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Faith (part 2)
Apr. 7th, 2001 01:26 pmSorry for the long delay--busy week! Here's part 2 of the story.
Read Part 1 if you've forgotten what it said.
Unfortunately, Risen ran into problems after this incident. He was in a domestic partnership, and apparently his partner was sleeping with other guys, and gave Risen HIV. (This was back in the days when there wasn't much to do to contain the virus.) He confronted his partner, and they got into an argument, and his partner hit him over the head and cracked his skull. Luckily, he survived, although he was in critical condition for a long time.
While Risen was in the hospital, Echo (the author of the book) sees someone in the emergency room who seems strangely familiar:
The handsome face was familiar, but the switchboard ladies absolutely could not come up with a name from the memory file. The name, Charles R. Henley Jr., rang no bells, and his diagnosis-a sore hand-didn't provide me with any clues either. That bothersome, vague brainache that happens when I can't remember someone's name or where I know them from, crept under the switchboard ladies and over my optic nerves and settled in around the sinus cavities. The funny thing about it was that I had a distinct feeling that I had been on almost intimate terms with this guy.
"Why do I know you?" I asked. (Unwritten rule 71: When working ER, it pays to be direct. Subtlety wastes time.)
The patient adjusted the ice pack on his swollen hand and pointed a finger at me. "Yeah, you look familiar too. Do you buy your meat and fish at Cordova's Grocery Market? I'm the managing butcher there."
I shook my head. I couldn't afford to shop at Cordova's. It was one of those California "gourmet" grocery stores that carried lots of expensive and exotic imported foodstuffs, such as jellied livers of South African banana flies and the like. It was so exclusive, in fact, that I wouldn't have been at all surprised to find that the customers were charged admission and hourly rental on the carts.
"No, I'm a vegetarian," I said with an apologetic shrug.
"Do you belong to the Belfast Gym?" he asked hopefully. Apparently he suffered the same memory loss brainache that I did. "I work out there every day."
"No, that's not it. Are you a runner? Would I have seen you on some of the trails around the lakes?"
"I'm strictly an indoor-workout person."
My brainache was getting unbearable, warning me to give it a rest. I could fret about where I knew the man from just before I tried to fall asleep the following morning.
"What did you do to that hand?" I asked, in order to divert our attention. Like hiccups, brainache could sometimes be cured by ignoring it.
"Oh"-he laughed-my partner slammed the freezer door on it."
I pushed up the sleeve of the man's shirt and took a close look at his hand and arm. Faint scars from long-ago needle tracks lined his inner arm. My memory loss brainache disappeared.
"I've got it!"
"Huh?"
"A long time ago you came into CCU with endocarditis."
"That's where I know you from!" He slapped his knee. "You were the nurse who gave me a shower. You got soaked."
"Right."
"I remember all the nurses up there got together and gave me the food from their dinners. I was so…Jesus." His smile suddenly slid upside down, and his shoulders slumped. "I was so goddammed sick and wasted, I was pitiful."
"Yeah, but look at you now. You look and sound like you're doing great."
He shrugged in a gesture of agreement. "Well, I said that I would never go back to that life. It's been a long haul, but I got out of it."
Relieved that I wouldn't have to spend any more time being tortured by the where-do-I-know-that-guy-from? ache, I congratulated him once again, put the ice pack back over his hand, and began taking his vital signs.
"Hey, do you remember that male nurse who came in and fed me?"
I finished counting his pulse. "You mean Risen?"
"Yeah, that was his name. You know, he told me that night that the reason that you all were so kind to me was because you had faith in the living. I repeated that to myself about a thousand times a day all through my rehab. It made a difference….Is he still at this hospital?"
"Yep," I answered truthfully. "He's up in ICU." Because he had too much faith in the living.
"Next time you see him, will you thank him for me and tell him how much what he said helped?"
"Will do." I said. As soon as he pulls his knickers out of the twist that they're in and rejoins the living.
Risen made it out of the hospital. However, the hospital had a policy of firing anyone who was HIV positive, so he went on disability. He dies near the end of the book.
So what constitutes a happy ending?
I'm not sure I believe in happy endings anymore, but there are good people and good moments, and he was and he had one.
