Steven Hunley
03-30-2013, 05:09 PM
Doctor Braco
by
Steven Hunley
“Pam! Where’s Pam?”
“Did you hear that?” one nurse said to another. “He’s talking.”
“Where am I?”
Two nurses were sharing coffee out of a thermos in the nurse’s station. One, the petite model, was fresh and new and every one of her nails sparkled.
“Can you believe that? I never thought when I started working here they said that, like it was just a line from a movie or something, but it’s true.”
The tall peroxide blond, a senior nurse, grabbed a chart from the desk.
“His paper work says he’s an American, and we know he’s been unconscious for two days from a concussion. What’d you expect him to say? Hi, I’m Edward Mulcahey from San Diego, California, pleased to meet you?”
“I guess not.”
“Take it from me, he’s a stranger in a strange land and he’s suffered a trauma. Go and check his vital signs while I call the doctor.”
The short good-looking one took the chart from her, and for a second stopped at the mirror to remove a wisp of hair from her face, and tucked it neatly under her cap. She liked how the white A-line skirt flattered her figure. She'd wanted to be a nurse since ever she was little when she’d received a nurse's kit for Christmas, and she adored how pure and pert she looked in a white starched cap. She took her wedding ring off her finger, stashed it in her bossom, and draped a stethoscope gracefully over her neck like Maupassant’s Mathilde would a pearl necklace.
The tall nurse added, “And don’t forget to speak English.”
“Gottcha.”
'“O.K. You don’t have to get funny on me. And don’t flirt with this one either. I noticed a Buddhist prayer ring on the ring finger of his left hand. This guy is already taken.”
“ It isn’t a wedding ring!”
“No, a Buddhist prayer ring, but look where it is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means he’s in love with someone. It’s a one-size-fits-all ring. A man knows his size, or tries a ring on when he buys it. Someone must have given him that ring. I suspect his lover. He could have put it on any finger, but that was his finger of choice."
“But he’s good looking!”
“So’s your husband. Get over it.”
The short dark one held her tongue.
The long-legged peroxide blond poured another cup of coffee and added a spoonful or two of sugar. Then she went back to attacking her paperwork.
‘Who does she think ‘Pam’ is anyway? His mother? Lucky for him he’s unconscious.’
But her wheels had already started to turn. ‘They must not have known each other very long. She doesn’t know his ring size. Not yet. They must be fresh, infatuated. And look at the ring. More than a symbol of union, it’s a symbol of love, eternal, unlike their earth-bound bodies made of earth’s minerals, it lasts forever. And the ring is a prayer in silver, wrapped around his finger so he’ll never forget.’
She returned to her book and lunch. She opened the textbook, placed it on her lap and turned to the title page of Manual of the Operations of Surgery by Dr. Joseph Bell she’d marked with a pressed flower.
‘She’s overly romantic and should have been a detective,’ thought the new girl, ‘and I wish she’d stay out of my business.’
Doctor Braco flew through the doorway, alighted on a chair next to Eddie and peered down over the top of his half-frame glasses. With one hand he took Eddie’s pulse and looked at his Tag Heuer watch. Braco was pushing forty and already grey in the temples. In his exam coat pocket he’d stashed a silver cylinder stamped with impressions of roses and sunflowers, marked 925. His wife gave it to him just after the war when they were still in school, after she’d discovered it in an antique shop in The Hague. When she gave it to him on Valentine’s Day, it contained fragments of dried rose petals from their hotel room overlooking the canal, ones he’d scattered willy-nilly on the bed. Now it held his nitroglycerine.
You’re young and in good health, Mr.Mulcahey. You’re resilient. Some people aren’t.”
“Is Pam here?”
“Is that someone who was with you?”
“Yes, Pamela Bloomgarten.”
“I don’t know.”
The petite nurse peered over the chart like a doll that had never been out of the box and spoke up.
“The news said there are victims in every hospital, Doctor.”
“Nurse, check the records. Look over all the names in admitting. See who’s been taken where.”
“At once,” said Peroxide.
“You’ve suffered a serious concussion. The building you were in collapsed in an earthquake more severe than the one in 1667. The news said the epicenter was right beneath the club. I’m afraid they’re still digging victims out of the wreckage.”
Braco looked at Eddie’s head and squinted, “You’ve a laceration that required stitches. Come back in ten days and we’ll take them out.”
He talked quickly with the nurses and Peroxide handed him a newspaper. An orderly jetted in and whispered in his ear. The doctor turned to Eddie.
“Here’s the newspaper, Mr. Mulcahey. There’s a list of the injured. Our hospital has one too. I have to go immediately to the next ward.”
He looked at his watch.
“Dubrovnik General alone received fifty-five cases that tragic night. Our facilities are taxed to the limit, you understand. It’s been chaotic, but we’re ahead now. All hospitals are determined to do their best.”
Doctor Braco wiped his brow.
“The nurses will help all they can. I’ll be back this evening and see if you’re fit enough to be discharged.”
Doctor Braco walked quickly to the door and down the hall. When the elevator didn’t come soon enough, he sprung for the stairwell like an athlete, and with his white coat tails flapping, bounded up the stairs like a dove of mercy taking flight.
