Screaming to Get Out & Other Wailings of the Damned

by J. F. Gonzalez

  Emily glanced at him and for the first time he saw fear in her eyes. "Can you make an appointment?"

  "Sure." He moved out of the room to make the call.

  When he got a receptionist at Dr. Westerman's office, she asked him what Hannah's symptoms were. "She started getting sick Monday night," he said. "Vomiting, night sweats, fever."

  "Is she holding down food?"

  Jerry frowned. "She's eaten very little in the past few days. My wife stayed home with her Tuesday and made her some soup, which she seemed to keep down, but then she threw up that evening. I stayed home with her yesterday and she ate very little. Just some crackers, some water, that's about it."

  "Dr. Westerman has a ten-thirty slot open," the receptionist said. "Can you have her in at that time?"

  "We'll be there."

  Jerry called in sick at work, ignoring the displeasure in his boss’s voice when he informed him that he was taking another sick day to take care of his sick kid. Rot in hell, Jerry thought as he hung up the phone. Bill Adams was a self-righteous bastard anyway. Ran the accounting department as if it was the only thing on the goddamn planet that had any meaning. Jerry had no reason to feel guilty about taking sick time; he had it coming to him. Hannah was more important than his job, anyway.

  Emily got Hannah calmed down while Jerry quickly changed from his work attire into jeans and a t-shirt. He listened to them as their voices drifted from down the hall, Emily's voice soothing. "Let's run you a nice warm bath, honey. It'll make you feel better."

  "I feel so tired, mommy." Hannah's voice was low and weak, as if there were no energy behind it.

  "I know," Emily said. "You're sick and your body is trying to fight the infection and that's why you feel tired. But we're taking you to the doctor this morning and we'll get you some medicine to make you better, okay?"

  When Jerry was finished he told Emily he'd be downstairs in the family room at the computer. Once there, he booted the machine up and accessed the Internet. He began researching Hannah's symptoms as he heard the water upstairs filling the bathtub. Jerry looked up influenza and read through various articles. He knew he shouldn't be worried about anything...it was probably the flu but you could never tell these days, what with these weird airborne diseases all over the place and those weird things like the bird flu sprouting up. Jerry spent thirty minutes looking for information but couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Their daughter had a bad case of the stomach flu. That’s all it was.

  Jerry went into the kitchen to refill his coffee cup. The kitchen counter was piled with unwashed dishes. Scraps of last night's meal dotted a plate. A nearly full bowl of cold, congealed soup sat on the middle island; Hannah's supper last night, which she'd barely touched. Jerry frowned, his mind running back over the last few days. Hannah had been fine Monday morning. She was bubbling with excitement over a presentation she was going to be a part of in school that day. As a ten-year old, Hannah had an abundance of energy and charisma. She kept him and Emily on their toes. She was smart and physically active. She got along well with her classmates and she had friends in the neighborhood. The reports he and Emily received at the parent-teacher conferences they attended all unanimously agreed that Hannah was a well-liked, popular child with teachers, administrators, and fellow pupils.

  Because they could not economically afford to have Emily stay home during the day to keep house and care for Hannah after school, they'd arranged for after school daycare at a nice facility close to where Emily worked. Hannah liked it, had friends there, and she was used to spending a few hours at the daycare in the afternoon before Emily picked her up on her way home from work. And things were starting to look better financially, too; Jerry had a friend with a competing firm who promised him a job that paid almost double what he made now. If he could get that position, Emily could quit her job and stay at home with Hannah.

  Jerry glanced at the clock. It was only eight-thirty. Knowing the next two hours were going to crawl by, Jerry settled back in his favorite easy chair and turned on the TV, flicking through the channels blindly, trying to keep his mind off of Hannah's illness. But as hard as he tried, he couldn't.

  DR. WESTERMAN WAS a good pediatrician, the best in the lower New Mexico/ West Texas area as far as Jerry was concerned. He examined Hannah thoroughly: temperature, blood pressure, pulse, weight, ears, nose and throat. He had her lie on the examination table and felt around her lower belly gently. Hannah winced. She looked somewhat better after the bath, but Jerry could see the dark circles under her eyes. "Stomach hurts a little, huh honey?" Dr. Westerman said. He was a big man, about six-foot one, probably two hundred pounds, but he had the grace of a dancer.

