Cat's Patient Heart

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  “Hey, Connor, I’m going home for awhile,” she said, “I’ll be back tonight and I’ll try to come a little early if I don’t oversleep. Okay?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled, “thanks, babe.”

  A tiny thrill sparked inside at the endearment although she doubted he realized he used it.

  “You’re welcome. And I’ll see you later.”

  Catherine exited the room and ducked into the ladies room downstairs to wipe away the tears oozing from her eyes. I’m overtired, that’s all and he can still get to me.

  Sunshine greeted her when she emerged from the hospital. Most of the streets had melted clear and she hurried home, glad to undress and crawl into bed. On a normal day she needed time to unwind but she was tired enough to go to sleep within moments. When she woke, the sunlight had faded and she knew by the shadows on the wall it must be after four. Catherine squinted at the clock to confirm it was 4:40pm. There wasn’t enough time to go back to sleep so she rose, took a quick shower, dried her hair and dressed for work.

  She stepped off the elevator closest to Connor’s room just before five-thirty sharp and heard the commotion before the doors zipped shut. She recognized Connor’s voice, loud with anger but she couldn’t make out what he shouted but when she heard the unmistakable sound of Dinex hitting the tile floor, she hurried. It wouldn’t break – the insulated healthcare dinnerware was almost impossible to destroy but there’d be a mess to clean up with her name on it.

  “I told you I don’t want that gross stuff,” Connor shouted as she burst into the room. A second Dinex bowl crashed beside the other and dumped lime Jell-O onto the floor. “Take it away and don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot six year old.”

  Ruthanna Johnson stood at the foot of the bed, stiff as an Old Testament prophet in her starched skirt trailing below her knees. Her taut bouffant beehive hair stood tall and although she appeared agitated, not a hair looked out of place. Although she worked hard and was one of the best nursing assistants they had, she got too intense for many patients and Connor wasn’t the first to object to her bedside manner. If she didn’t try to save their souls for Jesus, Ruthanna treated them all like orphans under her care.

  “Now, sir, that wasn’t very nice,” Ruthanna crooned, “I’m sure your Mama must have taught you better manners. I think you need to apologize for what you’ve done.”

  “I haven’t done a damn thing to apologize for, you bitch,” Connor growled.

  Catherine stepped to the right side of the hospital bed. “What’s the matter?”

  She addressed Connor and he answered.

  “That bitch brought a stupid tray in here and tried to make me eat crap.”

  Ruthanna interrupted. “He needs to eat and I just wanted to help him but he’s rude.”

  “That’s enough, Ruthanna,” Catherine told her. “I’ll handle it from here. Go on back to work.”

  The woman glowered at her. “I’ll have to report all this violence and tell them he’s uncooperative.”

  If she did, especially after his objection to having the CAT scan, Connor might end up in restraints. “I wouldn’t do it Ruthanna.”

  The nursing assistant glared at her. “It’s the right thing to do and I’m doing it.”

  Catherine checked the bedside monitors. His pulse raced, his heartbeat increased and she shook her head. “You’ve agitated the patient, Ruthanna. It’s not the first time. Do what you have to do but if you do, I’ll have to file a report of my own about upsetting patients and also about those religious tracts you leave in patient rooms. That’s not allowed and you know it.”

  The other woman’s face flamed scarlet and she exited the room, lips pursed as tight as if she’d sucked a persimmon. Catherine turned to Connor, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah but this bitch is crazy!”

  She nodded, taking his wrist between her fingers to check his pulse for herself. “Ruthanna has problems. You shouldn’t have tossed the bowls, though. I already heard you pitched a fit downstairs when you had the scan – that’s why they put you under. If she does report it, they’ll get an order to tie your hands to the bed and you’re not going to like that.”

  “I couldn’t eat such slop,” he said, “Some kind of broth and awful green Jell-O.”

  Catherine chuckled. “I can’t blame you – I wouldn’t want to eat it either. Your pulse is too fast so try to calm down a little. How do you feel?”

