put the past to rest. You’re so focused on something that can’t be changed that you’re knotted inside. Don’t tear yourself apart over this patient.”

  Anger surged. Dr. Carter had given up on Tommy. She couldn’t. This time, she would prove the doctors wrong.

  She covered her face with her hands. A shuddering sigh escaped. Eric had helped. Eric had said -- Along with a quick intake of breath, came recognition. Eric had been the other person at her husband’s bedside.

  Why hadn’t he told her? Maybe he didn’t remember. There was no reason why he should. He’d jumped into the middle of an emergency and helped. There’d been no connection. Her memories of him had been buried beneath an avalanche of grief.

  She rose and returned to the station to complete her charts. By the time she finished giving report to the night nurse, she felt drained and cold. Home, she thought. A gallon of hot chocolate, a steaming shower and bed. Beneath these thoughts fluttered a desire to have someone hold her. Get a grip, she thought and headed out the door.

  In the middle of the street, she halted. She’d forgotten the protest forms. For months, she’d ended each tour of duty by delivering them to the Nursing Office. How could she have forgotten?

  Go back. Go home. A silent debate began. Home, she decided. The forms could wait.

  *****

  Eric lifted the last bag of groceries from the car. He glanced toward the hospital. Fool. It’s barely eight o’clock. Jenessa seldom left before eight thirty because she had to deliver the protest forms that documented unsafe conditions for the patients.

  He frowned and thought of his assistant’s way of dealing with the complaints. He’d stopped her practice of shredding them.

  “File them,” he’d told her. “I’m sure the nurses have copies and you can be sure if a patient sues a nurse, her copy will place the blame on the hospital. It would look like we’re hiding something if our copies weren’t available.”

  He closed the trunk and glanced at the hospital. Jenessa was trudging across the street. Her slumped shoulders worried him. Had working with Tommy Greene drained her? The intensity of her involvement with the boy put her at risk for burnout.

  They reached the door into the building at the same time. “Looks like you need help.” A shadow of her usually bright smile curved her lips.

  He shifted the bags. “Thanks.”

  “Why didn’t you t
ell me?” She held the door so he could enter.

  “Tell you what?”

  “That you were at Claremont Hospital when my husband died.”

  Her brittle expression made him fear she would shatter. “Because...” He searched for words that wouldn’t complete her collapse. “I thought you wouldn’t want to remember.”

  She nodded. “It’s a time I can’t forget. I knew someone was with me, that someone tried to help. Two weeks after the funeral, I called, but no one remembered who’d been there. I wanted to say thank you.” She followed him through the lobby to his door.

  His shoulder muscles tensed. His stomach knotted. “None necessary. You needed help. I was there.”

  He opened his apartment door and set the bags on the table. Until she admitted the reason for her husband’s death, he couldn’t tell her of his total involvement. Did she know her husband hadn’t been wearing a helmet? Or that it had been a brain stem injury?

  “You hungry?”

  “I don’t think I could eat.”

  “Coffee, tea, talk.” The misery in her eyes made him act. He clasped her hand. “Did something happen that made you remember?”

  She nodded. “Tommy coded. I wasn’t there. I had to transfer a patient.”

  “Would anything have changed if you’d been there?” He drew her into a light embrace.

  Savoring the comfort he offered, she rested her head against his chest. She sighed. “You’re right. Thanks.”

  “No problem. Sure I can’t offer you dinner?”

  “Hot chocolate if you have any.”

  “With marshmallows or without?”

  “With. Go ahead and fix dinner for yourself.”

  “I’ll wait. I think you need to talk more than I need food.”

  She watched him walk away. We’ll talk, that’s all, she thought. He’s everything I could want, but I’ve nothing to offer. She felt as drained and as numb as she’d felt three years before.

  She stood in the center of the living room and glanced into the dining room, an area missing in the apartment she shared with Megan. Then she surveyed the living room. The dark green couch looked comfortable, but she felt too restless to sit.