James Ross - A Young Adult Trilogy (Prairie Winds Golf Course)

by James Ross

  The nurse roughed his forearm up a bit as she searched for a vein. It was clear to him that she could hold her own with the boys and probably had kicked a few of their butts growing up. It was her vibrant personality that won him over instantly. Her infectious smile allowed her to get away with anything that she wanted. Over and over she plucked her finger against his forearm. “Make a fist for me, Honey.” He clutched his fist hard. “Oh, yeah, sweet child, you’ve got all kinds of big veins.” She wrapped a tourniquet around his bicep and plucked some more, searching for the perfect spot to insert the needle.

  “Don’t let me look at it,” Curt advised. “Or you’ll be scraping me up off the floor.”

  The nurse laughed heartily. “That is so good to know, sweet child. We don’t want no accidents in here.”

  “I’m not kidding. I can’t see it even when you walk away,” he added.

  The nurse’s smile reminded Curt of BowTye. “Oh, we have one of those. I’m so glad you told me beforehand.” She drew a vile of blood, packaged it, and taped a cotton ball to his forearm. “You’re free to go.”

  “I didn’t feel a thing. We’re already done?” Curt said in amazement.

  The nurse looked over her shoulder as she walked away. She was hiding the vile so that he wouldn’t see it. Her face broke into a wide smile. “Go on, now.”

  Curt made his way out to the parking lot and started his car. He wasn’t much of one to fight the rush hour traffic so he took the back roads home and stayed off the interstate highway system that traversed in and around St. Louis. He made two stops. The first was at the drugstore to pick up some toiletries. The second was at the grocery store to go through the food bar and grab a bite to eat. He was pulling into his driveway when his cell phone rang. “Hi, it’s Curt.”

  “Mr. Schroeder,” the accented voice started on the other end.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Doctor Svenson. We’ve got the results of your blood test back. Dr. Henry is out of town at a seminar in Palm Springs. He has instructed us to tell you to get to the emergency room at Holy Trinity Hospital right now.”

  “Tonight?” Curt questioned. He was feeling okay and certainly didn’t think that anything was so urgent that he needed to rush into the hospital right away.

  “Yes. We want you here immediately.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  A million thoughts raced through Curt’s head as he made the drive over to Holy Trinity. What in the world can be so important that they want me over there tonight? I may not be perking along on all eight cylinders, but I don’t think that I need to go to the hospital. He pulled into the parking garage and walked into the emergency room. Doctor Svenson had instructed him to go there since it was after regular business hours.

  “Please fill out the necessary forms and hand us your insurance card,” a girl in admitting requested.

  “What’s going on?” Curt inquired.

  The girl made some keystrokes and scrolled on her monitor. “They want you to spend the night so that they can start running some tests,” the girl explained. “Those were Doctor Svenson’s orders.”

  Oooooooo lala, maybe Dr. Svenson is going to stay the night too. That thought was quickly dismissed as frustration set in. “Why didn’t they tell me that before I drove over here?”

  The young girl behind the desk shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe they don’t know exactly what they’re going to do. It just says here that they want you to spend the night.”

  Reluctantly, Curt filled out the paperwork. Maybe that’s the best thing anyway, he rationalized. The girl placed a plastic identification band around his wrist. In a matter of minutes he was led to a cubicle and told to put on a gown. After lying down on the bed, Curt was quickly whisked away to a service elevator and taken to the sixth floor. What in the world is going on?

  The attendant rolled the bed out of the elevator and down a corridor. On the way it made a left turn, another left turn, and a right turn before it came to a stop at a doorway. Curt was flat on his back and could only see the ceiling above him. “Room six zero one four. Here’s your stop,” the attendant said. “It’s Schroeder, right?” Curt nodded. The attendant rolled the bed into the room and pulled the curtain between the two beds. “Someone will be in to see you in a few minutes.”