  He was better, she could see his improved color and the oxygen canulla wasn’t in his nose any more. A quick glance at the monitor showed his blood oxygen levels were good.

  His dark brown eyes glowed with an inner fire. “Right now, I’m mad as hell.”

  “I can tell. You must feel better, though, to have this much energy.

  Connor puffed out his lips. “I guess.”

  “How’s the pain?”

  His mouth relaxed into an almost smile. “It’s not so bad. I guess the meds work.”

  “Good.” Catherine sat down on the edge of the bed, cautious not to bump him or shake it. “Are you hungry?”

  He nodded. “I think I could eat but not this stuff. What’s up with that anyway? Why would anyone offer such slop?”

  “It’s pretty standard for your first solid food. What do you think you’d like?”

  “I don’t know. Do I have choices?” He reached over to take her hand in his and stroked the back of it. The gesture dated back to their teenage years and it touched her, much more than she wanted him to know.

  “I can see what dinner is tonight and there’s usually an extra tray or two floating around I can bring you,” Catherine said, very aware of the light caress. “Or I can bring you something from the vending machine. There’s usually some canned soup, some sandwiches and all the snack stuff.”

  “Let me know what they’re serving and then I’ll tell you if I’d eat it or not,” Connor said. “What I’d really like is a big hamburger with Swiss cheese and mushrooms with a beer on the side.”

  She couldn’t stop her smile. “No beer here and I doubt you’re ready for the burger yet. Let me clean up your mess before someone fusses and then I’ll clock in. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Catherine wiped up the Jell-O and picked the two bowls he’d tossed. She stacked them back on the tray and took it with her. She clocked in and reported to Annette after determining just what was served for dinner which was a simple hot beef sandwich with mashed potatoes and gravy. She explained Connor’s situation and asked if she could go see what he wanted. Annette looked at her with a long stare and then sighed.

  “Ask him but it seems like you’re getting too personal with this patient. That’s not like you, Catherine and it’s not professional. You’re one of the best nurses I have and I’d hate to see you compromise your job.”

  “I won’t,” Catherine vowed but she knew she couldn’t keep the promise. She should just speak up, tell Annette what he meant to her once, and get it all out in the open but she couldn’t.

  “Don’t take too long. We’ve got a full house tonight.” Annette warned.

  Connor opted for the dinner tray and she found one still warm on the hot cart. She helped him maneuver the bed into a better position so he could eat. He fumbled with the silverware a little and she remained to be sure he didn’t have any problems. He ate over half before he stopped with a groan.

  “I’m full.”

  “So you’re finished?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Do you want anything else?”

  “I wish you could stay.”

  Catherine sighed. “I wish I could but I can’t. I’ll be back in a little while. Would you like the television on?”

  Connor Donavan made a face and shook his head. “No. I’m not into reality television, The Weather Channel, or old sit coms.”

  What are you into these days, she wondered but didn’t ask because it was much too soon. “Okay. Try to rest, then.”

  Catherine spent the next few hou
rs answering patient calls, fielding visitors, changing a few bandages and administering meds. When she paused for her first break at nine, she grabbed a cold Pepsi out of the vending machine and headed down to Connor’s room. She came in quiet, thinking he might be asleep but when she opened the door, he turned his head.

  “Hi,” he said

  “Hello, how are things going?”

  He shot her a scornful look. “It could be better.”

  Catherine came around the bed to sit down. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” he said, his voice harsh and deep. “I’m just fine except for the leg, the cracked ribs, the concussion, scrapes and bruises. Not to mention I’m bored out of my mind, I missed my first chance at a vacation in about five years and I’ve got a business to run. It won’t do very well without me there.”

  Without even thinking about it, she picked up his hand and held it. “Are you getting enough pain meds? I can up the dosage if you need it.”

  Connor shook his head. “Pain’s not too bad right now and I can deal. It’s the rest of it I’m having trouble with.”

