Phew. Close one.
I made myself a pot of coffee and sat down at the counter, watching her scrub with her made-from-the-earth products. I’d made a goal to tell Stacie about Africa today, but the reality of the moment was much harder than I’d anticipated. Instead, I brought up her baby shower this coming Saturday. Hard to believe her due date was less than four weeks away now.
“Are you getting excited for your shower?” I asked.
“Yes and no. I feel like a whale...and I’m kicking myself for not pushing Mom to do it before the holidays,” she said.
“Oh, Stace...you still look really great, no one is going to think you look like a whale.”
She shot me a death glare that almost knocked me off my stool.
What did I say?
“I didn’t say I ‘looked like a whale’...I said, I ‘felt like a whale’! But I guess I should worry about that now, too,” Stacie huffed.
Shoot.
“Stace...that’s not what I...I mean, you look beautiful,” I said, smiling to cover my panic.
She turned and opened the cabinet drawers, dumping out the cooking utensils to organize them by size. I took my leave then, glad I chose to abandon the conversation about Africa. Maybe I should wait for Jack to be present; it would be safer that way, for everyone.
**********
I layered my shirts, doubled my socks, and pulled on a down-vest over my hooded sweatshirt. Due to the road conditions, I couldn’t run on the pavement. Jack told me another ice storm was on its way over the weekend, so I knew I needed to get out today. I headed to the local high school track. The dirt and grass were much safer than the roads.
I ran the giant oval three times before I started to feel warmth return to my legs and chest again. My cadence was sluggish at first, labored due to the intensity of the chill in the air. I emptied my distracted mind in order to focus on each step, pushing myself forward, relieving the stress in my body.
The fog was low and the visibility poor, but in a strange way it brought me comfort. There was no sound other than my breath to be heard on the track. In this silence I found peace—no distractions, no voices, no impending announcements to be made.
After another three times around the track I quickened my pace. I stared out into the field, watching the fog roll by. While staying clear of Africa and clearer still of a certain Samoan, I let my mind wander.
An image seared itself into my mind: the letter.
I had seen it every day since the day I had written it, and every day I made a new plan for its delivery. But just like the Africa conversation, it too, had been aborted time and time again for some reason or another. It was worn now, crumpled from being smashed inside my purse by keys and protein bars.
Someday soon.
I thought about my upcoming appointment with Dr. Crane. Would she be disappointed that I hadn’t done it yet, or were my other stories of progress enough for one appointment? Maybe she could offer me some inspiration. I needed it.
The most difficult words I’d ever speak were on those pages.
I ran around the track another time, contemplating my options. Regardless of my excuses, there was but one timeline that would have the final say—Africa. I wouldn’t leave without doing it; I couldn’t leave without doing it.
By the time I got back to my car, I had made my decision. After the baby shower on Saturday was over, I’d have my date with the letter.
And then, the last two names would finally be crossed off my list.
THIRTY-THREE
The difference was noticeable.
I’d wondered when Dr. Crane gave me the journal before Christmas if something had changed in our relationship. Now I was sure. Her gift had softened me that day. No longer was I the broken mess she had met months ago, and no longer did I despise her office.
When I looked at Dr. Crane now, only one word came to mind: friend.
She would always hold the respect of a doctor in my eyes. She was a wise woman by anyone’s standard, but there was a new sweetness that now stretched between us today. I was grateful for it.
She asked me several questions regarding the holidays, to which I offered light answers. Those were some of the hardest days I had faced to date. She shared briefly about her trip to the Caribbean with her kids and grandkids and then grabbed her notepad, indicating it was time to get down to business.
Before I began, I realized the majority of what I was about to share I hadn’t told anyone. I felt a pang of shame go through me as I thought about each topic on my mind. My promise to keep my family in the loop had waned considerably since before Christmas. I had felt justified in my with-holdings due in part to Dr. Crane’s extended holiday, but that was a weak excuse for the truth.
How can I really think I’m making progress if I’m hiding again?
The question made me shiver. I didn’t want to think about going backward, it was too overwhelming. Dr. Crane looked at me puzzled, waiting for me to share. I cleared my throat and began.
I started with the phone call to Dr. Bradley. As one of her personal friends, I realized Dr. Crane might already know about this conversation, but she listened patiently like usual. She complimented me on my bravery and willingness to step out and make amends. Her encouragement felt good. I moved on.
Recounting the confrontation with my mother was more involved. She let me share the entire conversation before asking any questions—some more direct than others.
“How are things between you two now, Tori? How are you walking forward in this resolve?”
I thought for a minute before answering, “We’ve talked briefly on the phone a couple of times and I’m making four dozen cupcakes for Stacie’s baby shower tomorrow which my mom is hosting. I guess I’m just trying to be more understanding,” I said, honestly.
“That’s good. I would challenge you, though, in order for a relationship to progress, you must invest more than just a few brief conversations. You need to show some more vulnerability with her at some point,” she said.
I swallowed hard.