  "Yes, it hurts," Hannah said.

  "Your stomach muscles feel very tense," Dr. Westerman said. "That's to be expected." He motioned for Hannah to sit up. He reached for his stethoscope. “Let’s listen to your chest.”

  Hannah was silent and breathed when Dr. Westerman asked her. He listened to her chest and placed the pad of the stethoscope along her back and listened for a while at various spots. Finally he took it off and looked at Jerry and Emily. “I’m going to have Nurse Paula come in to talk to Emily. And I’d like to see the both of you in my office.”

  When Jerry heard that he felt his stomach drop. He felt light-headed, and he had to grip Emily’s elbow for support as he followed the burly doctor out of the examining room and down the hall to his office. Emily appeared no better.

  Dr. Westerman got right to the point once he seated himself behind his cluttered desk. “I want to admit Hannah to the El Paso Children’s Hospital and have some tests run.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Emily asked, her voice taking on a frightened tone. “Do you think it’s something serious?”

  “Right now she’s got a very bad stomach bug and her vomiting is making her dehydrated,” Dr. Westerman said. “I want her admitted so she can be under observation and get some fluids into her. That should help with the dehydration. While she’s there I’d like to have some blood work done to rule out Hepatitis C.”

  “Hepatitis?” Jerry asked. He reached for Emily’s hand.

  “The symptoms of Hepatitis C can appear flu-like, which is what Hannah’s exhibiting, but unlike the flu it attacks the liver. I want to rule it out.”

  “How likely do you think...” Jerry heard himself say, his mouth running ahead of his thoughts.

  “How could she have gotten this?” Emily asked.

  “Personally, I don’t think she has it,” Dr. Westerman said. “And I don’t think it’s food poisoning, which this appears to be as well. I think it’s just a really nasty flu bug but I want to be sure, and I want to get some fluids into her. She’s extremely dehydrated and very tired. She needs proper rest and nutrition. She isn’t getting that at home despite your best efforts and she’s not holding solid food down, so she needs some nourishment. El Paso Children’s Hospital can provide that and monitor her condition.” Dr. Westerman mustered a smile. “She’ll be fine by tomorrow. Nasty flu bugs like this are rare, but when they spring up, they mostly affect the elderly and the young, as in Hannah’s case. You said she started feeling sick Monday night?”

  “Monday after school, actually,” Emily said.

  “It isn’t unusual for a flu bug like this to last this long,” Dr. Westerman said. “Again, I want to err on the side of caution. I’ll call El Paso Children’s myself and get her records over.”

  When they exited Dr. Westerman’s office and were left briefly alone in the crowded hallway of the clinic, Emily looked worried. “Do you think it...well, that it might be Hepatitis?”

  “I don’t know,” Jerry answered. God, he hoped not.

  “I’m sure it’s just what Dr. Westerman said,” Emily continued. “A nasty flu bug. I mean, she was fine Monday morning! Absolutely fine! No sign of sickness or lethargy, she didn’t even complain that her tummy was upset.”

  “It could be food poisoning,” Jerry said, not paying attention to the bustl
e of other patients around them, some of them Mexican ranch hands who worked the horse ranches in this fertile lower New Mexico valley. “I got food poisoning once, was flat out sick for two days from it, throwing up constantly. I couldn’t keep anything down.”

  “You think that’s what it is? That she maybe ate something bad at school Monday?”

  Jerry shrugged. He wished it could be as simple as that, but then thought better of it. People died from food poisoning. “I don’t know. But her symptoms...the endless vomiting...the sweating...the fever...hell, she was delirious last night and I doubt she’s kept anything down.”

  “No, she hasn’t,” Emily agreed. “Aside from some broth and water, she hasn’t kept real food down since Monday evening.”