  What the heck! Come on! I was just playing golf yesterday, Curt thought. A light lit up the side of the room that was closest to the window. The sound from the cable news channel was blaring throughout the room. Curt shook his head in disbelief, maybe even denial.

  The sound on the television decreased in volume. An old, gravelly voice on the other side of the curtain said, “Is that better?”

  Curt stared at the ceiling. “Yeah. Much better, thanks,” he said and rolled over on his side. He glanced down and saw some controls on the side of the bed. Thinking that he could place the bed in a more comfortable position, he reached down and pressed a button. His feet were raised. After pushing another button his butt sank lower. A third button pushed his shoulders up. Incessant coughing and hacking started up on the other side of the curtain. Wouldn’t you know it; I’m sharing a room with Rollie.

  “Watch what you want,” the gruff voice said.

  “The ball game might be on another channel,” Curt replied. He searched for the remote on his side of the room.

  “What are you in here for?” the voice snarled.

  “Tests, as far as I know,” Curt guessed. “How about you?”

  “They’ve flipped my intestines three times in the last year,” the old man struggled to release the words. “They can’t seem to get it right.”

  “I hear that it’s a bitch to get old,” Curt blurted trying to make conversation.

  “Oh yeah. You don’t want to have anything to do with these places,” the old man continued. “It seems like I’ve spent half the year in here.”

  “Hate to hear that. Hope you start feeling better,” Curt countered with the small talk.

  “I don’t think there’s much hope for me. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “Don’t look at things that way,” Curt urged.

  “Reality sets in,” the old guy persisted. “They’re just trying to make me as comfortable as they can.”

  Curt really didn’t want to talk too much more. All of the news coming from the other side of the curtain was dismal. He was far too upbeat for all of that. “I guess that they can do a pretty good job with that these days. I hear the drugs are great.”

  “That,” the old man muttered as he struggled to clear his throat, “plus, the girls up here . . . well . . . uh . . . they really take care of you on this floor.”

  Ah, maybe Dr. Svenson will be spending the night, Curt dreamed. “Why do you say that?” He was curious as to why this floor received special attention.

  “This is the floor where they put all of the cancer patients. Didn’t you know that?”

  Curt jerked his head and stared at the curtain. Mild shock rippled through him. What!? Don’t tell me that is what I’m in here for.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  A young Chinese nurse scurried into the room and continued over to him. Her heritage seemed to bring an extra sense of sweetness to her willingness to aid and assist. It was obvious to Curt that she was knowledgeable and sincere however, when her Oriental accent collided with this Occidental language, a certain barrier arose. The most difficult thing that Curt had to do was try to understand her faulty English.

  “You aah Mistah Shaedah,” the nurse said. She put her hand to her mouth and her eyes got wide. “Aah . . . saw-weee,” she apologized for her inability to pronounce the letter r and for butchering Curt’s name.

  For crying out loud, Curt thought. He was aggravated. I just find out I might have cancer and now I have a nurse that can’t speak English. Curt looked at her incredulously wondering why hospitals operated like this. Patiently, he let the syllables roll off of his tongue and out of his mouth. “It’s Schroeder.”

  The nurse looked a
t him and shook her head up and down. “Yes . . . Shaedah.” She stopped and put her hand to her mouth. Then she tilted her head. “Saw-weee.” The innocent face seemed genuine. “I twy.”

  Curt started to chuckle. He put his hand on his forehead and rubbed his brow and his eyes. Oh brother, what kind of a mess am I in? He laughed and suggested, “Why don’t you just call me Curt?”

  “Aah . . . good idea. I’ll call you Cut.”. Then realizing her dilemma, she once again raised her hand to her mouth.

  Curt started laughing even harder. Slowly he corrected her. “No, it’s Curt.” He placed his tongue between his teeth and the roof of his mouth and practiced rolling his r’s to show the nurse how to do it.

  She stuck her tongue underneath her upper front teeth and blew air out of her mouth in a hissing sound. Slobber flew in different directions. Once again she placed her hand up to her mouth and her eyes got wide. “Saw-weee.”