Why was that still so hard for me?
“What are you thinking about right now, Tori?” she asked.
“I...I’m wondering why that still seems so foreign to me...why I’d still rather process everything on my own,” I said.
She smiled knowingly, “Because you’re re-learning how to connect with people, how to trust them, how to let them trust you. That’s all normal. It shows more progress than you might think. You wouldn’t have even asked that question a few months ago.”
She was right, I wouldn’t have. I nodded, hoping she was right about the rest as well.
“What else happened...you seem to have lots on your mind today,” she said.
Geesh, she would be great at poker.
“I talked to Kai...twice.”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise, but she said nothing.
“We talked on New Year’s Eve and I told him that I forgave him, and that I believed his intention was never to hurt me,” I said. As I spoke his name, the old familiar ache came back. I took a deep breath.
“And what happened, what was his response to that?” she asked.
I hesitated, a war waging within me. There were many things about that night I replayed: his song, his jacket, our kiss. But recalling his words to me was the most painful of all, without a doubt. To share them meant to relive them.
I rubbed my palms on my knees. The pressure seemed to trigger a response.
“He told me he loved me, that he wanted to be with me, that he would wait for me to figure out whatever I needed to...and then I told him goodbye.”
Empathy.
A face full of empathy stared back at me. I looked at the ground trying not to react, trying not to feel anything at all. It didn’t work.
“Why Tori? Why did you tell him goodbye if you could forgive him?” she asked, the words soft and meaningful.
“Because...because I have to do this on my own. He may have helped me find faith, but he can’t b
e what helps me find closure with Anna or myself. I’m not going to be around for much longer anyway...” I let my voice trail off.
She looked at me in surprise. I bit my cheeks.
“Excuse me? What are you referencing?”
“I signed up for the Consider Africa program. If I’m accepted, I’ll leave March first,” I said.
If the recounting of my conversation with Kai had been a surprise to her, this was a shock. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before speaking. It was the first time I’d seen her physically tense, the first time I’d seen anything but professionalism from the woman sitting across from me. Her eyes lacked their usual pleasant curiosity when she opened them. Instead, they were narrowed and hard.
“Please explain this to me, Tori. Why, when you’re having so many breakthroughs, and gaining back valuable relationships in your life, would you think it was a good time to move continents?”
I was taken aback by her tone and her pointed question. This wasn’t her usual prompting to get me to share or be more introspective about my underlying motivations. No, this was something else altogether. I worked to gather my thoughts, to find an answer worthy of retaliation, an answer that would prove I had done right. Then she hit me with another.
“Can you honestly tell me that moving to Africa is not about running away again? That it’s not about running from the happiness that’s waiting for you right around the corner?”
Her words stung. I wasn’t running away. I was moving on, gaining ground. This wasn’t about self-sabotage, it was self-discovery. There was a difference.
“Who says I won’t be happy in Africa? I’ll be working with people who need what I have to offer. I didn’t go to school or gain all this experience in an ER just to throw it away and be tied down. I’m moving on, not running away. I’ll finish up my closure assignment before I leave, so you can’t accuse me of running away from that,” I said.
She shook her head slowly, disappointment in her eyes.
“Closure doesn’t work on your timeline, Tori. There’s a give and take, an ebb and flow. Authentic closure happens when it happens; sometimes you have to wait for the right moment. Timing is just as important as the words and actions themselves,” she said.
I slumped back on the couch, exhausted. The right moment would have to present itself within the next five weeks. I was moving to Africa, that was a fact. I decided then it would be a bad idea to tell her that my family didn’t know about my decision.
I was grateful when the chime cut the tension between us. I stood to make my exit. She stopped me at the door.
“Please consider what I said. I care about you, Tori. You’re a beautiful, talented, young woman, and I don’t want to see you throw away what could be an amazing future all because you’re too afraid stay. Be honest about your motives, if not with me...then with yourself.”
I nodded, leaving her office.
If we couldn’t agree on this, than what would be the point of coming back here?
A sad resolve filled my heart.
There wouldn’t be one.
**********
Downstairs the ER lobby was chaotic. I could hear the sound of many voices even before the elevator doors were opened. Gurney after gurney whizzed by me as crying seemed to come from every corner. I threw my bag behind the empty nurse’s desk, sanitized my hands and ran to help in receiving.
Through a collection of broken conversations, I’d gathered these were victims of a multi-car crash. My pager buzzed on my hip indicating a Code Yellow alert: mass casualty incident. I could see Meg Holt in the bay closest to the main doors working alongside a trauma surgeon. She was calling up to the O.R.
Along with the distinction in trauma codes, patients were also separated into two tiers based on the severity of their injuries. Some would not make it into either.
I could see four ambulances parked out front now and knew more were on their way. The distant sound of sirens and the increasing number of staff who ran to get into the rotation mix caused adrenaline to surge in my veins.
There would be nothing normal about today. No standard protocol for trauma nurses specifically. Instead, we would take direct orders from the code team and doctors as we worked to serve each patient, doubling and tripling up if necessary.