©Steven Hunley 2013
by
Steven Hunley
“Pam! Where’s Pam?”
“Did you hear that?” one nurse said to another. “He’s talking.”
“Where am I?”
Two nurses were sharing coffee out of a thermos in the nurse’s station. One, the petite model, was fresh and new and every one of her nails sparkled.
“Can you believe that? I never thought when I started working here they said that, like it was just a line from a movie or something, but it’s true.”
The tall peroxide blond, a senior nurse, grabbed a chart from the desk.
“His paper work says he’s an American, and we know he’s been unconscious for two days from a concussion. What’d you expect him to say? Hi, I’m Edward Mulcahey from San Diego, California, pleased to meet you?”
“I guess not.”
“Take it from me, he’s a stranger in a strange land and he’s suffered a trauma. Go and check his vital signs while I call the doctor.”
The short good-looking one took the chart from her, and for a second stopped at the mirror to remove a wisp of hair from her face, and tucked it neatly under her cap. She liked how the white A-line skirt flattered her figure. She'd wanted to be a nurse since ever she was little when she’d received a nurse's kit for Christmas, and she adored how pure and pert she looked in a white starched cap. She took her wedding ring off her finger, stashed it in her bossom, and draped a stethoscope gracefully over her neck like Maupassant’s Mathilde would a pearl necklace.
The tall nurse added, “And don’t forget to speak English.”
“Gottcha.”
'“O.K. You don’t have to get funny on me. And don’t flirt with this one either. I noticed a Buddhist prayer ring on the ring finger of his left hand. This guy is already taken.”
“ It isn’t a wedding ring!”
“No, a Buddhist prayer ring, but look where it is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means he’s in love with someone. It’s a one-size-fits-all ring. A man knows his size, or tries a ring on when he buys it. Someone must have given him that ring. I suspect his lover. He could have put it on any finger, but that was his finger of choice."
“But he’s good looking!”
“So’s your husband. Get over it.”
The short dark one held her tongue.
The long-legged peroxide blond poured another cup of coffee and added a spoonful or two of sugar. Then she went back to attacking her paperwork.
‘Who does she think ‘Pam’ is anyway? His mother? Lucky for him he’s unconscious.’
But her wheels had already started to turn. ‘They must not have known each other very long. She doesn’t know his ring size. Not yet. They must be fresh, infatuated. And look at the ring. More than a symbol of union, it’s a symbol of love, eternal, unlike their earth-bound bodies made of earth’s minerals, it lasts forever. And the ring is a prayer in silver, wrapped around his finger so he’ll never forget.’
She returned to her book and lunch. She opened the textbook, placed it on her lap and turned to the title page of Manual of the Operations of Surgery by Dr. Joseph Bell she’d marked with a pressed flower.
‘She’s overly romantic and should have been a detective,’ thought the new girl, ‘and I wish she’d stay out of my business.’
Doctor Braco flew through the doorway, alighted on a chair next to Eddie and peered down over the top of his half-frame glasses. With one hand he took Eddie’s pulse and looked at his Tag Heuer watch. Braco was pushing forty and already grey in the temples. In his exam coat pocket he’d stashed a silver cylinder stamped with impressions of roses and sunflowers, marked 925. His wife gave it to him just after the war when they were still in school, after she’d discovered it in an antique shop in The Hague. When she gave it to him on Valentine’s Day, it contained fragments of dried rose petals from their hotel room overlooking the canal, ones he’d scattered willy-nilly on the bed. Now it held his nitroglycerine.
You’re young and in good health, Mr.Mulcahey. You’re resilient. Some people aren’t.”
“Is Pam here?”
“Is that someone who was with you?”
“Yes, Pamela Bloomgarten.”
“I don’t know.”
The petite nurse peered over the chart like a doll that had never been out of the box and spoke up.
“The news said there are victims in every hospital, Doctor.”
“Nurse, check the records. Look over all the names in admitting. See who’s been taken where.”
“At once,” said Peroxide.
“You’ve suffered a serious concussion. The building you were in collapsed in an earthquake more severe than the one in 1667. The news said the epicenter was right beneath the club. I’m afraid they’re still digging victims out of the wreckage.”
Braco looked at Eddie’s head and squinted, “You’ve a laceration that required stitches. Come back in ten days and we’ll take them out.”
He talked quickly with the nurses and Peroxide handed him a newspaper. An orderly jetted in and whispered in his ear. The doctor turned to Eddie.
“Here’s the newspaper, Mr. Mulcahey. There’s a list of the injured. Our hospital has one too. I have to go immediately to the next ward.”
He looked at his watch.
“Dubrovnik General alone received fifty-five cases that tragic night. Our facilities are taxed to the limit, you understand. It’s been chaotic, but we’re ahead now. All hospitals are determined to do their best.”
Doctor Braco wiped his brow.
“The nurses will help all they can. I’ll be back this evening and see if you’re fit enough to be discharged.”
Doctor Braco walked quickly to the door and down the hall. When the elevator didn’t come soon enough, he sprung for the stairwell like an athlete, and with his white coat tails flapping, bounded up the stairs like a dove of mercy taking flight.
©Steven Hunley 2013