  “Connor, I’m sorry. Let your club wait until you’re better,” Catherine told him. She racked her brain to think of something he might enjoy. “I can hunt down a magazine or a book if you want to read or give you my Kindle.”

  He turned his hand around and gripped hers tight. “I have just enough of a headache I don’t feel like reading.”

  He’s a tough nut to crack. Maybe, though, beneath his hard shell, he’s still worth knowing.

  There were so many things she’d like to say, questions she longed to ask but Catherine chickened out and made small talk instead. “Tell me about your vacation you missed. Where were you going?”

  “Eureka Springs, Arkansas,” he said after a pause. “Have you ever been there?”

  “Sure, I have.” Catherine adored the Victorian village tucked away in some of the most rugged mountains in the Ozark region. Located just a few hours south in Arkansas, Eureka Springs drew visitors from around the world who adored the steep streets, the antique architecture, the ghosts and the unique flavor the place offered. “Have you?”

  “No, it would have been my first time,” Connor said, “I had a room booked at some haunted hotel, the Crescent and everything. If it hadn’t snowed, I’d be there now.”

  “Then I wouldn’t have ever got the chance to see you again,” Catherine said, the words out before she considered them.

  A faint smile illuminated his face, softening his features. “Yeah, that’s true. Well, there’s one small good thing out of this mess. I bet I’ll have to pay for the damn hotel room even though I never set foot in it.”

  “Maybe not once they know you were in an accident,” Catherine said. “I can try to call them if you want.”

  His grin increased. “Would you? I’d appreciate that.”

  “Sure. What kind of business do you own?” She pretended not to know anything about it.

  For the first time, his smile warmed his eyes, giving his dark brown eyes a sparkle. “It’s a club, called ‘For My Sins’, in Kansas City, Kansas. There’s a full bar, tables and restaurant service, a stage and a small dance floor. I have a jukebox, a retro Rock-Ola but I book live bands Friday and Saturday nights. On weekends, I draw a fair enough crowd.”

  “What kind of music?”

  “Rock and roll,” he answered with enthusiasm. “A lot of it is vintage, Fifties, Sixties and Seventies, all the stuff I’ve always liked. Most of it puts today’s music to shame and I get all ages, from aging baby boomers to kids who need to be carded.”

  “It sounds awesome,” Catherine said and meant it. If she had time, she’d love to spend a few hours in a place like that. It’d suit Connor, she thought, although she’d never thought of him running a club. She imagined it as just a little bit shabby but not trashy, dark and mysterious. “Do you have one of those silver balls hanging over the dance floor?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Connor said. “I do.”

  “Cool!” Catherine said, as a woman, not his nurse. “Do you sing?”

  He laughed with a genuine burst of mirth rumbling like a distant night train. “I don’t where anyone can hear me. They told me as a little kid I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. I thought you’d remember. I’m no singer although I love music. Do you still sing? You used to be pretty good.”

  “Sometimes,” Catherine admitted. She hadn’t sung much in years but he wouldn’t know.

  “You could sing to me.” Something flared in his eyes to remind her of heat lightning. She liked the intensity and yet it scared her a little too. Talking about things she wouldn’t share with anyone else seemed intimate and if Annette wandered in, she’d have to explain but she didn’t know how she could.

  “Maybe I could sometime but my break’s almost over.” It ended ten minutes earlier but she wasn’t counting and hoped Annette wasn’t either. “I need to change your catheter bag because it’s full and then I have other patients to check on, too. I should take your blood pressure reading also.”

  “Do it first,” he said, his gaze steady on her face.

  So she did, attached the cuff, pumped it up and listened with the stethoscope she kept around her neck while on duty. His reading came in just below normal, natural enough since he remained prone in bed and she charted it.

  “So will I live?” Connor asked.

  “You will, to at least a hundred,” she quipped. “Let take care of your bag.”

  With the skill she’d honed over the last six years, she changed out the bag, settled him into a comfortable position just as Annette poked her head into the room.