It would be rough, organized chaos.
I met the ambulance in the receiving bay with a MD resident who I had recognized from the day shift, he nodded at me and together we raced to the howling ambulance. It came to a halt just a few feet away from us. The doors flew open and Briggs jumped out. My heart sank knowing that Kai was most likely out there somewhere, too. He was probably on his way now with patients who were near death or worse.
Briggs nodded at me, lowering the gurney to the ground. He rattled off the patients stats quickly as we rolled through the lobby and hallway together.
She was in bad shape—critical condition.
“And the driver?” Resident Anders asked Briggs.
Briggs looked at us and shook his head. His answer was understood—DOA, dead on arrival.
We rolled her into the first bay where Meg Holt, an EKG tech, and a trauma surgeon, Dr. Nelson, waited to make the next call. I scribed the drugs and labs called out. Everyone moved at lightning speed. Her internal bleeding was cause for immediate action. In an instant she was headed into surgery—no time for extra lab work.
I called up to make sure a circulator RN was on the floor ready to receive her and knew the updated information I had gathered. Her fate did not look good.
Released to assist another patient, I jogged back to the receiving bay, Briggs on my heels.
“What happened out there?” I asked, breathless.
“A semi spun-out on black ice. He was going around sixty five miles per hour, it’s laid out flat across all four lanes of traffic on I-75. Caused a twenty two car pile-up…most of them spun into the side ditch, some buried on top of others. The cars that hit the semi are in the worst shape, though,” Briggs said.
My chest was heavy with grief, the unimaginable misery of all those victims at the forefront of my mind. I shook my head as his gaze seemed to penetrate to my soul. He put his hand on my shoulder as we neared his rig, “I miss you, Tori, take care of yourself today.”
As he opened his door I yelled out the one question I could no longer contain, “Where’s Kai?”
His face filled with understanding. He was no longer the joker I knew outside of his job; there was nothing amusing about a tragedy of this magnitude.
“I’m sure he’s on his way here, don’t worry. He and Mike were called out first...last I saw him he was assisting with the Jaws of Life. There are some pretty mangled cars out there.”
He closed his door after saying a quick goodbye, knowing he’d most likely be back within the hour.
It was one thing to see these victims strapped to a board with basic care having already been given to them, but quite another to see them suffering in a twisted piece of metal on an icy highway. I cringed at the thought and went to assist with my next patient.
The emergency bays were packed with injured, hurting people. The total count of fatalities was up to seven and many more were undergoing surgery or in the ICU. A few were lucky enough to walk away with only minor injuries, but the average patient that had survived this horrific accident would bear the scars—both physical and mental—for a long time to come.
Hours had passed. I had still not seen Kai.
I’d seen Briggs multiple times within that time frame, and though I tried to remain focused on each patient, my nagging thoughts were hard to ignore. The recovery rooms upstairs were filling up with patients who had made it through surgery. By early evening, the trauma pods were finally starting to clear as patients were moved for overnight observation and care.
It was after seven when I finally saw him.
Relief filled me from head to toe when I saw him through the large glass doors of the lobby. He sat on the back bumper of an ambulance,
staring off into a distance unknown. He looked tired, worn and dirty. But through the grit was the heart-wrenching portrait of a man who’d just given his all for the sake of others.
He was the portrait of a hero.
I walked toward the doors without giving myself permission and grabbed a staff jacket from the hall wall. I zipped it up before the cold could take me hostage. He didn’t move an inch as the automatic doors opened and closed behind me, his eyes were so focused, so pensive.
I approached him slowly, shoving my hands into the pockets of the oversized coat. I sat down next to him on the bumper saying nothing, but knowing enough. He turned his head toward me, seeing me for the first time, but remained silent.
I knew this kind of tired. It wasn’t about lack of energy or lack of sleep. It was the kind of exhaustion that only came from trying to save lives—lives that couldn’t be saved. I knew that exhaustion well.
I realized in that moment why I hadn’t seen him all day, why he hadn’t brought any patients into the ER. He had done his days’ work out at the scene. Briggs had said he’d seen him working to free someone trapped inside a vehicle. My guess was that he’d stayed to work on every last one of the seven that had perished, unwilling to give up the fight.
I leaned my head onto his shoulder in understanding. After a moment I felt his arm wrap around my waist, as he laid his head on top of mine. We sat there staring off into the distance together, not speaking a word.
There was nothing to say.
Meg came outside holding my bag, the one I had thrown behind the nurse’s desk hours ago. I stood then, breaking away from the embrace I shared—embarrassed. I had let time get away from me while I was still on the clock. She put her hand out as if to calm me.
“You did great today, Tori, but I want you to get outta here. Several interns have come in within the last hour. They can take over your last couple of patients. With all the chaos today, it’s important to decompress and to rest. I already sent Bev and two others home for the night, please go and do the same,” Meg said, handing me my bag.
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