  Yet again Curt rolled his r’s and made a whirring sound. “Do it like that and say Curt.”

  “Aah . . . yes. Cut.” She paused. The sound didn’t come out right. “Cut . . . Cut . . . Cut.” The nurse tried over and over and over again.

  Curt was laughing hysterically. “Okay, let’s try something different. What are you here for?”

  “Me to give you a blood twansfusion,” the nurse answered.

  “You mean a transfusion,” Curt corrected.

  The nurse shook her head affirmatively. “Yes, a twansfusion.”

  “No, I don’t want a twansfusion,” Curt replied as he mimicked her. “I don’t want somebody else’s blood in me at all.”

  “No choice,” the nurse insisted.

  Heck, if I get somebody else’s blood I might contract AIDS, Curt contemplated. He was livid. “What do mean when you say ‘no choice’?”

  “You aah anemic,” the nurse stated.

  “What do you mean I’m anemic?” Curt demanded. He was the picture of good health and couldn’t understand how anyone his size and stature could be anemic.

  “You aah low on wed blood cells.”

  “So? What does that mean?” Curt persisted.

  “It means you need twansfusion,” the nurse reiterated.

  “Oh, so now we’re going to go around in circles,” Curt said.

  “Yes, . . . sickles,” the nurse repeated.

  Curt placed his hands up over his eyes and rubbed his brow once again. How can I be in this situation? “Can I see Dr. Svenson?”

  “Yes you can—too-mah-whoa,” the nurse responded.

  That means Dr. Svenson isn’t even here tonight, Curt deliberated.

  “In the meantime, you need twansfusion.”

  “Whatever,” Curt muttered. He gave in to what she had been instructed to do.

  The nurse fiddled with the IV pole and programmed the necessary time into the computerized monitor. She hung a blood bag with a unit of blood on one of the branches of the pole. Next she tapped on Curt’s veins to find a suitable spot to place the intravenous needle. “Make a fist.” Curt did as he was told. “Oooooooo . . . . Big veins! Willy big veins.” She stuck the IV needle into his forearm and taped it into an immobile position.

  The blood started dripping through the tubing. In a matter of minutes he began receiving blood from an anonymous donor, and almost instantaneously he felt his body temperature rise. Curt laid back and stared at the ceiling. I wasn’t ready for all of this, especially at this time in my life, but maybe this is what I need to start feeling a little better. Slowly, his eyelids became heavy. Is there really any time in your life when you are ready to deal with this? He let his eyelids close and seconds later drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Dr. Svenson stopped in to see Curt bright and early the next morning as she made her rounds. She felt badly about not being available for him the night before. “Our office is in touch with Dr. Henry constantly. He’s truly sorry for not being personally available, but will be back in town in a few days.” She studied his file. “I see that they gave you a transfusion last night,” she continued while flipping through his chart.

  “What was that all about?” Curt took a final swig from a small container of cranberry juice that the nurse had brought for breakfast.

  “The hemoglobin count in your red blood cells was extremely low,” Dr. Svenson explained.

  “You’ll have to explain that to me,” Curt said. “I have no idea what that means.”

  “Basically,” she began, “hemoglobin is responsible for delivering the oxygen from your lungs to the other organs in your body. It is delivered that way through the red blood cells or bloodstream.”

  “Okay,” Curt nodded, “I understand.”

  “It appears that you have been losing blood somehow. We’re going to conduct an MRI later this morning to try to determine how that can be occurring,” Dr. Svenson continued.

  “Let’s go back to the blood issue before we get to the MRI stuff,” Curt said.

  “It looks like the reason that your heartbeat was elevated was because it was working extra hard to deliver the necessary blood and oxygen to your other organs. In other words, you were operating on an empty tank of gas. So what we’re going to do is get some more blood into your system so that the necessary oxygen is being distributed throughout your body.”

  “How bad is it?” Curt asked her.