  “Excuse me? Señor? Señora? ”

  Jerry and Emily turned to the sound of the voice, which belonged to an aging Mexican peasant they’d noticed standing near one of the examining rooms, as if waiting for a doctor or nurse to attend to him. He was wearing a plaid shirt and blue jeans, a battered straw hat perched on his head. His skin was dark, leathery, his age probably close to seventy. “I’m sorry, but I could not help but overhear you. You’re daughter...she is very sick? Throwing up?”

  “Yeah,” Jerry said, suddenly feeling a sense of distrust rise in him. Who the hell was this old guy and why was he butting into their personal business?

  “Chicken broth does not soothe the stomach?” the peasant asked. “Nor rest, and she hasn’t kept anything down...si?”

  Jerry turned away from the peasant, as did Emily. As an Anglo in a primarily Hispanic community as El Paso, Texas, he’d come across his share of immigrant Mexican people and some native Americans who lived in the area, and nearly all of them were pleasant people to live and work among. This old man reminded him of a pestering uncle, one who couldn’t keep his nose out of other people’s business. Ignoring people like him was usually the remedy.

  “Is your nombré missing something?” the man asked again. “Something she lost, perhaps a little toy, a trinket? Something personal she would take notice of?”

  This time Emily responded. Jerry thought he saw her face go pale very briefly. “Who are you and why are you asking these questions?” Emily’s voice was almost shrill but it was still somewhat low. Most of that shrillness was from the emotion of worrying about Hannah.

  The old man appeared to see something in Emily’s face that Jerry couldn’t. His expression changed, became grave. “What is she missing? She told you, didn’t she?”

  Jerry stepped in to the confrontation. “What are you talking about, old man?”

  The old man looked up at Jerry. “Forgive me señor, but your daughter...she’s not sick. She’s under the curse of a bruja.”

  “A what?”

  “A bruja. A witch.”

  At another less stressful time, Jerry would have been inclined to dismiss the old man entirely. Not so now. His emotions were wound up. He stepped forward, trying to look and sound menacing as he loomed over the old man. “Look,” he said, his voice low and gritty. “I don’t know who you are, but I want you to leave me and my family alone. We don’t know you, we’ve never seen you before, and we’re going through a bad day right now and we don’t need to hear any of your—“

  “She’s very sick, she throws up constantly, she can’t keep food down, much less water, and she’s starting to become delirious,” the old man said. “And she’s missing something personal. I know. The look on your wife’s face told me. That tells me all I need to know. Your daughter has a curse placed on her by a bruja.”

  The door to the examining room Hannah was in opened and a nurse escorted her out. Emily went to Hannah, took her hand and led her down to the receptionist area to begin the process of getting her to El Paso Children’s Hospital while the nurse approached Jerry and told him who to ask for there. The old man blended into the background again, leaning against the wall. When the nurse left, Jerry regarded the old man one last time before leaving. The old man met his gaze. “It’s a bruja,” he said, his tone sounding vastly different now. To Jerry it almost sounded as if the old man was now deathly afraid. “I saw it on her face...it’s...in her aura...I can smell it!”

  The tension Jerry was feeling was too overwhelming for him. Without another word, he tore himself away from the hallway and went to join his wife and daughter at the receptionist's desk. He felt the old man’s eyes on his back the whole time.

  EL PASO CHILDREN’S Hospital was new, part of El Paso General Hospital in the downtown district. This new facility was located five miles north of the main hospital and east of Mesa Street. The doctors there were expecting them, and Jerry and Emily were allowed to accompany their daughter into the examining room where Hannah was examined by Dr. Maria Garcia. Dr. Garcia was guardedly optimistic. “She has a very bad stomach flu,” she told them as they stood a few feet away from Hannah’s hospital bed. “I’d like to put her on IV fluids now and keep her overnight to monitor her condition. When’s the last time she vomited?”

  “This morning,” Emily said.

  “I can take you to the admissions desk to have the proper paperwork filled out,” Dr. Garcia said. “And if you want, you can stay here with her for the rest of the day. I’d like to give her a mild sedative so she can get some sleep. She’s very tired.”