-- From Condition Critical : The Story of a Nurse Continues by Echo Huron
Read Part 1 if you've forgotten what it said.
Unfortunately, Risen ran into problems after this incident. He was in a domestic partnership, and apparently his partner was sleeping with other guys, and gave Risen HIV. (This was back in the days when there wasn't much to do to contain the virus.) He confronted his partner, and they got into an argument, and his partner hit him over the head and cracked his skull. Luckily, he survived, although he was in critical condition for a long time.
While Risen was in the hospital, Echo (the author of the book) sees someone in the emergency room who seems strangely familiar:
The handsome face was familiar, but the switchboard ladies absolutely could not come up with a name from the memory file. The name, Charles R. Henley Jr., rang no bells, and his diagnosis-a sore hand-didn't provide me with any clues either. That bothersome, vague brainache that happens when I can't remember someone's name or where I know them from, crept under the switchboard ladies and over my optic nerves and settled in around the sinus cavities. The funny thing about it was that I had a distinct feeling that I had been on almost intimate terms with this guy.
"Why do I know you?" I asked. (Unwritten rule 71: When working ER, it pays to be direct. Subtlety wastes time.)
The patient adjusted the ice pack on his swollen hand and pointed a finger at me. "Yeah, you look familiar too. Do you buy your meat and fish at Cordova's Grocery Market? I'm the managing butcher there."
I shook my head. I couldn't afford to shop at Cordova's. It was one of those California "gourmet" grocery stores that carried lots of expensive and exotic imported foodstuffs, such as jellied livers of South African banana flies and the like. It was so exclusive, in fact, that I wouldn't have been at all surprised to find that the customers were charged admission and hourly rental on the carts.
"No, I'm a vegetarian," I said with an apologetic shrug.
"Do you belong to the Belfast Gym?" he asked hopefully. Apparently he suffered the same memory loss brainache that I did. "I work out there every day."
"No, that's not it. Are you a runner? Would I have seen you on some of the trails around the lakes?"
"I'm strictly an indoor-workout person."
My brainache was getting unbearable, warning me to give it a rest. I could fret about where I knew the man from just before I tried to fall asleep the following morning.
"What did you do to that hand?" I asked, in order to divert our attention. Like hiccups, brainache could sometimes be cured by ignoring it.
"Oh"-he laughed-my partner slammed the freezer door on it."
I pushed up the sleeve of the man's shirt and took a close look at his hand and arm. Faint scars from long-ago needle tracks lined his inner arm. My memory loss brainache disappeared.
"I've got it!"
"Huh?"
"A long time ago you came into CCU with endocarditis."
"That's where I know you from!" He slapped his knee. "You were the nurse who gave me a shower. You got soaked."
"Right."
"I remember all the nurses up there got together and gave me the food from their dinners. I was so…Jesus." His smile suddenly slid upside down, and his shoulders slumped. "I was so goddammed sick and wasted, I was pitiful."
"Yeah, but look at you now. You look and sound like you're doing great."
He shrugged in a gesture of agreement. "Well, I said that I would never go back to that life. It's been a long haul, but I got out of it."
Relieved that I wouldn't have to spend any more time being tortured by the where-do-I-know-that-guy-from? ache, I congratulated him once again, put the ice pack back over his hand, and began taking his vital signs.
"Hey, do you remember that male nurse who came in and fed me?"
I finished counting his pulse. "You mean Risen?"
"Yeah, that was his name. You know, he told me that night that the reason that you all were so kind to me was because you had faith in the living. I repeated that to myself about a thousand times a day all through my rehab. It made a difference….Is he still at this hospital?"
"Yep," I answered truthfully. "He's up in ICU." Because he had too much faith in the living.
"Next time you see him, will you thank him for me and tell him how much what he said helped?"
"Will do." I said. As soon as he pulls his knickers out of the twist that they're in and rejoins the living.
Risen made it out of the hospital. However, the hospital had a policy of firing anyone who was HIV positive, so he went on disability. He dies near the end of the book.
So what constitutes a happy ending?
I'm not sure I believe in happy endings anymore, but there are good people and good moments, and he was and he had one.
-- From Condition Critical : The Story of a Nurse Continues by Echo Huron