  “Normally, the red blood cell count should be in a range between fifteen and sixteen.”

  “What was mine?”

  The doctor broke the news. “It was a little less than five.”

  “I take it that’s not good.”

  “If it gets down to the two-and–a-half range, then all of your organs can start shutting down,” Dr. Svenson told him.

  “We don’t want that, do we?” Curt thought for a minute then searched for explanations. “How quickly was I going downhill?”

  Dr. Svenson shrugged her shoulders as if to say that she didn’t know. But the expression on her face indicated to Curt that he may have been down to his last few weeks. “We won’t know that because we’re giving you blood now and monitoring the readings. Hopefully the transfusions will elevate the red blood cell count.”

  “You said transfusions,” Curt probed. “You mean more than one?”

  “We have to get you above a reading of eight. “We won’t even release you from the hospital if it is below that.”

  Curt shook his head. He couldn’t believe that his condition was that dismal. “How many transfusions will it take?”

  “You’re going to need several . . . perhaps as many as four or five. We don’t know. It depends on how well your body receives them.”

  “How quickly will we find out?” Curt pried.

  “We’ll be drawing blood from you continually to take readings. We can give you a maximum of two transfusions a day.”

  “It looks like I’ll be in here for at least two more days then.”

  “At least,” she confirmed. “We couldn’t release you if we wanted to.”

  “At least that explains why I was so tired,” Curt said. “Tell me about the MRI. The cardiologist gave me one a few years ago.”

  “Magnetic resonance imaging can essentially be instructed to read different tissues in the body.”

  Curt’s long term health—maybe his life—was in question. He pressed her. “What are you going to instruct it to do?”

  Dr. Svenson wanted to remain vague and not set off anymore alarms. “We don’t know. We’ll do the procedure and see what it says. I’d rather defer some of the other diagnosis to Dr. Henry.”

  Curt assumed the worst, of course, and being on the cancer floor prompted the obvious. “It doesn’t look good, does it?”

  “We’re not going to assume anything. We’ll let the MRI speak for itself,” Dr. Svenson said. “But I want you to know that we are in constant touch with Dr. Henry on this.”

  Curt had a lot to digest. The events of the last half of a day not only surprised him, but scared him as well. �
��Do I have to get my affairs in order?”

  “Oh, come on,” she chastised him, “its way too early for anything like that. Modern medicine can do a lot of things right now to help you. We have to see what the problem is.”

  Curt shrugged and let a little pressure release from his body. “When are we scheduled for the MRI?”

  “As soon as this transfusion is finished,” Dr. Svenson replied.

  Curt looked up at the blood bag that was hanging from the IV pole. It was approximately eighty percent drained. “Looks like I better get ready.” Dr. Svenson placed her hand on his forearm in reassurance. Curt met her eyes, and lightheartedly thought, good looking woman and she’s smart too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  It didn’t take long for the word to spread back to Prairie Winds that Curt was going to be out of commission for a few days. He had picked up his cell phone to inform J Dub that he was going to be held over for observation. Curt didn’t want to ring any alarms, and low-keyed the report to J Dub.

  His biggest concern at the moment was keeping Justin and Keith busy. It didn’t look like he was going to be around to supervise their activities. He advised J Dub to let them do what they knew how to do best and that was to put them on a lawnmower and have them cut grass until he got back. If they wanted to hit balls then J Dub could work with them on the range. With any luck Curt thought that he would be back by the end of the week.

  Sometime during the late morning, two attendants came to wheel him down for the MRI. They offered him warm towels and told him that soon he was going to need them to keep his body temperature comfortable. The MRI room was in the basement and ice cold, a real meat locker. Even the nurses walked around with sweaters on over their scrubs.

  The procedure itself didn’t take long at all, and Curt was glad that he had no concerns about going through the machine. It was simple and he’d done it before. The only cause for anxiety was the uncertainty that went along with the test results. In due time, he knew that he would be contacted by Dr. Svenson with what showed up.