  “That would be fine,” Jerry said.

  The rest of the day dragged. Jerry was hopeful the first two hours as the IV needles were inserted in Hannah's veins; he was telling himself she'd be home by tomorrow, that she’d get better once she had some nourishment in her. Hannah settled into her bed, her temperature still hovering at one hundred and one, her skin still sweaty. A mild sedative was administered into her IV and she fell asleep a few minutes later. Dr. Garcia was monitoring their daughter and she turned to Emily and Jerry. "She's fine. Why don't you two grab some lunch? I'll be checking her progress all day.

  Thankfully they heeded Dr. Garcia's advice and got some food. If they hadn't, Jerry would have found it nearly impossible to get through the rest of the day.

  When they returned to Hannah's room an hour and a half later they came upon a scene that brought a great scare to Jerry. Dr. Garcia was at Hannah's bedside with a nurse. Hannah was sitting up in bed, her back arched forward, throwing up into a bedpan. He and Emily were at Hannah's bedside in an instant, both of them wanting to know what was happening. A nurse led them out, telling them everything was okay, Hannah just had a negative reaction to the medication, please, have a seat in the waiting room, and then they were in a small room, away from their daughter and the nightmare was becoming much harder to bear.

  Emily was crying. "What's happening? Why is this happening, what's wrong with her?"

  And Jerry could only stand by helplessly, not knowing what to do or say.

  Dr. Garcia entered the room thirty minutes later with another physician, this one an older man. His ID badge identified him as Dr. Hill. It was hard to get a read on what was going on due to their poker faces. Dr. Garcia said, "She's resting again. We're running a series of tests on her and—"

  "What was she throwing up?" Jerry barked. "She hasn't eaten anything solid in two days! What could possibly make her—"

  Dr. Hill interrupted him. "Your daughter's condition is worsening, Mr. And Mrs. Enders. We don't know what's causing it, either."

  Emily burst out crying. Jerry could only stand there, feeling like he'd been hit in the face with a sledgehammer.

  Dr. Hill continued. "She woke herself up vomiting. She didn't throw up much, just bile. But the contractions were very great, very forceful, and once she was settled down we wheeled her into Radiology for some CT scans. Her blood pressure is going down despite the fluids we're pumping into her, and we want to monitor her kidneys. She hasn't urinated lately, has she?"

  "I don't know," Jerry heard himself say, his voice sounding hollow.

  Emily could only cry.

  "I've talked to Dr. Westerman and he's brought me up on your daughter's hist
ory and symptoms," the physician continued. "Are you sure there isn't anything you can remember within the past week that may seem out of ordinary? Anything she might have eaten, or reports of any kids she plays with that are sick? Any sick animals she may have come in contact with?"

  "No, nothing," Jerry said, wracking his brain. He couldn't remember anything like that. Emily shook her head, still crying but trying to control the flow of tears.

  "I've ordered some more blood work," Dr. Hill continued. "We should get the results back before six. In the meantime, once the CT scan is complete, your daughter will go into intensive care and—"

  It became a blur at that point. The countless medical jargon, the wave of confusion over what was happening, Emily's tears. They asked to see Hannah and were told they could be with her during the CT scans. Jerry sat next to his little girl's prone figure as she lay on the table, holding her hand. She looked even more drained, more sick than she had this morning. She was barely conscious but offered a slight smile through heavy-rimmed eyes. "Mommy...Daddy..."

  "Close your eyes and go to sleep, sweetheart," Emily said. She smoothed Hannah's hair back from her forehead and kissed her.

  Ten minutes after she drank the concentrate prior to doing the abdominal CT scan, she suddenly pitched forward and threw up all over herself. The sudden vomiting surprised everyone in the room. Hannah convulsed, then threw up some more, crying now, her features clearly frightened, telling Jerry that she was in total lack of control of her body functions. The radiologist and a nurse were at her side quickly to assist, the nurse trying to calm her down, and Hannah threw up a third time, voiding white and pink gunk all down her hospital-issued blue gown. Then, without even pausing for a breath, she wailed.