  “There you are,” her supervisor said. “I didn’t know if you were still on break or what.”

  “I’m back to work. I just did his blood pressure, charted his vitals, and put on a new cath bag.”

  “Good work. Can you step down to room 4222? The patient needs a fresh carafe of ice water.”

  “Sure,” Catherine said. “I’ll be right there.”

  In the most woebegone voice, Connor spoke up, “Could I get some water too, before you go?”

  “Of course you can.” She used her crisp nurse tone for Annette’s sake. “I’ll get yours first since I’m already here.”

  “Okay, Catherine. Thanks.” Her boss ducked back into the hallway.

  “Do you really want water?” Catherine asked Connor.

  “I’d rather have some Pepsi if you want to share.”

  The soda pop she brought with her on break sat on the tray table, untouched. She forgot about it during her conversation with him. “Sure, you can have some. I’ll go get some ice if you’d like.”

  When she returned, she poured some into a cup with a bendable straw and helped him drink. He shifted just enough so his shoulder touched hers. The connection sent small ripples through her. She capped the bottle back and left.

  “I’ll be back to check on you later,” she promised.

  Her lunch break came late and after she polished off a sandwich, Catherine slipped down to Connor’s room. She found him sound asleep, covers awry and so she straightened them. Her fingers twitched to push back his hair but she feared she’d wake him so she left it alone. Instead, she wandered to the window and stared out into the night. Across the segment of town she viewed street lights stood like beacons against the darkness but very few windows were lit. Most of the snow had vanished beneath the earlier sunshine but a few patches gleamed white. As she lingered Connor made a small sound behind her, a grunt or moan and she turned around.

  She expected him to be awake but he wasn’t although he moved, restless, in his sleep. As she approached the bed, he writhed as if someone hurt him and then whimpered. The pitiful sound cut through her and she frowned. Before she could ask him what might be wrong, he spoke, still asleep.

  “Ah, Jesus. No! No! Hit the floor! Shit, he’s still shooting. Get down, get down.”

  It was a nightmare, she thought, but something more. He relived some unplea
sant scene from his life, something like post-traumatic stress disorder. The memories affected his heart rate. It now raced far too swift.

  Catherine debated for a moment whether or not she should wake him, if it might be more harmful than letting the dream play out, but when he twisted again, hard enough she knew it would hurt, she leaned down to touch his face with a gentle hand.

  “Connor, wake up. Come on, sweetheart, wake up. It’s all right.”

  The endearment slipped out; she didn’t plan it. He moaned, harder this time and she put a hand on his shoulder to shake. “Come on, Connor, wake up.”

  That time, he heard her and his eyes fluttered open. For a moment she read the anguish in them, remnants of old hurts, and then as he became cognizant of the present, his face shifted into a bland mask.

  “Hey,” she whispered, “Are you okay now?”

  He blinked and winced. “I guess. I must’ve been dreaming.”

  “I think so.” On impulse, she bent forward to press her lips just above the cut on his forehead. As she did, he grasped her hand, hard, and held it. “Can I get you anything?”

  “I think I need surgery to remove some bad memories.”

  She thought so too as she wondered where he’d been and what he’d seen.

  Catherine wished she could hug him, hold him tight in her arms until all the awful things receded but she couldn’t, not when he remained hooked to several IV’s, to the cath, and monitors. Besides, shifting him might just send more pain through his current injuries.

  “I wish it could be so easy but surgery’s not an option,” she said. “Do you want a sleeping pill or anything?”

  Connor shook his head. “I think I’ve got enough drugs pouring into me now. Would you sing to me?”

  Embarrassment flooded her face with heat and she was glad the room was to dark to see the blush. “I’ll do anything you want but not that.”

  Her music faded to black when he cut her out of his life and she’d sung very little since, never where anyone could hear. Two years passed before she’d even sing along with the radio or a CD.

  His eyes met hers in a silent plea so poignant she wavered and then he whispered the words she couldn’t refuse, “Please, Cat. No one but you ever sang to me.”